How to cope with being a pointless Poundland Royal: Eugenie's advice to her new son

EXPLAINING to a baby that, as a second division member of the Royal Family, his life will be gilded and purposeless isn’t easy. Here’s the advice I’ll give him: 

Focus on the positives of being rich

You may not be an A-lister like Wills, Kate or Queenie, but you’re f**king loaded whatever. When jealousy of their key roles opening leisure centres and patronising charities creeps in, I cheer myself up by buying vulval hats or a horse.

Kill time with skiing

At a loose end? Ask a servant if it’s winter, and if they say yes hop on a plane to Switzerland and ski until it isn’t. There are plenty of dense rahs there who won’t laugh at you for saying ‘Can we have the scrummy melted cheese again?’ without irony.

Get a bullshit job

I worked in New York as a ‘benefit auctions manager’. I do not know what that is. When you’re only employed because of who you are, choose something poncey with plenty of downtime. Freelance jewellery consultant, fashion house PR ambassador, and trend curator all add value to society.

Write a children’s book

Mum filled her time with ‘Hugo the Helicopter’ and nobody cared. Children’s books are easy because they’re for kids and you can turn anything into a character. Just this morning, over breakfast, I had a fantastic idea for one called ‘Peter the Dirty Plate’.

Stay in the loop

You may be no Meghan Markle, but turn up at the weddings. They’ll take pictures of you and you’ll feel like a real royal. Plus there’s always loads of leftover food. Just don’t screw things up, I think we know who we’re talking about here, Dad?

Charity ‘work’

We royals are all over charities like flies on shit. Be realistic, accept you might not get the top gigs, and do your bit by wearing a gown and turning up to lunches for Save the Ecuadorian Wanking Monkey.

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How to bolt the stable door a year after the horse has f**ked off, by Boris Johnson

A YEAR after declaring Covid ‘a serious and imminent threat to public health’, the UK is closing borders to certain countries, a bit. 

Here’s how I, as prime minister, like to act well after the fact:

F**k about

Given that we’re an island nation we had a real opportunity to stop Covid reaching us. However, unlike New Zealand, Japan or Jamaica, we let people come and go willy nilly indefinitely then sat about scratching our heads wondering why things had spun out of control.

Fail at everything

It’s not my fault test and trace didn’t work, is it? I’m just the prime minister who didn’t ask for this and is doing his best. Who put Dido Harding in charge, despite her track record? Didn’t Operation Moonshot work? No? What even was that?


I said it would be over in 12 weeks. Then by Christmas. Then I cancelled Christmas but not completely, so there was one day to spread Covid freely. And now look where we are. But you’ll all definitely be having lovely summer holidays, promise.

Threaten prison

When you finally decide to pull your finger out of your arse and introduce quarantine for travellers, add a lunatic Tory crowd pleasing strategy, like mandatory ten-year prison sentences. Completely out of proportion to the crime but our voter want to bring back hanging, so it’s a consolation.

Still balls it up

We’ve created a ‘red list’ of countries that people have to quarantine upon return from. But do we know where the next mutant strain is coming from? Could be anywhere. Whatever happens, know that we will be too late.