Six ways to f**k up greeting someone with a kiss

GREETING someone can be an awkward affair, particularly if the process involves kissing. Here are six ways to f**k it up.

Choose the wrong location

Generally the cheek is the preferred place for a breezy hello kiss, but there are regional variations. For example, if greeting a French person, it’s both cheeks; a dry stone waller from Barnsley, neither. Planting a patronising smacker on the forehead will not impress a potential employer, and tender kisses up the neck will get you punched by anyone.

Be too over the top

You aren’t a 1930s theatre impressario meeting a new musical hall act, you’re an IT manager who has just bumped into a friend in Morrisons. There’s no need to air-kiss on both cheeks, loudly proclaiming ‘Mwah!’ each time. Well, you can if you want, but everyone else at the cheese counter will think you’re a twat.

Have a full mouth

Nobody wants to see a gob full of tuna melt panini heading their way, or the product of overactive salivary glands webbing the corners of a moist mouth, so make sure yours is clean and empty. And if you feel a burp arising from last night’s takeaway, turn away and excuse yourself, rather than offending someone with a hideous kebab kiss.

Say something stupid

If committing to a kiss never say something like ‘Brace yourself’ or ‘No tongues!’. And post-kiss you should not make comments about make-up application expertise or lack thereof, hair grooming or body odour. In fact, don’t say anything at all, as it will just made an already awkward situation worse.

Pull out at the last second

An effective way to cause offence would be to engage in a kiss and then pull out, wearing a scowl. Suggesting the person you’re greeting is in some way not worthy of your kiss would be worse than getting the kiss wrong. Be classy and see it through, even if their beard hasn’t been washed for months and there’s a spider living in it.

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Dear 1922 Committee, I bet you weren't expecting to hear from me so soon

Dear 1922 Committee, I know! I wasn’t thinking I’d be back in touch with you so soon either. Sadly, it’s not good news.

I’m afraid it’s about the new prime minister. The one that only got elected at the beginning of this month. It seems that her critics were right when they said she was a f**king nutter.

I didn’t vote for her, I admit – Rishi gave me a spare Bentley – but I didn’t think she could possibly be as crackers as everyone was making out. After all she’s been in cabinet eight years and done jack-shit.

Little mousy woman, awkward public speaker, safe pair of hands, I thought. But it turns out my miscalculation was roughly on the level of Hindenburg appointing Hitler.

We’re not even through September and the pound’s being gangbanged on the international markets, affordable mortgages are more tightly controlled than crack cocaine, and Labour are so far ahead I can’t even see Angela Rayner’s VPL.

I know it will make the Conservatives look like a load of useless f**k-ups if we ditch another leader. I know we’ll lose the next election. Whatever. Compared to Truss, useless f**k-up losers looks pretty damn good.

The Tories are doomed, but we’ve been doomed before. We can make it back. But after two years of Truss there’ll be no Britain to come back to. We’ll be lucky to hold onto Wales.

Please consider this my letter of no confidence, though represented mathematically my confidence is a large negative number constantly adding digits.

Yours, a backbench MP albeit not for much longer.