Which fire pit knobhead are you?

THE new cool place to be at a party is at the fire pit, watching the glowing coals and assigning yourself a key role in their upkeep. But what fire pit twat are you? 


Not cooking? Show off how alpha you are by whacking a big log on whenever nobody’s looking, snuffing all the flames until someone gets the bellows out. Then do it again.


Ever cooked on a barbecue and said to yourself ‘Man, I wish this was at knee-level’? Your prayers are answered. Curating a large collection of celebrity hot sauces stops guests ever realising quite how bad you are at this.


Fire pits are dangerous and nobody else has realised this, so it falls to you to repeat ‘Keep away kids, you could burn yourself’ to everyone under-16 who approaches. By complete coincidence this creates a child-free zone in which you can happily booze all day.


Vegetarian, or even worse? Permanently occupy one corner of the pit toasting marshmallows, never getting the perfect combination of gooey and brown before they fall into the flames and make everyone’s burgers taste like Flumps.


You sit directly in the path of the smoke because it smells bloody lovely. You’ll going to wear that hoodie for weeks because it reminds you of simpler times, caveman times, like before the smoking ban came in.

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Londoners spend every weekend pretending to live in different bit of London

A LONDON couple spend all their weekends claiming to live in a nearby but better part of London, their friends have confirmed. 

Tom and Sophie Logan officially live on a shithole road above a nail bar in Balham but according to their conversations, shopping habits and pubgoing live just over a mile away in Putney.

Friend Susan Traherne said: “I was furious when I realised they were no distance from Balham tube station. They’ve had me going to Putney every fucking time.

“They meet you in Putney, they take you around Putney with easy familiarity and Mr Benn jokes, they get you pissed in Putney then suddenly an Uber whisks you to an undisclosed location.

“Then in the morning you walk two miles to their ‘local’ baker, who does seem to recognise them, for pastries before they go to pick up a few things at Putney market like it’s handy to do so.

“The irony is I’d love to live in Balham but I can’t afford it. I have to live in Wood Green. Well, I think of it as Crouch End.”