Boris Johnson's guide to not dying when you go to the pub

GETTING wankered in a building named after a king is 80 per cent of Britain’s economy, so as prime minister I need to make that happen. Here’s how to survive it: 

Observe social distancing rules

Don’t forget about distancing! Remember the government guidelines in all their detail while getting blackout drunk on 12 pints of Guinness. Don’t disregard them as a half-arsed, meaningless compromise that protects nobody while cadging fags from strangers.

Avoid banter

Uproarious guffawing will send viruses flying everywhere, so under no circumstances have a laugh while you’re at the pub. Keep the mood sombre by quietly discussing your parents’ funeral arrangements and the bit in Love Actually where Emma Thompson finds out.

Buy loads of pints

Your table should be entirely filled with pints as you ‘line them up’. This will protect you because passing viruses will fall in and drown, like wasps in a water-filled jam jar.

Have a catheter fitted

Choke points like cramped toilets are a distancing nightmare, so have a catheter fitted to avoid dangerous queues. If you’re planning a proper session, you may need to use a bin bag so opt for a heavy duty one as no one wants two gallons of warm piss exploding over the snug.

Live in the pub

British manufacturing is gone, after 40 years of hard work by the Tories, so the service sector is all we’ve got. Spend at least 10 hours a day in the pub. This may lead to alcoholism and money problems, but you are, after all, cannon fodder. Sorry, ‘the great British public fond of a tipple’.

Ignore all risks if you pull

Masks and perspex screens are pointless if you then have an intimate boffing session and get COVID-19, right? Wrong – you’ll be a legend who died on the job. It’s how I plan to go. Cheers.

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Queue outside Games Workshop reaches two meters

QUEUES outside branches of Games Workshop have reached the two-metre mark as pairs of desperate gamers wait to get inside. 

Since the wargaming shops reopened last week, an unprecedented footfall of pubescent loners has left shops feeling as besieged as a Space Marine Fortress-Monastery.

Manager Tom Logan said: “We usually only let one in at a time. Not because of the coronavirus, just because we’re not that popular.

“But look at them. You can tell by their hunched shoulders they’re desperate to stock up on Ork Stompas and Nurgling Green paint. I bet they’ve already counted out their birthday money in anticipation.

“And while tabletop wargamers are usually sticklers for measurements, social distancing will go out the window the second I open that door.

“I’m poised to call the police if things get ugly. It looks like they’ve both got their eyes on the limited edition Lumineth Realm-lords Army set and it’ll take a braver man than me to maintain order.”

Jack Browne, aged 14, said: “I don’t even know what a Warhammer is. Mum dropped me off outside with twenty quid. I saw her going into Ann Summers.”