Seven pricks with important careers and how it would suck to date them

FIFTEEN minutes into the date and you’ve been appraised of their full job title and salary? It won’t get any better with these wankers: 

City bastard

Basically an alien visiting from another financial dimension, deciding if he will admit you into his ark of wealth. He’ll pay for everything on the explicit understanding this means you are being leased. Will dump you when you’ve not seen him for six weeks and your relationship is as real as those of the playground.


Monarchs of their tiny domains, headteachers don’t like their authority to be challenged. She’ll be choosing the restaurant, the wine and the sexual positions, and instruct you mid-f**k in a skin-crawlingly familiar way. And you’ll feel like you need to put your hand up to go for a piss.

Charity boss

Imagine meeting her after work, when you’d taken a mental health day playing GTA Online and she’s saved like a million kids in Darfur. You drank all day on Sunday while she was meeting UN representatives. She has direct debits covering half her salary for good causes. You subscribe to six OnlyFans.


You’re marrying God when you marry a vicar, and f**k is that obvious from date one. God’s right there looming over the table judging you for wearing a red bra. And there’s no chance of trying before you buy so you’re gambling on a vicar being a good shag, which given everything seems unlikely.


Literally he’ll never be home. That’s his entire job. You’re only seeing him if he flies the Heathrow-Edinburgh run, in which case he’ll be such a tragic failure of a pilot he’d be hell to live with and tell the dog to piss off.


Men can’t feel comfortable with a date who could stimulate their prostate whenever they liked. Women can’t enjoy sex with a partner who sees fannies so often his response is a world-weary sigh. This is why all doctors are single and locked in dominant-submissive relationships with their receptionists.


You can’t believe them, you never get a straight answer, they never pay for anything, they blame anyone else for everything that goes wrong, and you’ll be shagging a Tory. Labour and the SNP are just red Tories anyway and get real, nobody’s f**king a Lib Dem.

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Love Island, and other shows that should have been put down sooner

LOVE Island ratings are falling because ‘hot morons in a villa’ may have run its tawdry course. These shows staggered on long after their natural deaths: 

Only Fools and Horses (1981-2003)

A sitcom about a chancer’s doomed schemes became a soap opera about finding love, a shift so large and unwarranted it’s like finding out the Fast X sequel focuses on Hobbs battling inoperable bowel cancer.

Love Island (2015-ongoing)

To paraphrase Auden, ‘They thought that tits + arse + bikinis + abs + sunshine = £££ would last forever: they were wrong.’ There’s a limit to how entertaining morons talking shite can be, with only the odd super-dense highlight like ‘How did trees evolve into people?’

Catchphrase (1986-2004 and 2013-ongoing)

Amazingly shit even by low-brow quiz show standards. It staggered on for 18 years, filling some TV liminal space on Saturday afternoon, before a visionary ITV executive thought ‘Why would anyone care about at a picture of a robot with a bird in his hand standing next to a further two birds in a bush?’ and the fatal gunshot rang out. Still on, still dead.

Question Time (1979-ongoing) 

Not actually cancelled yet, but with a tiny audience and hated across the political spectrum, it can’t be far off. It’s been going for a staggering 44 years, but for the last five it’s basically been The Brexit and Immigration Show as politicians fearfully give cagey non-answers that won’t upset delicate racists.

Top of the Pops (1964-2006)

TOTP reached the 1970s and evolved no further. By the 1990s you half expected Nicky Campbell to say: ‘That was the Stone Roses with Fools Gold, and next up Mud with Tiger Feet!’ After not updating it in decades the BBC decided it was old-fashioned and cancelled it. Ever since, no-one has a clue who’s in the charts except Sheeran, Styles and Swift.

Last of the Summer Wine (1973-2010)

It’s amazing Roy Clark squeezed two series out of these ageing Northern twats. It was still going 37 f**king years later. The only explanation is that the untaxing, bathtub-related humour provided a respite from modern life, the equivalent of Michael Jackson deciding to unwind with some propofol.

Poirot (1989-2013)

David Suchet’s definitive Belgian detective circled the schedules like a Ringwraith, threatening to make you watch when there was f**k all else on. It was cancelled after 13 series of strip-mining, at which point Hollywood said: ‘Hey! Let’s make them all again, forever!’ Hope you’ve pre-booked your tickets for A Haunting In Venice.

Brookside (1982-2003)

Brookside produced years of plausible small new-build close storylines like murders, cults and bombings, but as the ideas ran out it went insane. A cat died in a drive-by shooting and Brookie closed with the cheerful community lynching of a drug dealer.