‘The text’s too small’ 

After several attempts to use a two-finger gesture to zoom in, you irritably decide that with all its densely-packed words in daunting paragraphs, lack of tabs and unwillingness even to impose a comforting pop-up, this book is refusing to meet you halfway. What are you meant to do, get your glasses? They’re all the way inside. F**k that.

‘Too many pages’ 

The comforting endless scroll of social media means you have no idea how much you’re reading, even when you’re an hour deep into a Reddit thread about Heated Rivalry ships. Books, on the other hand, can’t even be held without revealing an intimidating number of pages and exhausting you before you even start, so you don’t.

‘There’s no comment section’ 

When you come across a villain online there immediately follows a long comment section where hundreds agree on what a monumental arsehole they are. Bad guys in books require you to make your own judgement and then stick with it all the way to their eventual comeuppance. Justice is delayed too long when you’re ready to condemn now.

‘It’s too slow’ 

Page after page of description of some bloody Victorian workhouse. Can’t they just jump-cut between one paragraph and the next? Include explanatory captions? Couldn’t this be condensed down to a 15-second Instagram reel? What was Charles Dickens thinking, not pivoting to short-form video?

‘There’s no tits in it’ 

Social media these days has, like all other media, discovered the lowest common denominator and it’s boobs. Novels? You’ll struggle to find one which has an actual picture, even in medical textbooks. Compare that to any app. Even LinkedIn has tits these days.

Susan Traherne, percussionist: “Not sex. I wouldn’t have sex in my garden in full view of everybody. Just oral.”

Wayne Hayes, delivery driver: “Front garden: strimming in nothing but a thong. Back garden: not realising my balls hang within strimmer range once I’ve discarded my thong.”

Joe Turner, IT consultant: “Playing our regular weekly Dungeons & Dragons session. These people were not made to be seen by the sun, or God.”

Jo Kramer, GP: “It’s not so much regret doing as regret not doing for me, and I very much regret not going out to pick up a single one of my Great Dane’s shits since October.”

Tom Logan, web engineer: “Ignoring my wife and kids to spend 14 hours a day on my f**king phone, as usual.”

While talking to friends and acquaintances at social events, Martin Bishop has been insisting they are old fogies well past their prime like him – something that is clearly not true.

Nathan Muir said: “Martin and I were getting on fine in the pub. We agreed on a lot of things, like the state of the roads, how much we hate e-scooters and our dislike of loud teenagers on the bus. 

“I’d started telling him about how I did my back in jogging – jogging, which is what young people do – and he clearly said ‘Well, that’s what happens to people our age’. Where the f**k did that come from?

“Martin’s got grey hair and wears boring M&S shirts, whereas I wear trainers and like to think I am quite fashionable in a sort of ‘ageless’ way. I mean, yes, I have a few flecks of grey but that can happen in your 30s. Although I’m not in my 30s, I’m in my 50s, obviously. 

“So I’m not sure how he got this insane idea we’re in the same over-the-hill age bracket, just because he was in the year above me at school.”

Bishop said: “I distinctly remember Nathan from school, so he’s not much younger than me. Also I saw how big he has the text on his phone. It’s good to know he’s socially and sexually irrelevant too.”

Following consultation with bishops, the Anglican church has decreed onanism is fine for those who nobody wants to get off, but an offence in God’s sight for hotties.

Stephen Cottrell, Archbishop of York, said: “The diocese has met and we have decreed: it’s fine if you’re below a six out of ten. Or four and lower for women.

“Intense biblical study and private prayer revealed that God pities those who are both ugly and horny, and, because of the loneliness that will follow them through life, begrudges them not monkey spanking.

“But if, hypothetically, asking the truth of the Lord within your heart, there are others who could benefit from your orgasm God condemns your self-flagellation and will send you straight to the fiery pits of hell. Share your love around, as Christ did.

“For as Matthew 5:15 states, ‘Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’ He couldn’t have been clearer.”

Devout Christian Jordan Gardner said: “For years I feared the Almighty’s judgement, for I am at it six times a day. But I am absolved for being a steg. I knew God was cool.”

I USED to be the fashion editor for British Vogue, and now I’m a bricklayer and hod-carrier. Why? You already know the answer is money, don’t you? 

Yes, I walked away from a six-figure job to do something real and earthy for reasons I’d list as spiritual fulfilment and a need to abandon artifice, but actually comes down to ‘because I could afford to’. So useful having what I refer to as a ‘small private income’. 

It’s very much the same reason I left London for Somerset, which you may remember from a previous article. I claimed it was to ‘remove myself from the aspirational rat-race of Mulberry bags and matcha martinis’ but made £2.2 million selling my flat. 

I’m back in London now, of course – the Somerset place is being rented to a crypto-billionaire, more than covering the mortgage – but I’m not returning to my old job. No, not the Vogue one, the City one? 

From my classic piece ‘I walked away from a job in the City to become a chocolatier’? That didn’t mention my £865k pay-off until after my rapturous discovery that I needed purpose in my life, and had found it in organic raw cacao? 

Yes, well it turns out selling chocolate is a lot like being a common shopgirl. So I walked away from that, keeping only my substantial shareholding, and now I’m a bricklayer! I know, aren’t I remarkable? 

Not a real bricklayer, of course. That would be absurd. No, this is the point where I reveal I’ve retrained as an architect and I’m only bricklaying for a few days and a photoshoot! My actual salary is f**king telephone numbers. 

So why don’t you take inspiration from me and give up your boring job to do something you love? Because you’re worried you won’t have the money for rent or food? How boring and small of you. No wonder poor people never succeed. 

Actors like Timothée Chalamet and Ryan Gosling who are both physically fit and well-groomed are being blamed for new patterns of dysfunctional behaviour in men, such as stopping to sniff the shirt they found on the floor before putting it on.

Style consultant Charlotte Phelps said: “In the past men have relied on wealth or the fleeting burst of confidence that accompanies binge drinking in order to snare a mate.

“But the increasing prevalence of men who look fit and clean is changing the rules and making normal males uncomfortable with their natural, healthy nose hair, shit haircuts and pallid, distended bellies. Albeit not quite uncomfortable enough to do anything about it.”

Man Ryan Whittaker said: “Yesterday I noticed that every single pair of boxer shorts I own has a faded but clearly visible skidmark and thought, ‘that’s not very appealing’. Clearly I need to see a psychiatrist urgently about this obsessive cleanliness disorder I’ve developed.

“I’ve also become obsessed with having abs like Paul Mescal. So I’ve sort of drawn some on, using a black marker pen I found down the back of the sofa while looking for crisps.

“From a distance it looks quite convincing.”

‘Getting on the property ladder is easy if you do one thing: stop your wasteful spending. Because not eating 70p avocados is definitely how you raise the best part of 300 grand. 

‘It’s all about making sacrifices, and sadly too many young people today won’t do that. Luckily my parents brought me up to be careful with money. “Cut your coat according to your cloth,” is what my frugal corporate lawyer mum and hedge fund manager dad always told me. 

‘And so Josh and I devised a strict money-saving plan. Making meals at home instead of eating out. Buying items on discount and cutting out non-essentials. You’d be surprised how often you don’t need new headphones or a top, much like when I was a child and my parents said I didn’t need two ponies. 

‘We stopped wasting money on £4.50 lattes and a £12.99 Netflix subscription we barely watched. We both loved foreign holidays, but we agreed we’d tighten our belts and just stay in Josh’s parents’ villa in Gran Canaria. 

‘I’m a terrible clothesaholic, but you can get perfectly good outfits secondhand. “Can I have all those Jigsaw dresses you never wear, and actually those Jimmy Choos?” I asked my mum. A deal was struck, and I agreed to cook dinner that evening. 

‘But I think the hack that really helped us buy a house was checking our finances daily. If there was money owed on my credit card, I’d immediately say “Daddy, can you pay my card off for me again?” That way I avoided paying interest completely.

‘And now, after taking control of our spending and some careful budgeting, we own our home, and my parents are delighted. “Pay back the £285,000 any time,” they said.’

The passengers

You’re trapped with them. Vacuous, boring bastards in pink polo shirts with wives in their 50s made up to be in their 20s. There’s no escaping the twat who’s immensely proud of setting up the most successful tyre supply business in East Renfrewshire, not on this trip, and keelhauling is sadly outlawed.

The food 

Food is included in the price, or the permanent buffet of shite in the prison-like canteen is. They make it as tasteless as possible to drive you to pay for meals in the very costly restaurants. And if you want a drink? You’ll be ordering it from the barman on every single occasion you need liquid. Yes, there will be a queue.

The entertainment

No entertainer worthy of the name would sign up for three months in a windowless cabin at sea. Plenty of entertainers not worthy of the name will. Given an audience of tossers who believe an Elvis impersonator who can instantly switch to Robbie Williams is astonishing, they will pander to them. Night after night. And you’ll be there because that’s where the gin is.

Seasickness

Seas get rough, and once your lavishly-appointed ship runs into a storm and begins lurching around like a drunken hippo with labyrinthitis everyone will be throwing up. You’ll be confined to your cabin and timing vomiting to when the toilet isn’t slopping water all over the bathroom floor you’re kneeling on.

Viruses

And that’s when the metal container you’re locked in with thousands of strangers doesn’t become an incubator for an exciting new virus, keen to work its magic in this petridish with hot tubs and a climbing wall. All while many, many nautical miles from the nearest hospital. You begin to realise why ghost ships were such a frequent phenomenon.

The stops on land

After what feels like months trapped at sea but has actually been three days, you get the chance to escape. Bliss. Three hours in the most touristy harbours the world has to offer, where every shop is geared to selling you expensive jewellery you won’t notice the flaws of until you’re back on board your floating prison with that twat from the tyre business again.

Dad-of-two Joe Turner woke up, saw the sun streaming in, knew immediately what would be the best use of his and his family’s Saturday and went about making that dream a reality.

He said: “I’ve needed that housing for a month now, but the time just never felt right. But I think today’s the day.

“The kids didn’t have any specific plans – just stuff like ‘play out with my mates’ – so I piled them into the car and we drove 40 minutes to the dodgy bit of town and visited a back-alley warehouse called John’s Spares and Replacements.

“I wanted them to be safe, so I locked the car and turned off the air-con. They’ve got phones, though I found out later they hadn’t brought them. Still, it only took John 35 minutes to find he hadn’t got the one I needed.

“Then a mere two scrapyard visits where they churlishly refused to play with the snarling, chained Rottweilers, then home. At which point they ruined a lovely day by moaning to their mother.”

Son Jack said: “I asked if we could go to the park, and he remembered he was low on lawnmower blades, put us back into the car and went to Screwfix where he was gone for almost an hour.

“Bless him, he loves Screwfix.”

After 30-year-old Hannah Tomlinson lost two stones, her friends gathered to discuss the best ways to fatten her up and restore the natural order.

Friend Nikki Hollis said: “We can’t have Hannah skinny, it destroys the feng shui of the group. The order of attractiveness is all wrong now so I said we should say ‘don’t get too skinny’ and hint she’s anorexic, but Sophie thinks she’ll see through that. 

“Ellie suggested that we keep saying men prefer curves, but then we all burst out laughing because that’s bollocks and Hannah’s miserable dating record proves it. 

“So we’ve developed a re-chunkification rota. I’m on spontaneous pastries sent to her home, Ellie’s sending her Instagram food reels and Jess is in charge of pretending she’s ordered too much and asking Hannah to help her eat it. It’s a group operation.

“It won’t be easy. Hannah’s saying she has more energy and men keep approaching her, which is deeply unsettling for all of us. She can’t become one of the hot ones without a full committee review beforehand. 

“The selfish bitch never even consulted us, so we’ll have to say how much more tired and wrinkly she is and reminisce about how fun she was when she ate like a pig.

“And if our psy-op doesn’t work? Abandon subtlety. We’ll tie her up and force-feed her sausage rolls. If she’s happier, great. But she has to be happier in a way that doesn’t make the rest of us look like ‘before’ photos.”

The cancellation of thousands of flights means Britons will be condemned to staycations in establishments where the first rule is you are unwelcome and all the other rules require you to leave.

Mary Fisher, aged 62, who runs a boarding house in Cleethorpes as a way of exacting vengeance on the world, said: “All residents have to be out between 11am and 5pm so we can clean. We won’t.

“Fresh towels? You’re not in Malaga now. And that mattress is as good as when we bought it in 1978. If you’ve damaged the springs you’ll be charged.

“You’re not the primary focus of my loathing, don’t think you’re special. That’s my husband who’s also the chef and will be taking out a lifetime of rancour out on you via your cooked full English. Choke it all down or we’ll comment.

“No wet things in the house. I don’t care if you’ve just spent six hours huddled in a shelter on the prom during an electrical storm, that’s not my problem. The library was open.”

Work and pensions secretary Pat McFadden said: “We stand on the cusp of a golden age of productivity. With holidays like this, people will be overjoyed to get back to work.”

Big cuddly teddy bear Joseph Turner loves giving hugs instead of handshakes because it brings women in closer contact with his genitals.

Joe explained: “I don’t understand why so many men don’t embrace their warm, caring side. It makes you seem loveable and kind and women press their breasts against you without asking to be paid for it.

“Whether an old friend, a colleague, or a colleague’s friend I’ve never met before, I’m always going in for a big hug. People assume it’s because I’m a big softy, but, believe me, it’s because I’m hard.”

Longtime friend and victim of Turner’s displays of affection Mary Fisher said: “He’s such an affectionate guy, and nobody holds a hug for eight seconds just for fleeting, through-four-layers boob-on-belly contact, do they? Except he does.

“The flat-chested and plain are oddly exempted from Joe telling them to ‘bring it in’. Meanwhile Alex’s new ridiculously top-heavy girlfriend got the full uncomfortable embrace.

“Though I have to admit I stole his trick and did the same. Well I wanted to feel if they were real.”

The decline of Hell as a major financial power means the original Prince of Darkness no longer sports an expensive wardrobe, mostly turning to Primark or H&M for his essentials.

He sighed: “You have to remember, the last film came out in 2006, pre-credit crunch. I was no sooner getting my infernal paycheck than I was blowing it all on Chanel and Louis Vuitton. The film’s title was entirely accurate.

“But two decades of economic turmoil later on? After austerity, Brexit, Trump, bloody Covid? My days of swinging by Alexander McQueen are long gone. It’s all I can do to keep myself shod.

“We’re all tightening our belts, even in the abyss. I’ve had to take a pay cut to keep the demonic horde happy. I can’t be swanning into meetings in box-fresh Balenciaga. It’s Matalan, Shoe Zone and Sports Direct, which has multiple branches down here.

“But the upcoming death toll we’re forecasting for humanity’s Q4 will really boost our turnover and I’m hoping to attract the big names to set up down here. Then maybe I’ll be able to get these cloven hoofs in Louboutins again.

“For now? I’m in Primark underpants. Honestly, I’ve had thicker and more durable loo roll.”

I’M not exaggerating when I say a pint of Guinness cheered me right up and made the opposite sex appear more attractive. And you can buy one at pretty much every pub in any town.

I’ve tried every supplement and vitamin on the market, and none of them compare to 568ml of what users call ‘the black stuff’. It’s easy enough to order over the counter, and you can even treat yourself to a delicious packet of crisps at the same time.

The taste can be overwhelming on the first sip, but stick with it. By the time you’re halfway through you’ll start to feel its miraculous, feel-good hops coursing through your body. ‘The NHS should prescribe this for anxiety,’ you’ll think to yourself.

If you’re anything like me, you’ll have downed your pint before you realise it. But don’t worry. The positive wellbeing effects of Guinness are cumulative, which means the more you drink, the better you feel. Sounds too good to be true but it’s scientific fact.

For my research I necked 12 pints and I felt incredible. All of my money worries and personal troubles melted away for the first time in months. I was so happy I was dancing on the table and snogging complete strangers, whereas usually I’m something of a wallflower.

The rest of the night escapes me, but from the memories I can piece together I staggered through town sporting a traffic cone on my head and purged a kebab from my system onto the pavement. Neither of which I would have felt confident enough to do without Guinness.

Full transparency: in my experience Guinness can induce vomiting and nausea the next day, and start an addiction spiral that will ruin your life. Other than that though it’s a consequence-free ticket to a better life, just like Ozempic. Cheers!

While newspapers proclaim big busts have fallen out of fashion, the owners of big busts are still stared at in case their big busts fall out of whatever they are wearing.

Joanna Kramer, 36E, said: “About two years since Sydney Sweeney gave them their moment in the sun, then. Seems fair for a body part millions of women have and aren’t inclined to change.

“Unfortunately, the word about big tits being as outdated as skinny jeans hasn’t hit the streets, where they appear to still be the centre of f**king attention when the sun’s out. I should give those builders a copy of Italian Vogue so they can stop embarrassing themselves.

“I guess now every man on Tinder will declare himself boldly anti-fashion and that he’d love to put his head between them, getting so excited at the idea he follows it up with a dick pic. What daring iconoclasts. I should reward them.

“We already knew you didn’t like tits, gay men who design fashion. We knew because you wouldn’t lower yourselves to make us tops that fit them.”

Fashion journalist Francesca Johnson said: “It’s actress Margaret Qualley I feel sorry for. She’s just had a boob job and now they’re over! She must feel such an idiot!”

The King’s Arms in Nantwich recognised a few years ago that it could be providing more for its clientele of bearded CAMRA members, and has made shirts available in all sizes from XL to XXXXL.

Landlord Bill McKay said: “Times are tough in the hospitality industry. Pubs are closing all the time. We realised that to stay competitive we needed to go the extra mile, like mopping the toilet floor or welcoming strangers.

“But since we weren’t prepared to do that, I got creative. And through careful market research of our regulars we noticed that basically all of them wear the same grotty T-shirt with a skeleton on it doing stuff.

“We already knew they didn’t wash, so what if they didn’t need to change their clothes? From there it was a simple matter of buying a few barrels wholesale and hooking up the line.

“We’ve got Powerslave, Senjutsu, and No Prayer For The Dying is especially popular right now. Get one on and get ten pints down you, and you’ll fit right in.”

Regular Olly O’Connor said: “I don’t have to go home now. Spill a 12.6 per cent ABV stout down me, and I just order a new one when Dave goes to the bar. Actually mate, could you get us a Discworld book while you’re there? They’re on tap.”

Televisual

The days of Dad entering the room, commandeering the remote and putting Middlesbrough-Watford on are gone. Unfathomably, no-one else in the household cares who’ll reach the play-off. Instead everyone’s binging the classic 2019 Love Island with Molly-Mae and Tommy Fury, and you can watch the game on your phone if you like.

Receiving deliveries

Nobody else can hear the knocks at the door, so it’s your job to collect eight Evri boxes from Vinted, Depop and Boohoo each day. Never dare question if Lucy really needs a 15th pair of jeans or how much this bloody face cream costs will unite the whole family against you. Meanwhile all your hip-hop 12-inches have been moved to the garage.

Bathroom access

To get 90 seconds in the bathroom to urinate, brush your teeth, wash your face and leave still wet requires hours of alertness and bargaining while women work in shifts to stop you. Make-up application, eye and night cream application, brushing hair, facemasks, plucking, steaming, and defecation all must take place. You shower at 5.45am or not at all.

Continual bitching

There are so many people you’ve never met you’re meant to hate. Sarah at hot yoga is a cow. Holly at college is a spiteful slag. The Spanish teacher is a fat whore. And somehow you’re meant to be interested, and remember them, and you’re castigated when you don’t. Then you call your mother and hear about everyone she hates that you don’t know.

Being disgusting

When you fart, burp, eat, scratch, yawn, sneeze, sweat or swear you’re disgusting. ‘Dad stinks’ is a frequently heard phrase. And the thing is, they’re sort of right: they are all lovely and fragrant and cleansed and you are the one drunk watching Trailer Park Boys in your underpants.

Synchronised periods

One week in four, it gets even worse. During that week, even if you became silent, incorporeal and invisible, you’d still get on every member of your household’s tits. This is why man invented the shed and hid beer in there.

No Iranians

Can’t get on the golf course? Because Iranians have taken the best tee times. Waiting an hour in line to scream in the face of a Berenstain Guard? All the Iranians are ahead of you. That won’t happen this summer, because I’ve closed the Strait of Hormuz so they can’t leave. The sun loungers on Blackpool beach will be yours to bake on.

No Europeans

I hate Europeans, which is to say Muslims because Islam has taken over the entire continent with the white race hiding in the woods. But good news is they won’t be able to fly just like you can’t because oil’s gone up which is great for the US and great for you. And we can send Tommy Robinson back, I don’t want to meet him, he’s low class.

No tanning

I myself, owning beachfront property with a lease on the same in Gaza, am always naturally bronzed and my eyes are naturally white. But that’s Trump’s thing. You can’t be be tan so a holiday in the UK where the sun hides is perfect for you to remain white, the best colour, the greatest colour for you.

No ice cream

No oil means no generators means no ice cream, which is fantastic because all the ice-cream’s for me. I have two scoops. Aides tell me ice-cream isn’t like gold and there isn’t a limited supply of it, I don’t listen. Anyway it’s great because now you won’t drop your ice-cream and cry and vow vengeance on everyone, which happened to me aged seven.

You are permitted to gaze at America

Lucky you, because if you go to the West coast of your loser country with no Navy, you may gaze upon the magnificence of the US. You can see the gold glint of Trump Tower from across the Atlantic, and there’s currently no fee for doing so. You’ll never get there. The Titanic sank, just like I warned everybody beforehand that it would.

I will give your King some corn

King Charles, great personal friend of mine, we like each other a lot, is coming to visit me next week. And to show there’s no hard feelings from you cowards not standing up to tyranny I’m giving him ten tonnes of American corn to distribute. You guys don’t have corn because it’s ours, but you’ll like it a lot. One kernel each, Christians only.

Tom Booker’s ideal vision of adulthood is to be an age where he has zero responsibilities during a time where all his favourite musicians were releasing their best work and the economy was not totally knackered.

He said: “Forget having a successful career and a lovely wife. I’d much prefer to play GoldenEye 007 on the N64 all day and not have to work.

“I’m not being naive or unambitious. Who wouldn’t want to have their whole life ahead of them in an era that academics frequently refer to as a ‘holiday from history’? Plus I could buy loads of Apple and Amazon shares for f**k all.

“There’s no reason for me to want to be in my mid-40s in the current climate. Pop culture is increasingly alienating to me, and my lower back pains are only going to get worse. Every way you slice it, being 17 in 1998 sounds better.”

He added: “Imagine being able to watch England fumble the World Cup live then listening to the shitty new Catatonia record. Magic.”

Frisbee

Friends tossing a frisbee to each other is an iconic summer image. Only no one can enjoy the park because their erratic hurling and mindless labrador-like chasing puts park space off-limits unless you want to be trampled or twatted by an out-of-control Tupperware saucer. If you want to throw something, try yourselves into the boating lake.

Picnic rug

You’ve seen a nice spot of grass to sit on, but an extended family of professional picnickers suddenly spreads out the Bayeux Tapestry of rugs for an extravagant open-air banquet. With hampers, cool boxes, folding furniture and a gazebo encircling the feast, half an acre of parkland has been annexed. Why not plant a f**king flag and claim sovereignty, your majesties?

Disposable barbecue

On a nice day it’s refreshing to inhale the warm invigorating air, unless a crew of carnivores plant their stinking foil fire-pit next to you. Soon everyone nearby will be driven away by the stench of smoke, grease and charred, minced pig bollocks. And the only way to remove the odour is rubbing yourselves down with the Magic Tree from the car.

Sporting equipment

The easiest way for bastards to ringfence parkland for their own selfish needs is to hoof a football around. As makeshift goalposts are put in place, parkgoers will automatically begin protecting open cans, bottles and children. This also works with rounders, cricket and the magic-free version of Quidditch Harry Potter fans have invented, because when you’re into children’s books aged 35 presumably you are beyond embarrassment.

Kite

As well as being fun until you get sick of relaunching the damn thing every 30 seconds, a kite has the bonus of attracting attention to yourself as other people stare nervously in anticipation of being divebombed by a huge cellophane flying-V or a picture of the Hulk on massive struts. Delightful in theory, in practice a more effective people-scatterer than a Stuka. 

Anything from the middle aisle

Many twatty middle-aisle toys help bastards carve out a large slice of ego territory. Remote-control cars, water blasters, boomerangs and drones are particularly suitable for making others lose enjoyment of the park. Although the most effective tactic is still parading into green space with multiple special-offer boxes of Stella Artois and Bluetooth speakers, soon to be followed by frequently wandering off to piss nearby. Job done.