Woman confuses 'feminism' with 'talking about herself a lot'

A WOMAN believes feminism is about endlessly discussing her problems from a vaguely female perspective.

Nikki Hollis thinks personal woes like not being able to buy a flat or meet the right guy on Tinder are feminist issues because they happen to her and she has a vagina.

Office temp Hollis, 25, said: “The main feminist issue for me is not being able to advance my career. There’s no way a man would find it difficult to get a highly paid job in TV.

“I’m also concerned no one’s helping young women like me get on the property ladder. Even my female friends’ eyes glaze over whenever I talk about it. That’s how ingrained the sexism is.

“Obviously I’m aware of other feminist issues like arranged marriage, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore problems like the extortionate cost of gym membership these days.

“Or unacceptable behaviour by men. Recently I went on a date with a guy who was really boring, which you wouldn’t expect from a software engineer. Us women deserve better than that.”

Friend Emma Bradford said: “She even said the price of cinema tickets was ‘excluding women from cultural life’. At that point I had to ignore female solidarity and tell her to shut the fuck up during the movie.”

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A spoonful of economic ruin is the medicine Britain needs, by Jacob Rees-Mogg

EVERY true Briton knows that when this Sceptr’d Isle departs the European Union it will thrive, the petty shackles of the jealous gnomes of Brussels thrown off. One feels it in one’s loins.

But, as in good Henry III’s time, there are always those cavilling naysayers who insist we are plunging the country into economic disaster. Well, should that be the case, I say, so much the better.

Due to cosy EU regulations on food standards, ‘human rights’ and the sickening affordability of foreign travel to the low-born, we have lost our British mettle.

Oh, for Britons to return to the grand old days of living off their wits, in hovels, warming themselves by rubbing twigs together rather than living off benefits and central heating.

There was no fuss about paid holidays or maternity leave then. The only ready meal was a red squirrel hung three days on a gibbet. It was, simply, better.

Perhaps a few generations will ‘suffer’. We will have to grow accustomed to a life expectancy of no more than two score years. Surviving winter will be in God’s capricious hands.

But fear ye not.

Once we have reforged our national character, our finances boosted by exports of spotted dick, marmalade and locks of Kate Middleton’s hair, Britannia shall once more stand proud.

Then we shall invade Ireland. And then France.

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