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Mum advises son's girlfriend she could do a lot better

THE mother of a 23-year-old is worried that his wonderful new girlfriend is punching well below her weight. 

After being introduced to Lucy Parry, Donna Sheridan was baffled as to what an attractive, intelligent and witty girl could possibly find appealing about her wastrel child Josh.

Donna said: “As soon as Josh left the room, probably to skin up in the garden or dump the dirty laundry he’d brought home near the washer, I took her aside to see if she was right in the head.

“I explained that I have to love the boy as I’m his mother. But she, for some reason, is choosing to be with him of her own volition. Naturally I checked he wasn’t somehow blackmailing her.

“I’m sure Josh likes her in his own pointless way, but she’s young and pretty and really needs to get out there and meet some different guys. In fact we made a list.”

Lucy said: “Donna definitely gave me food for thought. Josh is a bit unfocused, and not as considerate as he could be. Or as she put it, ‘an ungrateful, self-centred little twat who’ll drag you down to his level’.” 

Josh said: “Lucy seemed a bit quiet after talking to mum. I expect she’s feeling overwhelmed by a mother’s outpouring of unconditional love for her son.”

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'Oo 'eck, honest Lee's only gone and done 'imself out of a job'

OH bloody Nora, now I’ve done it. I’ve stood by my principles and done meself out of a plum job as deputy Tory chairman. Mother’s going to go spare.

It were the peer pressure that did it, ’alf of it from proper actual peers. ‘We’re all voting for these amendments, Lee,’ says that Rees-Mogg, who’s right plummy, ‘won’t you join us?’ And a lad from Ashfield can’t say no to that.

But in’t cold light o’ day, now all that adrenalin from writing the resignation letter’s not coursing through me common Northern veins, ’appen I’ve made a right tit of meself by jacking in the top job.

Mother won’t have found out yet – news takes a while to travel to up North, if it makes it at all – but come Friday night she’ll be expecting my pay packet on the table and I’ll ’ave to tell ’er I jacked it in cause the posh lads said to.

She’ll go spare. ’Bad enough you’re working in that there London when there’s night shifts going up ‘ere, but now you’ve quit? No son of mine’s claiming the dole. We’ve got too much humble pride.’

And she won’t tek me wages from GB News. ‘Making a show of yourself,’ she calls it, and she’s not wrong. I sometimes reckon they’ve only got me on because I’m thick.

No, there’s no two ways about it – I’ll go to the boss and ask for my old job back. I’ll tell him honest Lee’s made a mistake, that he’ll be right good and faithful in future and if he needs anyone doing in, I’m yer man.

Shitting heck, there’s only another Rwanda vote later on. Well that’s set cat among t’pigeons and no mistake. Maybe I’ll hide in’t cupboard.

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