The six kinds of cosmetic surgery you can get botched in Turkey

HAVE all your friends returned from Turkey with chronic conditions after botched operations, and you’re jealous? Pop over for one of these procedures: 

Hair transplant, £1,599

Concerned about your thinning hair? Worried that women, especially those of the 21-35 category who can afford to be picky, will reject you? How much more confident will you feel when your scalp’s polka-dotted with scars and boasting multiple cysts? Also your hairline’s uneven because the surgeon’s dog jogged his arm when he was drawing it.

Brazilian butt-lift, £2,399

Life without that big ass that became fashionable in the last 15 years is barely life at all. Dreaming of being able to knock over vases with your bulbous butt, you book in for the flight, joking you’ll need two seats for the journey home. In fact you can’t sit down because it’s horribly septic. Six weeks in an good old-fashioned British hospital having pus drained and it’s back to flat.

Tummy tuck, £2,499

Overweight, but the GP won’t give you Ozempic because you haven’t yet got Type 2 diabetes despite a lifetime of trying? The only way to get a more flattering silhouette without lifting a finger is to turn to Turkey, the surgery paradise, even though you voted Brexit in fear Turkey might join the EU. This decision goes as well as that one did.

Labiaplasty, £1,999

If you believe your labia are in a state only a scalpel can fix nobody’s going to argue with you, much less ask for a look. But do you really trust Istanbul to do right down there? If they make your apparently dire labial situation even worse, will you fly back and complain?

Veneers, £1,950

When you need the dazzling lemon-fresh piano-key look and can’t afford fancy British dentists, with their money-grubbing focus on ‘aftercare’ and ‘sterilising equipment’, then fly free. You’ll certainly come home with a whole lot of shit glued to your teeth. They will not let you down in that regard.

Penis enlargement, price on enquiry

Ah, the ultimate dream. Swaggering onto that Ryanair home with a good extra couple of kilos in your hand luggage. The proud stamp of ‘Made in Marmaris’ at the base of your clublike member. Stories of this op being botched never appear in the tabloids, because the men who’ve lost their cocks to vanity never speak to anyone ever again.

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Smug child-free couple on term-time break beset by thousands of screaming toddlers

A CHILD-FREE couple planning an adult, sophisticated term-time break had forgotten their plane and resort would be deluged with screaming under-fives.

Ryan Whittaker and Nikki Hollis, who each enjoyed a Bellini in the airport bar, boarded their flight to Crete only to find a baby in every row and the three-year-olds in full voice before it even took off.

Nikki said: “I thought going now would guarantee tranquility. It slipped my mind they don’t go to school straight from birth. Ugh.

“The back of my seat was kicked for four hours, then we arrived at our hotel and the bus unloaded the lot: the 32-year-old parents who look 50, their sticky toddlers, their shrieking little grubs in nappies, all of them. Apparently our accommodation is ‘family friendly’.

“In the brochure, the infinity pool looked serene. In reality it’s packed with nasty little floaters in rubber rings and swim nappies, which incidentally do not do their promised job. There are faecal slicks.

“Do these parents have no consideration for others? Why can’t they take the grubby, snotty-nosed, squawking, tantrum-throwing little pre-school bastards during holidays?

“We can’t even talk to any of the adults. One couple, hollow-eyed, staggering, each holding a passed-out twin, seemed to be approaching us for a possible threesome. It turned out they were just hoping we could babysit.”