Middle-class family struggling to outdo themselves

AN extremely middle-class family are struggling to outdo themselves with ostentatious displays of middle-classness. 

The Booker family, who last weekend went guerilla bulb-planting around their local community, cannot imagine what they can do to go even further up their own smug arses this weekend.

Trudy Booker said: “Ballet we’ve done. Graffiti art workshop we did last year. It’s not the season for picking gooseberries and there’s no screening of Jules et Jim at the local arthouse cinema. I’m at my wits’ end.

“The kids make their own gnocchi, Tom’s a part-time acupuncturist, I’m on the doorstops canvassing for Change UK. We simply can’t become any more sanctimonious. We’ve hit our limit.

“I watch the children at night playing their bassoons, learning their Portuguese, guzzling their wasabi peas, and it makes me so sad. Why does the Richard Curtis film of our lives have to end?”

Tom said: “We’ll have to take them to a museum or art gallery or something, with the ordinaries who probably won’t even know we’re better than them.

“Wait, there’s alpaca trekking just a two-hour Range Rover drive away? We’re saved! At least for this weekend.”

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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.