The scandal-and-reproduction cycle of Boris and Carrie Johnson

THE Johnsons, those fascinating creatures native to these isles, have once again engendered a simultaneous pregnancy and political scandal in order to reproduce. Here’s how it works:

To begin the cycle, the male Johnson effortlessly wriggles out of trouble suffering only reputational damage and, elated, seeks out the nearest available mate.

The female Johnson stays close to her partner at this moment, knowing that if she is unavailable any Tatler journalist called Persephone will do. The pair couple to the sound of Abba.

Conception having been achieved, the male Johnson drifts away. It is not long before he feels the primal urge to get away with something that others cannot because he is special.

The male Johnson will then test ethical boundaries by taking advantage of generous hospitality from Tory donors or forcing taxpayers to pay for his legal defence before enjoying a cycle of rest.

As the Johnson female’s pregnancy approaches fruition, habit leaves her unable to begin labour except as a defensive reflex against adverse headlines. Thankfully, with the Johnson male scandal is never far away.

A minor transgression such as keeping a groper in office or a hitherto undiscovered series of lockdown parties will soon see the Johnson male facing serious censure.

The correct conditions have been created and a new Johnson baby will be born, taking the brood ever closer to double figures.

The male Johnson will then wriggle out of trouble with his political career barely intact, and the whole magical cycle begins all over again.

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Getting the crowd to sing the chorus, and other ways bands ruin their own gigs

YOU went to a gig to see the band perform the songs, not point the mic at the pissed-up, tuneless audience. Here are other ways they ruin their own gigs:

Turning up late

You spent two hours travelling to this gig, so the least this entitled twat of a pop star could do is not turn up on stage two hours late. He might be staying at a luxury hotel five minutes from the venue, but you have to get the train home, and his furious partner won’t have to come and pick him up from the Birmingham NEC at 2am.

Getting the crowd to sing the chorus

You don’t want to listen to 50,000 drunk people sing the choruses of all your favourite songs, so you wish the singer would stop pointing the sodding microphone at them every two minutes. Even worse is when they split the crowd down the middle and make each side compete on who can sing it the loudest. This is classic rock, not primary school.

Playing the whole of their new album

Yeah, their new stuff is fine, but you want to hear tracks from their two best albums which were released in the mid-90s. You don’t give a toss if they’re bored of that and have decided to stretch themselves creatively, you just want to listen to the song you lost your virginity to and have a self-indulgent, nostalgic weep.

Talking too much or too little

If they talk too much you’ll think they’re an insufferable bore treating the stage like a pulpit, but if they talk too little you’ll think they’re a moody bastard with no interest in their fans. They can’t win, but they don’t really care as they’ve fleeced you for £30 for a t-shirt.

Playing weird arrangements of your favourite songs

What’s worse than not playing their biggest hits is when they play them but they’ve changed the arrangements so they’re virtually unrecognisable. No, you don’t want to hear your favourite tune played in a minor key, or with a cod-reggae groove. You’d have enjoyed listening to the CD more, but you can’t admit that to yourself as you’ve paid £120 to be here.