I hate James Corden. From his screechy laugh to his humour, which is largely made up of him repeating the line of a more credible comedian in a higher pitch, I. Hate. James. Corden. The moment I laid eyes on him (which was, for your information, when I stumbled upon his terrifyingly grotesque naked shoot in Heat magazine), I knew that it was hate at first sight. He is the embodiment of that fat kid who sits in the corner of the class and hopes that his humour will make him more attractive and who, even more annoyingly, manages to nab himself an otherwise completely unattainable girlfriend. James Corden has been ‘spotted’ with so many anonymous Sloane Rangers that it beggars belief.
I was therefore enraged, over the festive period, to find myself bombarded with various forms of James Corden. James Corden in Gavin and Stacey! James Corden in the Big Fat Quiz of the Year! James Corden in all of the ‘best of 2008 shows’, either as a talking head or as a highlight! James Corden popping up in every single advert break on the BBC singing that god-awful Band Aid song. Yes! I know that it’s Christmas time, James Corden, now let me enjoy it in peace! Oh, James Corden, all I want for Christmas is (for) you (to seriously consider leaving my television before I am forced to obliterate it).
OK, so I might be being a little harsh. I know that some people find him funny. People must giggle at his attention-seeking classroom clown act, otherwise he wouldn’t have been both the BBC and Channel 4’s Christmas stooge. Which was a shame, because both channels had an otherwise promising Christmas line-up. Actually, I can only truly bestow this honour on the BBC, simply because Channel Four thought it would be pertinent to spend its Christmas debating largely irrelevant questions. The Lost Pyramid, for example, spent ninety minutes asking increasingly irritated experts what a pyramid was, before concluding that the lost pyramid had probably been stolen. At least the BBC had semi-good material to work with, even though it was, you guessed it, tainted by the presence of James Corden. Not to mention my family. The Royle Family would have been enjoyable had it not been for my brother’s squalls about how ‘gritty’ it was, and how nice it was to see ‘real families just like us’ on the television, before we gorged on our incredibly organised five course Christmas feast without any Cup’o’Soups or ‘carrot crush’ in sight. Equally, I would have greatly enjoyed Wallace and Gromit if it weren’t for my mother insisting on watching the Gavin and Stacey Christmas special, which she had recorded especially for Christmas Day purely because her next door neighbour assured her that it was ‘simply hilarious, a great program for you and your teenagers’. Needless to say, I retired to the kitchen to satiate myself with mine, and everybody else’s, selection boxes. Yes, I Hate James Corden: the grinch that stole my Christmas. That’s what’s occurring.