Our last weekend list for the year, and the city's awash with all the seasonal cheer you could possibly want: from carols to capoeira, a chilly plunge to an overload of erratic bleeps. So, whatever your poison, enjoy it, have a very merry Christmas, Solstice, Hanukkah, Ede, Kwanza, New Year, and, of course, a wonderful weekend. Team UJ
Xx.

This weekend's guide is brought to you by the Southbank's new production of Rapunzel. Co-created by BAC and Kneehigh Theatre, it's a magical blend of physical theatre, puppetry and animation, injecting a breath of feisty fun and dreadlocks into the Grimm classic. Catch it before the end of the year, and the lovely folks at the Southbank are offering all UJ subscribers a festive 25% discount. Click here for details.

The Blessing
There was a time when Portishead was one of the sharpest, finest, and most appreciated bands around. Trip-hop, of course, may have faded somewhat into the generic category of 'lounge', but ex-'Head bassist and drummer, Jim Barr and Clive Deamer, prove their post-trip worth at The Southbank with their fantastic jazz/post-jazz quartet, The Blessing.

Patrick Wolf
Young, charmingly eccentric chanteur, Patrick Wolf (he of the hair) brings his impressive year to a close with a return to the 'Bush after his last sell-out gig. The multi-genred singer-songwriter is throwing a double-edged set, one half solo, one half with his full band, for tonight's performance. So if you've never had the pleasure, this looks to be one to remember.

Urban Ritual Christmas Party
If in doubt, go Brazilian. At least that's what I've been told. So what if the current London climate is as far from a South American beach as possible? Head out East to see the capoeira alternative to festive celebrations: think slick tricks, thrilling games, plenty of dancing, and I'm sure just a little drinking.

The Jive Aces
Colourfully suited purveyors of foot-tapping swing and all-out jive, the 'Aces have been around under various guises since the '80s, perfecting their infectious stage performances and whipping up quite the international fan base in the meantime. Making a mockery out of meagre cover bands and London's fetishized retro DJs, the horn-blaring, double bass-spinning sextet are absolutely the real deal.

In the Bleep Midwinter
This weekend, Warp Records, the unashamed masters of the beeps, bleeps, and deliciously erratic basslines, are joining forces with the chaps at Dedbeat for an anti-carol affair of digital skulduggery. Taking over, rather bizarrely, the Great Eastern Showrooms of all places, they're allowing their monster line-up of electronic maestros run havoc over three whole rooms. Poor fools.

The Guilty Christmas Panto
Sean Rowley's debauched institution wraps up its year at Koko with a mammoth shindig of camp Christmas proportions. Whether you fancy satisfying your Santa fetish or rocking up as an appropriately drag Widow Twanky, dig out your Christmas panto finery for a night of electric performances, storming tunes, and plenty of mistletoe to get festive under.

Jane Means at Christmas Deluxe
Back in the heyday of her lunacy, my beloved grandmother took to not wrapping presents: "Why all that effort so someone can tear it up in seconds?" What she needed was a professional gift-wrapper. Someone so good that she'd lead seminars and workshops, and even wrap up presents for the Queen. Someone like Jane Means, say. Gives you time for a few more mulled wines while you're at the market too.

It's a Wonderful life
There are only a few things which can be guaranteed to signify 'Christmas' throughout the entire Western world. Obviously there's Santa, whether in his various national guises or his universal, Coca Cola-induced red-and-white. There's the tree, with or without crowning fairy; the eponymous brandied Christmas pud; mince pies and mulled wine. But really, what's a Christmas without Jimmy Stewart?

Les Patineurs / Tales of Beatrix Potter
As a young child, I owned a pair of bunnies. One was called Sandy and the other was Peter. That's right: Peter Rabbit. All was wonderful, until one day I awoke to find him dead. When we went to see Beatrix Potter on stage a week later, I completely failed to understand why that Peter was still alive, and burst into a childish homicidal rage, wishing everyone in the theatre dead. But apparently this performance is excellent.

Black Christmas
Phone rings. Pretty sorority girl answers, her hand clutching the receiver in anxious trepidation. We move in for a close-up. Heavy breathing on the other end clearly disturbs her. She has no idea who it is. She looks uncertain; terrified. But we know what's coming. The predictable horror flick chorus of shrieking ensues, helped along by a the ubiquitous bucket-load of gore. It's often strange to think of visual clichés like these as having origins; of a time when people weren't sure what would unavoidably follow that creepy phone call. As it happens, this seminal '70s Christmas slasher started the whole thing, thanks to its late director, Bob Clark.

Raymond Gubbay Christmas Festival
The classical impresarios at Raymond Gubbay have put together the Barbican's Christmas Festival this year, kicking it off with soloist Brenda Edwards and a veritable barrage of festive gospel belters on Saturday evening. Thereafter the line-up goes on to cover everything from Sunday's assorted gala of classical favourites to a candlelit, fully costumed seasonal special on the 29th. Julian Lloyd Webber goes to work on Elgar's cello concerto on Boxing Day, the Royal Philharmonic gives Beethoven's 9th some welly (that's a technical term, mind) on the 30th, and the Glen Miller Orchestra throws out a stream of toe-tapping, retro classics to ebb out the hangover on the first afternoon 2008.

Carol singing in Trafalgar Square
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to five gooolden riiiings. Four Tiffany's bracelets, three sets of Agent Provocateur lingerie, two tickets to New York, and an ex-tended overdraft limit to cope with my ensuing debt. If it's all a bit too buy-buy-buy, give-give-give, you can always pretend that capitalism never took hold and we're all still contented and entertained by the simple things in life like snow angels and carol singing.

Mid-Winter Dip
Mad as a box of frogs, the English. Winter winds her icy fingers into every nook of our nippy isle and what do we do? Okay, so the lido is Grade II listed, celebrating it's 70th anniversary, and open for this annual event of insanity for the first time in 30 years, but really. It's 5? people! If lunacy or masochism run in the family, then by all means. And I suppose the offer of warm mince pies afterwards is something. Like I said, mad as a box of frogs.

Slow Food Market
Somehow Christmas shopping always reminds me of driving around the Arc de Triomphe. Maybe it's the speed, the craziness, the weight of a hundred mad Frenchmen looming precariously behind you. Or maybe it's the steely glares, the impending threat of catastrophe, of collision, of violence. If festive shopping is the Arc de Triomphe, then the Southbank's Slow Food Market is a gentle saunter through the park. Artisan breads and cheeses vie for your attention amongst a sea of ethical gifts and gentle, seasonal joy. Much more civilized.