Dildos, and six other items there's no resale market for

NO matter how eco-conscious and sustainable you’re trying to be, some items’ destiny is landfill: 


Just because it was woefully expensive doesn’t mean anyone else wants it. The springs are fine but the memoryfoam remembers your specific unattractive shape and it’s coated in a decade’s worth of semen, secretions and failed relationships.


There shouldn’t be any question marks hanging over the background of anything that you’re going to be sticking into your vagina. Don’t be wooed by the incredibly reasonable deals you’ll see eBay. There are some things it’s better not to have pre-loved.


Mouths are absolutely disgusting; all that spit, food and teeth. Even the mouths of people that you know and love, when you think about them properly. Anything that’s spent its life being shoved around a stranger’s mouth should be avoided at all costs. Even if it’s an electric toothbrush and you can buy new heads: see entry for dildos above.


Even though you threw away a couple of hundred quid on what amounts to a skin-tight gimp suit during that blissful period between the Guardian discovering wild swimming and the Tories filling the sea with shit, nobody’s going to want it. Everyone knows you pissed in it.


A used plunger is forever tainted with the unblockings it serves in. Technically bathing it in bleach makes it as good as new, but it can never forget what it has done. What it has seen.


Realistically dentures only come on the market when their owner has died. If you’re of a mind to save a few quid by picking up used dentures, rather than splashing out on some fresh ones that have never spent time in the mouth of a corpse, you already know you’re wrong. Seek help.


An item whose sole raison d’etre is to protect other clothing from the ravages of your groin and anus does not get a second chance in life. Unless you’re an OnlyFans model with a sideline nobody wants your used scuds. Burn them.

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Greetings from… the Port of Dover

HELLO! We’re having a blast here in the static queue to the Port of Dover. Wish you were here!

I’m writing to you from the gridlocked traffic patiently waiting on the A2 Jubilee Way, where lines of cars and coaches stretch for as far as the eye can see. It’s a truly breathtaking panorama that’s as impressive as they make it sound on the news.

This place has got it all, except toilets, food, and all the sights and sounds of the actual holiday I’d booked. Not to worry though, we all make do by relieving ourselves on the side of the road or in a plastic bottle. It certainly beats camping!

We’ve met all sorts of interesting people. There’s a real mix of classes, from children from private schools on cancelled ski trips to Romanian HGV drivers saying ‘No more Britain jobs. Ever’ while giving us a cheerful thumbs-up. How lucky are we?

I’m not usually one to thank the French, but you’ve got to hand it to them. If they were checking passports more efficiently – which I’m assured is the sole reason for the delays – we would have been robbed of this once in a lifetime 17-hour tailback.

Anyway, must dash. The car in front has lurched forwards half an inch and if I don’t catch up then hundreds of motorists behind me will instantly lose their shit. It’s such fun! I’m definitely coming back next year.