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Lazy middle-aged divorcees getting back together with childhood sweethearts

MIDDLE-AGED divorcees who cannot be bothered making the basic effort to date are getting back together with their teenage sweethearts instead.

Fortysomethings exiting long-term relationships have looked at the dating market, looked at themselves in the mirror, accepted facts, got onto Facebook and told old flames their feelings for them never went away.

Susan Traherne, aged 43, said: “I can’t be chasing after new love at my time of life. I’ve got three kids and a Welsh Collie.

“But luckily Nathan split up with his wife two years ago, his fond memories of me as a teenager soften the edges of what I actually look like now, and being in love with Nathan all along is a great way to pretend my divorce wasn’t my fault.

“Is there an element of pragmatism? Yes. Does he only live two towns away? Also yes. Is there literally nobody as excited to see my boobs as a man who’s been thinking about them for 27 years? Absolutely, and it’s bloody gratifying.”

New partner Nathan Muir said: “I never stopped loving Susan. Even when I was married. Those memories of what we shared after the A-level disco were more vital and vibrant than any relationship I’d had since.

“Also I’m bald and they don’t like that on Tinder.”

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'What would you recommend?' Middle-class questions to never ask in Wetherspoons

FOUND yourself in a Wetherspoons despite being middle-class? Avoid these questions if you do not want to blow your cover.

Is there a tasting menu?

You’re not in a gourmet restaurant. The staff aren’t going to dish up poncey miniature mouthfuls of beef madras or katsu curry, no matter how politely you ask. Besides, you should be aiming to eat as little of the filth spewing out of a Wetherspoons kitchen as possible, not all of it. Or do you have a death wish?

What would you recommend?

The mouth-breathing staff will brusquely recommend you hurry the f**k up and order already. There’s a regular behind you waiting to buy a drink, and if you don’t get a shift on he’s at risk of sobering up. You don’t want to be responsible for him coming to his senses in a Wetherspoons, do you? Didn’t think so. Get a Doom Bar then piss off.

Is the food organically-sourced?

Prepare for the locals to laugh their tits off over their 11am pints of Abbot Ale if they overhear you asking this. Not only is the food almost certainly not organically sourced, most of it probably isn’t even organic in origin. Tim Martin likely orders chefs to forage ingredients out of bins in order to save his chain of mediocrity some money.

Can I order the house wine?

Remember, this isn’t a quaint bistro in the Dordogne; you’re in a Wetherspoons in Hull that has a two-star rating on Google. Ideally you should be ordering Magners, but if you insist on asking for wine it’ll be poured out of a warm carton kept by the crisps. To be fair this is the most inexpensive plonk they sell, meaning they’ve given you exactly what you wanted. So look grateful.

Can I speak to the chef?

Such an optimistic question. It assumes that a team of trained professionals are toiling away behind the scenes to whip up culinary delights. In reality, the kitchen is manned by a teenager whose sole responsibility is to zap frozen burgers in the microwave. Besides asking them how long they irradiate their meals for, there’s not much to talk to them about.

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