Bespectacled true crime fan Hannah Tomlinson is terrified of being murdered and also of not being anywhere near as photogenic as her murderer’s other, better kills.

Tomlinson said: “Serial killers have a type, and I worry I might be a bit mousy. And it would just be humiliating.

“Imagine podcasters speculating that my violent death was him ‘going against his established physical preference’ or, even worse, ‘an attempt to throw off the police’ so he could go on stalking hotties.

“Or theorising that he only went for me as a crime of opportunity. You’d want to think ‘At least he had an unhealthy obsession with me,’ not ‘I suppose she’ll do’.”

“They’d probably work out I’d only stumbled on him burying a body because I have a tragic hobby like ornithology, and from this anomaly crack the case, catch him and it’ll all be my fault and girls listening to podcasts will call me a bitch.”

Serial killer Oliver O’Connor said: “No way will I kill her – urgh – but I will allow her to get engaged to me once I’m on Death Row.”

Failing to place a divider on a supermarket conveyor belt

Leaving the divider on the side is an attempt to con the next person alone into paying for your shopping that ensnares dozens every decade. Primary legislation is already being drafted.

Those car parks where you didn’t notice it was free on Sundays

Nothing irks Britain more than paying for two hours’ parking, getting the ticket and realising you’ve paid to park from 8am-10am Monday because it’s free on Sunday. If we can fix this, we can fix the country.

Pubs requesting a tip when you pay by card

Why should anyone feel guilted into giving a barman a 10 to 40 per cent tip for pouring two two lagers? Is this not the very basis of his job? And who trusts him not to press ‘40 per cent’ himself when you’re already pissed?

Amazon Prime listing films you have to pay for alongside free films

How many times has decent, hard-working Britain cried ‘Great, it’s on Amazon’ without noticing the tell-tale yellow icon in the lower right meaning it will cost £5.99 to buy? No wonder Reform are high in the polls.

Those card machines that charge £1.50 for a withdrawal

Less of an issue now everything’s cashless, but they still lurk at the back of convenience shops, ready to fleece those unfortunates who suddenly need money for an unexpected late-night high-value cash-only transaction. And are the very backbone of Britain.

Toilet attendants in nightclubs

Not necessary, as demonstrated by most toilets not employing them. Nonetheless users of the facilities feel guilted into dropping a few coins into their plate, then wake up in the morning feeling irritated and blame the health secretary.

Some pairs of 34-waist jeans being decidedly tighter than other pairs of 34-waist jeans

There is no standard sizing in this country, so tens of thousands have bought jeans which fit badly and still lurk in the wardrobe, engendering resentment. Resentment which is then expressed at the polls.

Cinema snacks

There is no earthly way popcorn and a watery Pepsi should cost that much. Ordinary Britons are forced to smuggle in supermarket snacks, and once they become lawbreakers it’s hard to come back. Shoplifting will inevitably follow.

Having to pay £14.99 to watch the Tommy Fury-Eddie Hall fight just to find out Molly-Mae had named her newborn baby Midas

Unacceptable, and directly responsible for the rise of the far-right. Ban will lead the next King’s Speech.

Yes, proud locals have taken the initiative and, without so much as a foreign national being detained for questioning, are holding their very own Summer of Rage right here in Norfolk.

Incensed local Steve Malley, 42, said: “If the big cities won’t step up and launch race-based violent assaults of their own, we’re happy to show them how it’s done.

“We may only be a market town out in the sticks, but when it comes to prejudice and bigotry we’re world-leading. And when we’re tanked up at noon outside a flat-roofed pub, we don’t need any inflammatory news reports to stir us into violence.

“Nige can be busy with his by-election, the prime minister can resign, the boats can be reduced by half but that doesn’t bother us. We’re ready to mob up, storm homes of asylum seekers and spend all night facing off against rows of riot police regardless!

“Most of us haven’t got jobs, half already have suspended sentences and some of us are on mobility scooters. Do we let that stop us? Hell no. We’re seizing the initiative and putting centres of deprivation like Stoke-on-Trent to shame.”

He added: “More people should be like us.”

Is he spending more time online?

A contract killing requires preparation: checking the ground, researching the target, detailing escape routes. Or, a fortnight into the summer holiday, he could need greater and greater levels of pornographic stimuli due to raised masturbatory stamina. A responsible parent will have the ‘Are you planning murder or wanking like a laboratory monkey?’ chat.

Is he smuggling items into his room? 

If it’s a hit, he’ll need a weapon. Mysterious online purchases could be him piecing one together. Or it could be that he’s got so into hentai he’s buying statues of the characters, or he could have taken the plunge and invested in a Fleshlight. Only a comprehensive room search will tell you.

Do you hear foreign voices from his computer? 

They could be his gangster handlers in Sweden or Turkey. Or he could be so into porn that he wants to follow the dialogue. Listen at the door, and hopefully he’s only gorging on unrealistic portrayals of sex, stunting his sexual development with a lifelong obsession over the hot MILF stepmother he’ll never have.

Is he more surly and troubled than usual?

Your teen won’t be the first assassin to have had second thoughts about killing a stranger in cold blood. But there could be innocent reasons, such as being just over a fortnight from confirming he’s f**ked all his GCSEs due to excessive wanking.

Is he extra-secretive about his computer?

Super-complicated passwords, encryption or simply putting a lock on his bedroom door could all mean there is evidence of crime on his ChromeBook. Or he may have got so far into a porn niche he cannot allow anyone to find out, such as school dinner lady porn with real dinner ladies.

Can you hear repeated moans from his bedroom?

It could be remorse for the completed hit. He could be struggling with his moral conscience. Either way, call the police immediately. If he’s innocent he has nothing to fear, and 16 armed officers crashing into his bedroom screaming ‘SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!’ might put him off wanking for a day or two.

As 18-year-olds north of the border receive their National 5, Higher and Advanced Higher results, Will McKay confessed the whole lot of them do not add up to so much as an A-level in textile design from Stoke-on-Trent College.

He continued: “My mother’s proud. She’s lived in Stirling all her life. She has no comprehension of how parochial an achievement this is.

“Like Scottish banknotes, up here my qualifications are worth something. But present them to anyone south of Leeds and you’ll be laughed at, cruelly, in English accents.

“Imagine going to even as lowly an institution as De Montfort University and saying ‘Please sir, I have three As and two Bs but in Highers, which are like A-levels but not them, may I come in?’ Imagine the sneer of contempt as they ejected me.

“These Highers are a prison. They mean you’ll never be able to leave Scotland. It’s indentured slavery for Celts. Today, I achieve excellent results and condemn myself forever.”

First minister John Swinney said: “And university’s free. We know how to keep our young trapped. Though some do run away with Edinburgh Fringe shows.”

A spokesperson for the Department for Transport hailed a proposed 0.4 per cent cut in the price, saying that if the trend continued then UK rail travel was now a mere 250 years away from being worth the expense.

He said: “This represents an average monthly saving of £1.20, which means you can now buy a newspaper to read while waiting for your veal truck with a sandwich trolley to turn up. Which it won’t.

“To make the fare reduction possible we’ll have to cut back certain luxuries on other trains, like fire extinguishers and brakes. But you’ll get used to hurtling across the country in flaming runaway carriages before you know it.

“We’ll even recoup the cost by jacking up station car parking to £28,000 a second, which will allow Network Rail to confiscate your car as compensation the moment you switch off the engine.”

Commuter Roy Hobbs said: “I spend two hours a day with my nostrils filled with piss going to and from a job that has killed my very soul.

“The prospect of jumping out of a burning train halfway across Blackfriars Bridge while saving 80p a month is the best news I’ve had since my boss was eaten by a shark.”

Eleanor Shaw, business analyst: “If that’s what Nigel Farage says then yes, Polanski is a bloodthirsty maniac. He would never blow a story out of proportion for his own benefit.”

Wayne Hayes, sewage inspector: “Guillotines are an eco-friendly execution method so I couldn’t care less. He’s stuck to his principles and that’s what’s important.”

Susan Traherne, unemployed: “Clearly. If a hastily-deleted post on the arse-end of Instagram isn’t an insight into his Patrick Bateman-like personality then I don’t know what is.”

Jack Browne, butcher: “Of course not. However he does want to legalise drugs and tax the wealthy, which I personally find much more disturbing.”

Helen Archer, teaching assistant: “Either way it doesn’t matter, he’s encouraged people to harm Nigel Farage. Nobody’s ever thought of hurting that universally-beloved man before now.”

Nikki Hollis’s statement footwear is failing at its basic function as a shoe by letting dirt and small rocks filter through its thin, expensive straps, thereby ruining her fashionable aesthetic.

Hollis said: “I wanted my feet to look sophisticated and cute. Maybe even turn the head of a pervert. But instead they look like they belong to a Dickensian street urchin.

“I paid £90 for these. The least they could do is protect my feet from the dust and debris that seems to be on every walkable surface. Honestly, I expected more from clothing that was probably made by a child labourer.

“If I wanted to look like a peasant or some Bristol crusty, I’d go barefoot. Strappy sandals with a flimsy, five-millimetre tread should provide as much protection as a pair of Dr Martens. I’m within my rights to report them to Trading Standards.

“Throwing them away would be admitting defeat, and pairing them with socks is obviously a bad idea. I’m left with no choice but to wear them for the next 30 years until they fall apart.”

Sandal-maker Emma Bradford said: “Exposing them to the outdoors was Nikki’s first mistake. Sandals are only meant to be worn by waifish supermodels in photoshoots. Everyone knows that.”

Get pissed

Alcohol numbs the pain of being dumped and having your leg sawn off, so it also works on indie bands. Just be careful not to get so pissed you’re having a massive alcohol rush and appearing to really enjoy yourself. Two months later your friend will say: ‘Guess what? I got us some more tickets for Pookie’s Death Caravan!’ On a Friday. Hooray.

Train yourself to like shit music

Inure yourself to bad music by compiling playlists that are the worst musical experience possible, eg. lurching from Congratulations by Cliff to the GoCompare song to Hip To Be Square via Skrewdriver. Then when you’re seeing a band that are merely crap it will be like seeing Hendrix in his prime.

Get a cat

You can only cry off gigs by feigning illness so many times. Not so with cats, who suffer from a host of ailments like delicate tummies, and often go to the vet in the evening for stuff like having their claws trimmed. Don’t worry if you hate cats. You’ll soon adore this particular moggy because its sudden, made-up vomiting is stopping you listening to a bunch of sub-Hives wankers who think they own the world.

Earbuds

Obviously the invisible ones. And if you squint you might even be able to pretend the members of the dire band you’re watching actually are the far better band you’re listening to. This has exciting possibilities. Suddenly these no-hopers with a blonde singer are Blondie in 1979! Just try not to get carried away and start screaming ‘Play Fade Away and Radiate!’

Sacrifice a rook to save the queen

You can’t stop a music obsessive mate inviting you to gigs, but you can have a strategy. Actively volunteer for gigs that are close to your home. It’ll still be a crap gig and a crap evening, but it won’t involve endless f**king around with trains or a night bus journey you suspect may turn into some genre of horror movie.

Find a patsy

Your friend wants you to go to the gig, but they’ll probably accept a substitute rather than go alone like a saddo Nick Hornby character. Assure an acquaintance that the gig in question will be great: ‘They’re saying Headrest Orgasm are the new Radiohead!’ Admittedly the people saying that are Mr and Mrs Don’t-Exist. Just make sure you pick someone you don’t care about ever sleeping with or liking you.

The mask of Lineker’s carefully-crafted ‘nice guy’ persona has fallen away to reveal his true, wicked form that is obsessed with ploughing money into heinous government plans like cutting business rates for pubs.

Mail Online comment writer Martin Bishop said: “It’s always the ones you most suspect. Nobody works that hard to avoid getting booked unless they’re trying to hide a dark inner malevolence.

“He fooled everyone except the Mail and gammons with his cheerful crisp adverts and self-effacing humour. But I knew those affable, avuncular eyes contained a cruelty that would make the Devil tremble in fear.

“Begging for millionaires to pay their fair share is twisted even by his standards. He’s rubbing his fortune in people’s faces, and putting a burden on defenceless rich people. Of course the BBC and the lefty press are in his pocket, so that’s why they’re putting a positive spin on this.

“What’s his next trick? Raising money for charity by using his leathery ears to fly across the Channel? Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Lineker said: “I’m actually presenting a game show on ITV soon. Doesn’t get more evil than that.”

Tom Booker, barista: “The stunning view from my five-star villa, with the caption ‘Not a bad place to wake up’. I won’t mention that I’m here with my parents.”

Nikki Hollis, dental nurse: “Picture after picture of me frolicking in the waves wearing a bikini. They’re not annoying though because thousands of men I don’t know give them a like.”

Wayne Hayes, carpenter: “The view from the plane window. It shows I don’t actually give a f**k about my carbon footprint.”

Kelly Howard, support worker: “My lunch at upmarket Gloucester Services. A plate of sausages and mash from the Farmshop & Kitchen is probably better than your entire shitty holiday in Benidorm. Look at that gravy and despair, scum.”

Martin Bishop, graphic designer: “A selfie without any kids. Lots of my friends are parents now, so I like to remind them what a fun, childless holiday looks like.”

While the people of Britain are somewhat grateful for a £2 price cap on bus fares, they would much prefer it if the prime minister deposited two thousand pounds straight into their bank accounts instead.

Mary Fisher from Worcester said: “I rarely take the bus, but I’m haemorrhaging money on food and childcare every day. So a two grand cash injection would make more sense, fiscally.

“It wouldn’t be difficult to set up. Creating a standing order from the nation’s piggy bank should only take a couple of clicks, and they’ve got all of our details on file already. I’ll be patient and give Burnham until the end of the day.

“Remember to make it tax free. And don’t faff around with BACS payments because they can take 72 hours to clear. I’m planning to invest my lump sum at the Bingo this evening.”

Martin Bishop from Hastings said: “I’m usually against handouts and the nanny state, but if two grand’s on the table I’m willing to be the bigger person and put my principles aside.

“In fact, like most economic policies, this one doesn’t go far enough. Make it a monthly payment and we’ll say no more about it.”

A new regulation will protect young people from their own godawful taste and the influence of broccoli-haired TikTokers by making everyone show proof of age when going for a trim.

A government spokesperson said: “Bad haircuts don’t go away when they grow out, thanks to school photos and driving licenses they’re an embarrassment that follows you into adulthood.

“Young people’s brains aren’t mature enough for that level of responsibility. As evidenced by all the curtains and mullets they’re voluntarily sporting without a hint of shame or irony.

“Future generations will wonder why we didn’t step in on their behalf sooner. It’s similar to how we look back at smoking indoors and the popularity of Jim Davidson as archaic and deeply puzzling.

“Youngsters shouldn’t fret though. Just because we’ve taken away porn, social media and now haircuts, there are plenty of other fun things they can do. Like unpaid apprenticeships.”

Kelly Howard, 36, said: “I wish this law was around when I was young. It would have saved me from having white girl cornrows every summer between 1996 and 2001.”

Being cool

Twats like Liam Gallagher believe that merely coming from Manchester automatically makes you cool. Do other parts of the UK have this weirdly high opinion of themselves? You don’t get people going: ‘I’m keeping it real and not taking any shit. That’s because I’m from Oswestry.’

The Fall

Apart from Hit the North and covers like Victoria, an awful lot of The Fall’s output is plodding riffing to a frantic drumbeat as Mark E says things like ‘faction Europa’ that don’t really mean anything. It’s all a bit of an effort to listen to, and his famous rants about such fresh and original targets as students and U2 weren’t that scintillating either.

Baggy

Manchester of the 90s was full of Stone Roses-inspired fashion victims in bucket hats and gargantuan flares rucked up around their Adidas Gazelles. Well done for inventing the only fashion trend that involves exposing your clothing to dogshit, fag ends and Friday night vomit.

The Industrial Revolution

Manchester quickly became the hub of the Industrial Revolution. This was bleak beyond words for the proles, but it’s since drifted into a safe heritage history space where it’s marvelled at uncritically. Ignore the unbelievably ruthless system of capitalist exploitation! Look at the nice plates!

Post-industrial chic

It’s widely believed that Manchester in the 80s was some fascinating post-industrial dystopia in which brave souls like Joy Division sat around feeling alienated. But most places look like that if you take the starkest black-and-white photos possible. If Joy Division’s photographer had used colour film they’d have just looked like some 80s blokes going for a walk.

New Order

New Order are disproportionately respected for not that many genuinely good tunes. World in Motion is f**king horrible, and the only reason people won’t admit it is because This Time (We’ll Get It Right) by the 1982 England squad was a hellish new musical low.

Admirable collective traits

Mancunians are variously claimed to have a strong sense of community, great civic pride and a sharp-witted sense of humour. You’d think by now Northerners in general would have tired of these bollocks generalisations. If they’re so sharp-witted, how does that explain Bez?

Read all the small print 

What better way to deter them than to get bogged down in the legalese they’ve presented you with? Does this poor 20-year-old, underpaid fundraiser know exactly how setting up a direct debit affects your habeas corpus rights? Plus you get the chance to cosplay as a lawyer. Your parents would be so proud if you were a real one.

Claim mental distress from their cause

Now you’ve had it explained to you, you’re not only moved but deeply traumatised by the plight of warzone children/lonely old people/donkeys. Can they come back when you’ve had time to recover from the reactive depression they’ve just triggered? They’re bound to say yes, but will probably have to move on to a new area so won’t return. Well done, you have successfully fooled a caring organisation.

Try to sign them up for your own charity

What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, or something. Insist they sign up for a charity you’ve just thought of. Look, you’ve got all the donation details here on your phone. Soon they’ll be the one awkwardly trying not to look like a bastard by not supporting endangered beavers.

Offer a weird amount of cash

When the conversation turns to the sums you can choose to donate, insist on a strange amount that’s clearly less than the usual minimum, eg. £1.83 a month. When they say it’s usually a round five or tenner, insist your diligent budgeting means this is all you can afford. A national charity can’t accuse you of being a liar, weirdo or just pathetically poor, and the interaction will be over.

Debate them into catatonia

Charity is all very well and good, but you feel that relying too heavily on it opens the door for government inactivity and becoming reliant on the whims of millionaires or billionaires. Or indeed the general population, too easily swayed by cute animal causes and subject to financial hardship themselves. You’re surprised as how good you are at debating when not handing over money is involved.

Can they leave a leaflet? 

As soon as you realise it’s a fundraiser at the door, put on your best act of being stressed and harassed. Perhaps shout into the living room ‘No, you’re not taking the kids, Emma!’ then calmly tell the chugger that this is ‘a bad time’ and could they leave a leaflet? Who cares if your amateur dramatics are convincing or not, it’s what everyone else does anyway.

With the World Cup over, Joe Turner feels that the longer a St George’s Cross remains, the higher the chance of the homeowner being someone you will regret talking to about immigration.

He said: “The clock is ticking. As time goes on the message of the flag shifts from ‘football’s coming home’ to ‘stop the boats’ to ‘I have a large collection of golliwogs’.

“Prompt removal indicates a Guardian reader who’s been uncomfortable with their own display of overt nationalism for weeks. If the flag’s still up on Thursday they’re probably Reform voters. If they’re still there next Monday they’re probably planning to burn down a Holiday Inn.

“It might seem a bit of an unreliable way to determine if someone’s a racist, but let’s face it, we’re all thinking it.”

Turner had a flag in his own window at the start of the tournament, but took it down within minutes of England losing to Argentina to avoid anyone thinking he loved Nigel Farage.

Neighbour Roy Hobbs said: “I think Joe’s plan might be flawed. I took my flag down yesterday because I was sick of not being able to see out of the window, but I’m a massive racist.”

The end of term means that hot, mostly female, teachers will no longer be the stars of implausible masturbatory fantasies in which desirable professional women have sex with teenage bellends in PE cupboards. 

Geography teacher Ellie Shaw said: “I’m pretty sure ‘out of sight, out of mind’ will stop them thinking about me. Judging by their mock exams the dense bastards are incapable of remembering anything, even my tits.

“Am I being presumptuous in thinking my pupils fancy me? I don’t think so. Not because I am objectively quite hot, but because teenage boys are basically disgusting buckets of bubbling hormones who’d have sex with a fridge if it had long hair.

“I suppose you could take the wanking as a compliment, but most compliments don’t force you to scroll through years of f**king Facebook photos in case there’s one of you in a swimsuit or a slightly tight top.”

Pupil Tom Booker said: “Miss Shaw is well fit. It’s hard to say what I like about her most – her face, her amazing figure, those tight skirts she wears. But I think what sets her apart from most women is that she’s three-dimensional. 

“It wouldn’t surprise me if I’m still masturbating over her in my 30s or 40s, long after leaving school. I suppose you never forget a teacher who inspired your love of wanking.”

Do your big shop

Supermarkets will look like that scene from 28 Days Later, but will be open. Pushing your trolley around a deserted Tesco, aisles eerily empty, idly browsing the Whoops! shelf without fear of being barged aside, is the ultimate luxury. An empty space where cases of Peroni once sat is the only sign football is happening somewhere.

Share dark secrets

You’re living a lie, but tonight is an amnesty. Go to any open space and scream at maximum volume ‘I’m cheating on you! I urinate in the bathroom sink! It was me who broke the strimmer by using it to open beer bottles!’ and your cries will go unheard but for a solitary dog-walker.

Go for a stroll on the M1

Usually tricky, due to all the cars. But after 8pm tonight it will be abandoned, no more than a extra-wide footpath for those who couldn’t give a f**k about our apparently ancient rivalry with Argentina. Why not make an evening of it, and have a sunset picnic on a slip road?

Become an influencer

All those spots influencers queue at for photos where they pretend to be blissfully alone? Tonight they’re actually empty. Speed around Blencathra, Notting Hill, The Shambles, Lulworth Cove and Meadow Well council estate, South Shields, and you’ll have 400,000 followers before extra time! If you’re pretty.

Rob a bank

A bank heist takes months of preparation, but tonight? With guards and police all glued to their phones? You’ll be in and out of the vault in 90 minutes, blaring alarms ignored as Rice is sent off and Messi awarded a penalty for no specific reason. But will being several million richer really make up for missing the most important game ever known? Yes.

A five-year study showed that whether teachers are rewarded with chocolates, flavoured gin or nothing at all at the end of the school year makes no difference at all to their teaching or pupils’ educational outcomes.

Parent Jo Kramer said: “I assumed when I handed over a bottle of prosecco in a reused gift bag, I was buying Connor the push that would take him from grade 6 to grade 8.

“Apparently not. Apparently he’s treated like any other kid despite my outlay of £6.50 and writing ‘thanks for all your hard work!’ on the tag. I regard that as fraudulent.”

Parent Julian Cook agreed: “Do they believe we’re giving them a bunch of supermarket flowers out of actual gratitude? What for? Doing their bloody jobs?

“That bouquet was bought on the clear understanding that it would earn Poppy leniency, better marks for her topic about Awesome Animals, and eventually a place at a Russell Group university. I’m glad I found out it was worthless now, while she’s six.”

Teacher Lucy Parry said: “The thing is you give us booze now, we get wrecked for six weeks, we’ve no idea who’s who by September.”