'Go on, it's Christmas!' says woman treating herself to affair

A WOMAN is indulging in an extra-marital affair on the grounds that it is the festive season and she has had a hard year.

Donna Sheridan, aged 41, had a few drinks, covertly dowloaded Tinder and started swiping with the same gleeful abandon usually reserved for eating four mince pies in a row.

She said: “I know, I made a vow to love and honour my husband til death do us part. But I deserve this! It’s Christmas!

“I’ve been faithful all year, visited his family, faked orgasms, so now the tree’s up and the lights are on it’d be rude not to have a cheeky little liaison with a stranger in the Donington Park Travelodge.

“Christmas is a time for indulgence but I’m not a chocolates person, which is why I’ve got the MILF figure the lads are craving. So I’m allowed a few cheat days. Once we hit January I’ll go right back to being a one-dick woman.

“Anyway, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone, except for everyone who’s close to me and loves me.”

Sheridan’s husband Tom said: “Bless Donna, she’s so restrained even when she’s spoiling herself. I’ve been on the darkroom chemsex since mid-November.”

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Without a James Bond, a Doctor Who, Strictly presenters and a prime minister, Britain is defenceless

By Dr Helen Archer, professional catastrophist

OUR national institutions have fallen one by one, and this weekend we lost the last. No Bond, no Who, no-one in Downing Street and no Strictly presenters. It’s over. 

What is there left? A threadbare, tatty King Charles and his sulky heir. A lesser Julia Donaldson adaptation for Christmas Day. A woman Archbishop of Canterbury. We cannot imagine they will defend us.

Can it really be just five short years since we had the dream team standing tall for Britain? Daniel Craig on the cusp of No Time To Die. Boris Johnson manfully wrestling Brexit through Parliament. The Queen at the helm. Okay, Doctor Who was a woman but still.

Where is that empire of transnational entertainment franchises now? Flat f**ked. And nothing has sprung up to replace them. So desperate we’re remaking Harry Potter and Tom Hiddleston’s back on telly. Even his ex has switched to dating American.

Ed Sheeran’s over, much as he doesn’t know it. Adele slumbers, awaiting a new Albion. Phil and Holly are toppled. Tess and Claudia have resigned in disgrace after being rejected sexually by Thomas Skinner. Britain is bereft of heroes.

We stand defenceless. Even Paddington in Peru was shit. But it can all be turned around. We just need to decide on the right man.

That’s right: I’m saying one man, one singular British man, should be the new prime minister, new James Bond, new Doctor Who, new King, new Strictly presenter and quite possibly could do a job on MasterChef. We just need to decide who.

I nominate Richard Osman. He’s good and tall and hasn’t put a foot wrong so far.