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Pillow fights in frilly nightgowns: what happens on a girls' night by Roy Hobbs, aged 59

RETIRED rail porter Roy Hobbs knows exactly what happens on these so-called girls’ nights, and it’s not just Netflix and ‘a chat about work’. He exposes the truth: 

As a man of the world who used to pick-up part-time work shifting crates of beer until some bastard tipped off the social and I lost my disability living allowance, I’ve seen it all.

What women get up to when they’ve been on the chardonnay is no mystery to me. I’ve even written it down in a special notebook, with a few pencil crayon sketches.

Pillow fights in frilly nighties

You’ve seen it in internet videos and it’s true. Within 20 minutes of their first pink gin, women spontaneously change into lacy nighties, giggle uncontrollably and start whacking each other with feather pillows. The night dresses are colour coded – pink for the shy one, black for the mysterious one and white for the one I deem suitable for marriage.

Gifting each other lingerie

Women buy each other skimpy lingerie as gifts for Christmas, birthdays and the end of the tax year. And because they’re insecure, they try it on before the rest of the group. Sometimes the lingerie is a bit tight and boobies spontaneously pop out or one might need to help with another’s bra strap, or stockings or whatever.

Discussions of sexual techniques

After a few Cosmopolitans, women discuss their sex lives without inhibition. Usually a bold one – I’m calling her ‘Sophie’ because I found her on Instagram – will suggest with a giggle that there are alternatives to brutish men and she’d be delighted to demonstrate. She also tells a long story about the extra-curricular education she received at boarding school.

Dare each other to kiss a man

Once they’re frisky, they begin the sambuca shots and the dares. It’s usually to kiss a particular kind of man – hunk, nerd, that bloke out the back of the smoking area moving the kegs. Tale as old as time. They descend on their hapless victim, shrieking, and he doesn’t escape without a kiss from the hottest one. And more besides.

Wrestling naked in jelly

By this time they’re wrecked, giggly and get jealous, especially when two fancy the same male. To resolve this, instead of a fight in the car park they inflate a paddling pool, fill it with jelly – only takes a few sachets and they’ve got big handbags – and bikini wrestle. I remind prospective participants that I have Sunday league refereeing experience and a camcorder as an alternative to VAR.

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'I stopped being a fat bastard': My gripping Mounjaro story, by every newspaper

By Martin Bishop, formerly the most obese man in the newsroom

YOU will not believe what happened when I took a popular weight-loss drug noted for its effectiveness and the vast body of clinical evidence proving it aids weight loss!

But before this exciting reveal, let me explain my situation. I was 19 stone and it was ruining my life. I avoided social situations, wore only shapeless, baggy clothes, and drank heavily while eating family bags of crisps every night.

I finally realised I had to act when I walked into a room and someone called out: ‘Harpoons ready lads, thar she blows!’ Mind you, that was in 2008 so fair enough, it’s taken me a while.

I’d heard about a new weight loss drug so I went to the chemist and paid £205 for a month’s supply of Mounjaro. ‘That’s not cheap, but the editor’s told me I can expense it,’ I thought to myself, in another dramatic chapter to my story.

After my first injection, you’ll never guess what happened: an appetite suppressant made me not feel hungry. My usual dinner of extra-large doner with chips, three pieces of chicken and six spring rolls sat there untouched. What was going on?

Then something even more incredible happened. After barely two months of eating much, much less, my face was distinctly less pudgy. And my belly, though still large, had noticeably shrunk. And each pound I’d shed had required really very little willpower at all.

Now, just 18 months later, I’m down to a svelte 14 stone. Things I’d never dreamed of doing before are a reality – wearing XXL joggers, remaining standing while the kettle boils, confidently approaching a woman in the pub if she’s is not too attractive.

I can only thank Eli Lilly for turning my life around, and I hope you found my story inspirational. You’d better have, because there’s a lot of fat journalists out here and the media is going to make sure you hear about every last one.

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