Should I let a working class person into my social bubble?

WORRIED about lowering the tone of your social bubble? Waitrose shopper Charlotte Phelps explains how to get the perfect mix: 

Why on earth would I consider granting access to a blue-collar person?

They might be the partner of a friend who’s had to settle, or you may need something from them such as manual labour, or maybe even sex if you’re a daft posh bint who takes Lady Chatterley’s Lover at face value.

What do I talk to them about?

Football, Ford Transit vans, spanners. Having their nails done if female. You could try interesting them in Rachmaninoff and Anthony Powell but to be honest you’ll probably have more joy with your labrador.

What are the risks?

Poor hygiene and fighting, obviously. All working class people have a pub fight on Friday or Saturday night, especially the women. You may also need to cover your children’s ears as all plebeians swear like navvies – which many of them are – in inappropriate situations, ie ‘That were a shitting excellent f**ker of a sermon, vicar.’

Will I have to change my own behaviour?

Yes. A working class person will be bemused by silverware, so keep a box of plastic chip forks on hand. They will also probably want to watch EastEnders instead of Fleabag again, but modern TV-on-demand means you can both get your fill of total crap.

What are the benefits, if there are any?

All working class people have an innate knowledge of farming, so you can get your vegetable garden planted when you send them outside to smoke. If you choose a good one, like when you went to the cat shelter and got Persephone, they may even be able to supply cocaine for dinner parties.

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When will Boris explain where the f**k Frosties have gone?

THE government has misled, hidden the facts and flat-out lied to Britain. Worse, they have refused to explain what the f**k has happened to Frosties. 

Before lockdown, Frosties were abundant on our supermarket shelves. Even when sensible people were stockpiling and idiots were panic-buying, there was no toilet roll or pasta but Frosties were plentiful.

But today, 13 weeks into lockdown, there are no Frosties. There haven’t been for weeks. And rather than face up to their failure to keep Britain stocked with essentials, the government is silent.

They’ve owned up to other errors, like their disastrous test-and-trace app, the shortage of PPE, the sending of infected patients to care homes. But day after day, ministers refuse to allow questions on the real crisis facing this nation.

A statue of Edward Colston is thrown into a harbour and sparks weeks of debate. But when a real hero to our nation like Tony the Tiger is muzzled and erased, even Piers Morgan is banned from saying a word.

Children are going hungry. Childish adults are going hungry. Come on, Boris. Be honest with Britain. Explain to us where our Frosties, the cereal that has kept this country running for almost 70 years, have gone.

Then resign. For on a matter of this importance, no excuse is acceptable.