Are you sexually promiscuous enough at work?

ARE you worried that you’ve slept with less than half of your office, and it’s affecting your reputation and career prospects? Take our test:

How do you get on with your colleagues?  

A. You have some good chats and a bit of banter, perhaps occasional light flirtations.

B. You avoid speaking to around a quarter of them because you’re both haunted by bad sex in a Holiday Inn Express in Wolverhampton.

What stresses you out at work? 

A. Struggling to meet your performance targets.

B. Shadowy figures glimpsed in the car park who might be Lucy’s husband Steve on leave from the Royal Marines waiting to rip your arms off.

Do you socialise with your colleagues?

A. Every few months we make the effort to have a pub lunch out on a Friday.

B. If by socialise you mean ‘surreptitiously have affairs with that end acrimoniously’ then yes, though even the ones you haven’t shagged think you’re a bastard now.

Do you have any occupational health worries?

A. I get twinges in my wrists from typing.

B. I get twinges in my knob from STDs.

What was your last bollocking from your boss for?

A. Forgetting to process a batch of invoices leading to complaints from irate suppliers.

B. Getting spunk on the dashboard of her Audi.


Mostly As: You are sensible, boring, and have never had to retreat to the stock room sweating in terror because the managing director’s PA is late. You know, ‘late’. And it’s damaging your career.

Mostly Bs: You’re the office lothario, Romeo, and gigolo, and you’re receiving promotion after promotion from bosses who’ve inadvisedly slept with you and don’t want to look at you any more. Congratulations.

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Six things to have in your kitchen if you want to be Tory leader

HAVE you arranged a cosy kitchen photoshoot to prove that you’re an ordinary, decent person who would do a great job running the country? Here’s what to pose with. 

A spouse

Still popular among the simple folk of Britain who don’t realise how outdated they are, bless them, spouses are perfect for reassuring everyone you’re not a morally questionable philanderer who visits sex dungeons. Boris hasn’t got one.

Loads of mismatched mugs

Politicians who have been served tea by constituents believe that voters have no two mugs the same and cherish that variety, when actually they’ve just been given the same crappy mug the Sky man gets when he comes round to fix the broadband.

Something with a Union Jack on it

For ardent Brexiters it’ll be something massive like a sofa. For Remainers it will be something small, like an egg cup. But it will definitely be there because if it wasn’t the right-wing press would have all they need to call you a traitor.

Carefully stage-managed clutter

Not so much that you look like you can’t manage to control your own household, let alone a country in the throes of a collective mental breakdown, but just enough to maintain the illusion you don’t have a live-in cleaner paid less than minimum wage.

Childrens’ drawings on the fridge

Provides a delightfully homey touch in the house you’re claiming as a second residence so you can buy a massive telly from John Lewis at the taxpayer’s expense. Also serves as a useful reminder of your children’s names.

Dagger covered in dried blood

Who left that there? Radina, I thought I told you to clean this place up! Don’t make me burn your passport.