How to learn to live with the Conservative party

DESPITE recent defeats in by-elections, the Conservative party isn’t going to magically disappear anytime soon. Here’s how to live with this deadly strain of politics:

Don’t read the news

Keeping up to date with current affairs is the most common way to be exposed to Tories, so avoid it where possible. Publications such as The Mail and The Telegraph are particularly virulent and are classed as a biohazard. If you come into contact with GB News, call NHS 111.

Maintain distance from Tories

Keeping at least two metres from a Tory means there’s less chance you’ll be infected with their contempt for the poor or their aspiration to renovate a second home. In Conservative hotspots like South Holland and The Deepings you may have to climb a tall building and send up a rescue flare.

Be rich

Financial security will protect you from the main symptoms of the Conservative party, which include hungry schoolchildren and an underfunded health service. Don’t be overconfident and do a big shop at Waitrose. It’s a superspreading viral pump for blue values.

Don’t be foreign

Being non-British is treatable only by being dragged away by immigration in the middle of the night while Priti Patel looks on in wry amusement, so act as if you’re from round here. Even wearing an England shirt at Wetherspoons’ Tuesday Steak Club reduces the likelihood of sideways glances by up to 90 per cent.

Become a Tory

The Conservative party has let rip through the country over the last decade, so long-term you’re better off taking it on the chin and going for herd immunity. Once you have a Union flag in the background of your Zoom call they can no longer hurt you. Will permanently suppress the part of your brain that controls common sense.

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'I haven't got a clue which one your kid is', and other problems with parents' evenings

PARENTS’ evenings are a unique opportunity for teachers to bluff and parents to pretend they’re listening. Here’s why all parties involved should stop bothering:

It’s in the middle of the bloody day

No longer in the evenings, teachers are now available to see you between 3pm and 3.10pm, the precise window of time that requires you to take the afternoon off work and wonder why you wasted the time.

They say the same shit about every child

Not realising that parents compare notes, it soon becomes clear that Miss Henderson tells every single parent that their child is ‘doing fine’ with ‘no obvious problems’ while she struggles to remember one thing about your kid.

Unless they don’t

Even worse is when you sit down and the teacher says ‘Ah. You must be Jayden’s parents.’ They’ve been waiting for you, and it’s not to tell you that Jayden’s an exceptionally gifted child and delight to all. It’s because he’s an arsehole.

They use euphemisms

Samuel is a ‘lively contributor’, is he? You nod politely as the realisation dawns that your offspring sets chairs on fire and races around the room during Quiet Time making ape noises.

It is not about the parents

You thought that Parents’ Evening might involve being congratulated on your excellent parenting skills, or at least being invited to ask questions? Your seven minute-slot is Miss Henderson speed-talking about phonics learning while you sit on a miniature plastic chair.

There’s always a curveball

Miss Henderson waits until you stand to leave to call you back with ‘just one small thing’. Then shares in concerned tones that Samuel has been telling stories about Mummy’s swearing and Daddy’s drinking habits. ‘Kids!’ you say while shaking your head light-heartedly and planning a bollocking.

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