Let’s Not be Unchristian


Wannabe scally Terry Christian is one of those people who you avoid in the street let alone the studio. He’s the sort of a fellow who may not have halitosis but has it by default, as his exaggerated jiggling Mancunian contortions, annoying accent and verbal diarrhoea trump the worst sausage breath at a Mettwurst convention. His appearance recently on Jeremy Vine’s show was typical of a man who has to act like an idiot to hold on by his fingernails to the Z list, while airheads from Love Island dominate the column inches he used to inhabit.

A video of Jeremy Vine’s response to Christian – threatening to put a piece of paper in his mouth to silence him – was praised by thousands of viewers:

When asked to write about Christian, I refused at first. I do not like the sound of him, the sight of him, nor did I want to pollute this fine publication with his strops and mither. There are plenty of more interesting Mancs alive today, so why couldn’t I write about Sir Norman Foster, Morrissey or the Gallaghers? Then I changed my mind when I got wound up just researching him. In 1994 Christian was dubbed “the most hated man in television” for his obnoxious style of presenting – not a lot has changed since then.

That Terry Christian has emerged as one of the Remain side’s loudspeakers is no surprise. Christian is always looking for a bandwagon and Remain’s obnoxious acolytes embrace voter repellent like flies land on slurry.  The New European – the temporary rag that should be printed in green which backs the “People’s Vote” and revoking article 50 – was the only publication supporting Christian’s Vine appearance. These agent provocateurs are peas in a pod. It is no wonder they co-exist in the same swamp – after all, Terry Christian was the man who in 2012 was banned by the FA from his son’s football matches for taking to Twitter to complain about the behaviour on display as his son’s team, Queensgate Juniors Wasps Under-11s, drew 3-3 with rivals Spurley Hey in the ­Stockport Metro Junior League.

A search into what Mancunians think of Terry Christian results in too much use of the ‘c’ word to repeat here, although some interesting comments emerge:

There’s the one where he had to flee a restaurant in Manchester’s Chinatown with his mother in tow and jump in the nearest taxi after annoying some diners. “Where the f**k does he think that accent comes from…I’ve got a strong manc accent and it sounds nothing like that,” comments one riled City fan, “he Sounds like salford mixed with scouse…His mouth is lop-sided and his eeeerrrrrrrrrrrs are extra long..The tosseeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr….” Another invokes Steve Coogan as Paul Calf – “in the words of paul calf ‘ nothin’ worse than being on a plane with Terry Christian on one side .. and another Terry Christian on the other.” Another local comments that “Christian is a f***ing idiot who wants to put his false teeth in backwards and eat himself to death. Absolute 100% d**k of the highest order and I hope he dies of swine flu!”

To be fair to Terry Christian there is one local Mancunian out there (back in 2009) who thinks he’s a sound lad: “Its his job to be a controversial bellend, don’t take it to heart! I’ve met him a few times at charity dos and he’s a nice fella, just plays a part in the media to earn a few bob.” The New Statesman painted a positive picture of Christian a few years back as a hard-up street kid made good – although, after its backfiring Scruton takedown one should question whether the New Statesman’s view means much at all. And there’s no doubting that in his day – the 1990’s – Christian turned The Word into a symbol of the times with a cult following, producing some memorable interviews (often cringe-worthy car crashes) like when Whitney Houston was asked if she was a lesbian.

It’s simultaneously difficult – and difficult not to – feel a bit sorry for Terry Christian. On the one hand he is as annoying as someone eating Doritos in your ear when you’re trying to study and for this he merits no sympathy. On the other hand he’s like the Krankies – supplanted by the Chuckle Brothers and Mr Tumble – who were forced into humiliating themselves in the press by admitting to attending sex parties and posing with dildos just so that the British public knew they were not yet dead. Getting out of bed in the morning and knowing that, as you fast approach 60 and can no longer play the part of obnoxious scally, you need to become increasingly hittable just to earn a crust – Sisyphean and painful beyond belief.

If Christian actually believes that Brexit, Boris and Manchester City’s continual dominance over United are the three most terrible things on planet earth, then life is hell on earth for the man. Surely he’s due some pity?