Your six twattiest relatives

YOU can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family, and in particular you definitely wouldn’t choose these bellends: 

Uncle Dave

Prominent because of recent events, Dave is an old-school racist who makes even UKIP voters uncomfortable with his lack of sophistication. There’s a reason his family work in shifts to ensure he never crosses the threshold of a Chinese or Indian restaurant.

Auntie Sandra

Pleasant enough company until you sit down with her and discover she’s actually mental. Believes her cat is your great-grandmother reincarnated and her four-bed new-build semi is haunted. Don’t try to unpick this rubbish, just smile and back away.

Cousin Steve

Acknowledged even by his own parents as a wanker. He works for an estate agency and has two buy-to-let properties which he changed to AirBNBs ‘because you’d be an idiot not to’ then lost £30k in the last year. Empathise briefly, then head to the bar to avoid the tedium of his self-created problems.

Great-Uncle Arthur

Not a bad person per se, but when you see him there all old and alone in a corner and approach for a sympathetic chat you’ll be reminded why, and will soon be fully up to date on the 1964 closure of the Crieff and Comrie Railway and where each engine went.

Any brother-in-law

It doesn’t matter if you married their sister or if they married yours, they’re still the worst prick at any family gathering. Every time they boast about their new BMW, light a stinking cigar or join in the kids’ games seemingly intent on making them cry you’re relieved not to share DNA.

Great-Auntie Janet and her family tree

She means no harm. But after an afternoon with all the above twats, you’re convinced the only reason to research your bloodline is so it can be extinguished. Instead you learn that you may be related to Anglo-Saxons.

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Age 23 fourth-hand Ford Ka, age 40 people-carrier: your life in your vehicles

GOT A car? Sure you do, and it’s broadcasting to everyone what stage of life you’re at with alarming accuracy. Here are the six cars of your life: 

Small, crap car – age 23

Driving around in a clapped-out three-door hatchback that struggles over 40mph and stinks of McDonald’s and marijuana? You’re lucky enough to be in your early 20s. Enjoy jump-starting it by pushing it along with your mates, because soon that’ll throw your back out.

The sensible business-mobile – age 32

Though you miss your little 1996 red Ka, it bit the dust on the way to a stag-do and now you’re obliged to get something that doesn’t embarrass you in front of women and prospective employers. It’s a boring five-seater in classy silver and you hate it.

The people-carrier – age 40

You thought you’d be a cool parent before the second child turned out to be twins. This giant bastard is a nightmare to park but perfect for carrying around so much of your children’s school shit the boot looks like a kit bin. This awful, lumbering beast is you now.

The mid-life crisis motor – age 51

Your kids are a little older now so you can afford to splash out on something just for you, your receding hairline and your diminished libido. It’s a tiny little convertible that your wife negotiated you down to, maybe a Mazda MX-5, and you drive it to golf.

The silver prestige vehicle – age 60

There comes a time in every person’s life where they have to buy a car that matches the colour of their hair, and that time is now. It’s a big Audi that you cruise around in at 45mph, almost causing accidents because everyone expects you to be doing twice that.

The small, crap car – age 75

The circle of life, eh? As if by magic, the shitty small car of your youth is back. No more than a jacked-up mobility scooter, this bad boy’s inability to get out of third is no issue because you’ve nowhere to go and love slowing everyone else down. You’ve earned it.