Middle-class family resentfully install pizza oven they're now required to have

A MIDDLE-CLASS family are fuming about the top-of-the-range pizza oven, complete with brick surround, that they are currently having built in their garden.

The Logans have already paid over-the-odds for a large treehouse their children rarely use, a water feature that attracts rats, and a garden office pod too cold to be used nine months of the year.

Solicitor Tom Logan said: “Look at the f**king thing. Two grand that cost. And we’ll have to be out here cooking pizzas all bloody summer, too.

“Just because we drive an SUV and are proud MyWaitrose card carriers, there’s now this ridiculous expectation that we knead our own dough and have friends over for authentic pizza in our own bastard garden. Arseing hell.

“The bricklayer is dicking around royally with intricate patterns so we can one-up our friends and now he’s saying he wants to showcase the finished thing on his website. I can’t believe how hard our lives are.

“Christ, I’ll be here banking a fire for pizza while my builder neighbour relaxes in his hot tub, not even changing out of his trunks to collect their Domino’s order. It’s f**king shit being middle-class.”

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A batshit mental Daily Mail article from the point of view of the First Baby, Wilf Johnson

GOOD morning, I’m national engine of hatred the Daily Mail, and today I’ll be wearing the mask of Boris Johnson’s one-year-old son Wilf. Isn’t that disturbingly adorable? 

While newspapers legally can’t publish photos of my face, they can certainly turn me into a creepy little ventriloquist doll whose views align suspiciously with the far-right. What fun to imagine what my toddler brain thinks about matters of grave political import!

Mummy did up the house with special pocket money

Mater and Pater, to use Daddy’s native Latin, work hard but they’re terribly poor because of all the other bouncing blonde babies he’s cruelly obliged to support. When I was born this house was full of icky John Lewis furniture made of rusty nails and cheap plywood.

Luckily, we were blessed by a special kind of angel called a ‘Tory Donor’ and now our house is perfect for a little innocent like me who hates wokeness and loves our troops.

Daddy won the war against the big virus

When I was born Daddy had a big nasty cough called ‘coronavirus’, which he got for being stupid. Ever since he’s been battling that virus as our champion, and I know he’ll win because he’s so brave and handsome like a knight from one of my picture books.

A horrible Delta variant that no-one could have predicted came along and scuppered his Mandela-like Road to Freedom, but it won’t stop Britain! Also we need a bonfire of red tape, and by that I mean employment rights.

Mummy and Daddy got married

Like all babies, I can’t go to sleep without the soothing sound of my parents squabbling about him spilling red wine on her laptop. But they were so clever, having their secret wedding just after Mummy was accused of derailing a national crisis response because she was angry about her dog’s reputation, and just before the G7.

As Daddy said, ‘at least he’s a bloody distraction from world leaders queueing up to shaft me’. I love the Cornish beaches, and the people of the UK have demanded devolution be reversed and all powers returned to Westminster! From the mouths of journalists pretending to be Tory babies, eh?