Spare a thought for Whamageddoned seasonal staff rookies

The point of the game is to avoid hearing Wham’s 1984 hit, Last Christmas, which is virtually impossible, says Susan Morrison

George Michael was mournfully singing his sad tale of the Christmas he gave his heart to some flinty-souled strumpet who promptly passed it on like an unwelcome pair of socks in the office Secret Santa.

The last fireworks had barely cooled on the pavement and I had been “Whamageddoned”.

Some regard Whamaggedon as a light-hearted Christmas challenge. The point of the game is to avoid hearing Wham’s 1984 hit, Last Christmas, which is virtually impossible since it features on every Festive Greats list.

These people are failing to take the threat of the Christmas music madness seriously. They don’t even consider themselves Whamaggedoned until after December 1. Ridiculous.

Those of us who can see what the sound of Last Christmas really means take it very seriously indeed. The Christmas playlist has been deployed. The maddening tide of sugar-coated sentimental songs is about to wash over us.

It’s not that I dislike Wham’s number one hit. Like every ageing eighties disco queen, I’m a fan of George Michael and the other one, and have happy, if faintly fuzzy, memories of dancing away at office Christmas parties.

I am fond of it, but I dread it because hard on the tale of the discarded heart will come rocking around Christmas trees, crooning claims of White Christmases and a disco diva claiming that all she wants for Christmas “is you”. Nonsense. It’s Mariah Carey. She’ll settle for nothing less than a sparkly trinket featuring more carats than Rudolf can scoff on one sitting.

The songs follow us from shop to shop, which sometimes makes me think that there’s some sort of government-run centralised system for pumping out Bing Crosbie and Brenda Lee.

Of course, there isn’t. If such a system existed, it would be ruthlessly efficient and I’ve yet to see any evidence of any government body in danger of being that. It’s the playlist. It’s hardly changed in decades. Look at Mud. Still Lonely this Christmas and that’s been since 1974.

This might be a human rights issue. Not for the shoppers, we can always plug in a podcast or shop online to avoid Cliff Richard’s offer of Mistletoe and Wine.

Odd choice of festive snack. I’m fairly sure mistletoe is poisonous. No, it’s the staff I feel sorry for. The music has started and no ear plugs for them. It will be weeks, and they know it.

You can see it in their eyes. Around about the first week in December they start to glaze over. By week two, the side glances have started. In week three their gaze narrows.

Limbs twitch and jaws clench. The battle-hardened veterans count the hours to Christmas Eve, but there are seasonal staff rookies in the aisles. They could snap with sheer tinsel-tuned fuelled fury.

Frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if crazed retail workers went on a rampage terrorising shoppers by pulling extra-loud crackers and setting up fairly light trip hazards.

Well, it’s started now, and I’ve been Whamageddoned. You will be, too. We could start a fight back. Let’s make like Slade and scream “It’s Christmas!” whenever we hear Noddy and the boys. But be careful. It does sound like a festive battle cry. You might start that retail revolution.