The Talkback Merry Christmas Thread 2025

Merry Christmas.

Does what it says on the tin really. Well done Ingo.

Merry Christmas you filthy animals.
And a happy noo year.
(Gunfire)

Merry Christmas, all. Hope Santa unloads his sack in your direction.

Merry Christmas from me too. Hope you aren’t as hungover as I am, and about to face a long drive south.

Why are we doing this the day before Christmas? Too soon Ingo.

Happy Holidays.
Christmas has gone mate, damn these illegals.

You don't half sound like your mum.

Not again!

Oh well, I suppose.

Merry Crimbleybobs, huns. From our house to yours. X

In Nottingham Forest, under red-and-white lights,
The City Ground glimmers on cold winter nights.
Scarves steam in the air, breath ghosts in the cold,
As old songs are sung and new legends are told.

But somewhere beyond, in the pixel-lit snow,
A stranger named Vlad_1984 says “hello.”
He posts about tactics, insists he’s a fan,
Though his grammar’s a mystery no one can scan.

“Forest will triumph,” he types with great cheer,
While stirring up arguments, thread after thread here.
Is it Russian interference? A bot? Or a joke?
Or just someone bored, with too much eggnog to soak?

Meanwhile I’m chatting with friends I’ve not met,
With avatars blinking and usernames set:
A wizard, a raccoon, a sentient loaf—
Imaginary comrades, but oddly enough, close.

We share memes and hopes as the snow starts to fall,
Debating formations and miracles small.
Outside, real bells ring; inside, pings chime,
Christmas syncing briefly across space and time.

So here’s to the Forest, to ghosts and to screens,
To trolls in the comments and online daydreams.
May peace find the forums, may truth clear the haze,
And may Christmas still win—on the pitch and the page

ChatGPT 24.12.25

Tricky will fucking love that.

Managed to make it seem like going to City straight after my parents leave was doing Mrs Simon a favour, which is a christmas win.

Wishing you all a Gammon Mince-mas.

Making sticky toffee pudding with the missus (and no it is not a metaphor), and maybe some mince pies. Without children it's a day off. One of the owners (the good one) suddenly leaving and retiring leaves 2026 uncertain. But at least we will have sticky toffee pudding and maybe some shotguns.

Here's to mid table success and peace on earth etc etc etc.

Now where's my bourbon?

Chicago: Nostalgic.

Happy Christmas!

It's still not Christmas