Dr Sheldon Cooper
Each year when I'm opening my Christmas presents I think, "Oh what fresh hell is this?" As it's nearly the pagan festival of Saturnalia again, known to you ordinary folk as Christmas, I thought I'd get in line with the customs with all the military precision of the Carthaginian general Hannibal, and plan my Christmas gift attack.
I would really rather spend time in an abandoned space station listening to the puerile chatterings of that space monkey Howard than exchange gifts with my nearest and dearest, but I brought this on myself by being so charming and such an integral part of their lives.
Amy Farrah Fowler is by far the most difficult person to buy for. Every time we pass that darn lingerie store she drags me over to the window and she gets very silly and skittish. I mean what could she possibly want with one of those faceless mannequins? But if that's what she wants, nothing is too ridiculous for my Amy.
As for Leonard, I'm torn between getting our room-mate agreement leather bound or buying him that bestseller, The Everything Kids' Science Experiments Book by Tom Robinson , he has so much to learn that boy! I considered getting him the Green Lantern movie on Blu-Ray as a character-building exercise because, as I always say, if you can get through that you can get through anything.
What do I want for Christmas? Isn't it obvious? I'd like Stan Lee and William Shatner to cook me Christmas dinner and Stephen Hawking to serve it to me, although I'd be worried about the time it might take Stephen to get from the kitchen to the diningroom. Hmm, scratch that idea.
Alan Partridge
All I want for Christmas is peace on earth and goodwill to all men. That's what you would probably expect me to say, but the tens of listeners to my show on North Norfolk Digital know I'm not one for spouting bland platitudes. Deeply offensive platitudes, maybe, but not bland ones.
Let's be realistic . . . it's been more than 2,000 years since that Jesus chap was born and we still don't have world peace, so it's hardly going to happen by this Christmas. You'd be lucky to get your golf clubs ordered online at this stage. And as for goodwill to all men, where was the goodwill shown to me by the director of programming at the BBC when I was looking for a second series of my chat show, Knowing Me, Knowing You with Alan Partridge?
Tell you what I want, what I really, really want: the chance to put on another Christmas special. Okay, Knowing Me, Knowing Yule was a bit of a debacle, ending with me punching the BBC's director of programming with a roast partridge, but I know if I had another crack at it I could get it right this time and give the b*****d a proper hiding. Oh, he's dead, is he? Now that's the kind of glad tidings I like to hear at Christmas.
But Christmas is a time of giving. . . so this year let's put aside what I want (a Pringle jumper and a Wings box set) and think about the needs of others. I still have quite a few unsold Alan Partridge tie and blazer badge sets left, along with some unpulped copies of my book Bouncing Back.
I’m selling them at a special buy two, get one 10 per cent off deal via my website, Knowing Me, Knowing URL. So on the first day of Christmas you can give your loved ones the perfect Partridge present.
Aha!
The Doctor
We didn't have Christmas when I was a young lad on the planet Gallifrey, but this is one human holiday I really enjoy. I love zooming around in my Tardis, visiting Christmases past and future, although the idea of a guy in a red suit flying around in a sleigh is frankly ridiculous.
One thing I really could do with is a new sonic screwdriver. My old one is a bit worn out after being used by the 12 previous doctors. When there's a phalanx of Daleks closing in on you, and you're trying to make a quick repair to the Tardis and make your escape, you don't want your sonic screwdriver to suddenly go on the blink.
I think Harvey Norman on the planet Thelka has them in stock.
I could also do with a good face cream – all that face-changing I do can leave me with very dry skin, not to mention the dehydrating effects of time travel. Something noble and classic – like myself, really.
