Woman wishes she'd chosen post-nightclub kebab instead of one-night stand

A WOMAN was left disappointed when she opted to take a man home for a shag instead of ending her night with a doner kebab.

After waking up with a splitting headache, Lucy Parry wished she had found a half-eaten, meat-stuffed pitta in her bed, rather than an unattractive stranger.

Parry said: “I find clubbing atrocious now I’m in my 30s. The most enjoyable part of an evening out is having a chat with the guy behind the counter at Gangsta Wrap while eating some delicious shavings of worryingly low-quality lamb smothered in chilli sauce.

“A kebab is a much more fulfilling and wholesome experience than hooking up with a guy wearing too much aftershave for ten minutes of drunken pumping and an awkward conversation in the morning.

“Gazing hungrily at the tall, bronzed cylinder of meat as it seductively revolves is honestly more exciting to me than any Magic Mike-style hunk could ever be. And you never get those down Crackers in Cinderford anyway.

“Sadly I feel I can’t have a kebab for breakfast instead. I may have just spent the night with an ugly bloke I picked up in a nasty club, but I still have some standards.”

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Six insects that are in your house that can f**k off out of it

EVERYTHING’S great, apart from the insects that don’t understand the indoor-outdoor boundary and violate it. Like these pricks.

Big fly

Somehow was able to discern the difference between glass and open air well enough to enter the house, but now has no f**king idea so spends all day ramming into one particular corner of one particular window in the hope it will vanish. Then the same again tomorrow.


Quiet all day but when night falls you pop a light on and there the f**ker is, slamming noisily into it every two seconds. Apparently trying to navigate by the moon which is such a pathetic failure it makes you hate them even more.


Not a sign of them until there’s a minor spill of orange juice on a worktop that’s not wiped up, and immediately they’re f**king everywhere, marching around like your kitchen’s an open-cast mine and they’re tireless toilers. Their source is undetermined and they survive being crushed.

Small fly

Indiscernible until the resident is still, perhaps reading or watching telly, when it decides now is its time to shine by buzzing repeatedly around the face, as if trying to send a desperate message. Is told to f**k off, with lingering worries it may bite.

Daddy long-legs

Freaky twats who dance around your bathroom creating oversized shadows and shedding legs with gay abandon. The ratio of legs to body is deeply unpleasant anyway. Squash with your partner’s towel.


The big one. A signal for everyone in the house to panic like a class of over-stimulated schoolchildren, yelling and ducking and opening windows as if wasps can kill you. Remain gripped by terror until it is ushered out or squished. Talk about the incident at work next week as if you nearly died.