Welcome to kylieshop.co.uk - Information on Kylie minogue

Christmas is a time of shagging. No, hang on, sharing. Christmas is a time of sh... - but I see I was right the first time. I used to think it was all about carol-singers, and the glowing faces of tiny children, and chestnuts and the Dingly Dell chapters in Pickwick, and the smell of Harvey's Bristol Cream in your mum's kitchen. But, wherever you look at the moment, unseasonal smut is breaking out.

Legal Business, a serious magazine for solicitors, is running a Christmas quiz whose questions are full of personal scandal: which briefs (fnarr, fnarr) regularly moonlight as lapdancers; and which two partners from which venerable firm were caught snogging on Turnberry golf course after a cocktail party?

As one silently considers what a similar magazine called Press Affairs might come up with in its quiz page, news arrives about Abercrombie & Fitch, the American retail chain whose 280-page "Christmas Field Guide", or seasonal catalogue, is crammed with pictures of naked men and women twined together under a Christmas tree; whatever is it they're doing, it's a far cry from wassailing or gathering winter fu-u-el.

Now, praise the Lord, sex has invaded the Christmas high street. In Oxford Street, the Virgin megastore decided to hire some glamour models for the day, dress them in stretchy PVC material and white furry trim, and have them help stressed-out shoppers with their tricky purchases.

Good God, what a terrible idea. It's bad enough having to buy six copies of The Very Best of Cat Stevens for your tragic just-turned- 50 friends, without having a half-dressed 22-year-old siren in a shiny plastic bodysock giving you sad-old-geezer looks. The Santa Claus babes routine might work for Bill Nighy's Christmas single from Love Actually, but there's something fundamentally rebarbative about sexing up the beardy old bedroom-burglar as an object of desire. I can't really hear the seductive old Eartha Kitt song "Santa Baby", as re-invented by Ms Kylie Minogue ("... and hurry down the chimney tonight"), without feeling a little queasy. I have enough issues around Christmas without having to encounter a skimpily-dressed Good King Wenceslas in the butcher's shop, a chorus line of elves in thongs in Boots, or a dance troupe of foxy reindeer in basques and antlers, doing routines from Chicago as I stumble around Habitat looking for scented candles. Christmas. It's a time of giving. No, hang on, it's a time of giving her one. No, hang on...