Are you shit in bed, or is it her? Take our quiz

SEX life not up to scratch? Wondering which one of you is to blame? Take our quiz and find out.

How long does it last?

A) About five minutes. No point in fannying about for longer, especially if the snooker is starting soon. Oddly, though, she always disappears to the bathroom straight afterwards for a while, before coming out looking much more relaxed. Can’t imagine what she’s getting up to in there.

B) God, ages, I can keep going for nearly an hour sometimes. That’s what women love, isn’t it, a lengthy, Tantric-esque performance? I’m like Sting, only without the lute, or the money.

Much foreplay?

A) What, cunnilingus and all that? No, waste of everyone’s time if you ask me. Get in, get out, don’t f**k about, that’s my motto. Life’s too short to spend it with your tongue up someone’s genitals.

B) Loads. I can spend at least half an hour stroking and probing before getting to the main event, a bit like the support band before the headliner. I sometimes catch her looking at her watch. I guess she’s just astonished by how long I can lovingly spend pleasuring her.

The delicate issue of length?

A) Pretty sure I’m the standard six inches like every other man. It does look a bit less, but that’s probably the angle I’m viewing it from. She’s never complained but then she does avoid looking at it too closely.

B) The whole nine inches, which I know for a fact from the cock measuring contests we have in the shower after rugby matches. You know, before we all do that hilariously funny helicoptering thing.

Do you try different positions?

A) No, just missionary. Doggy-style is best left to the animals and as for her going on top, tried it once, didn’t like it. I got annoyed because I wasn’t the one in the driving seat, like when she insists on driving to Tesco because I keep pranging the car on the bollards.

B) You name it, we do it. We make the Karma Sutra look like an introductory pamphlet. She says her favourite is Reverse Cowgirl because she doesn’t have to look my face, but that’s just a fun joke.

Does it always result in orgasm?

A) Yes, every time. Well, for me, at least. I don’t ask her, as I know women only like to discuss such things when they’ve drank too much wine with their terrifying friends.

B) Absolutely. I could give her multiple orgasms but she says there’s no need as ‘doing it once is more than enough with you’. Which is a major compliment, right?


Mostly As. It’s you, you needle-dicked, premature-ejaculating coital car crash. The only reason she hasn’t left is because the thought of having to move house is marginally worse than the thought of staying with you forever.

Mostly Bs. It’s still you. Your endless, studly thrusting leaves her red raw and your obsession with bizarre, impractical positions makes her feel like she’s undergoing trials for the GB gymnastics team. Why else do you think she seems to suffer from so many sudden headaches the minute you start unbuttoning your jeans?

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Truckers’ Tizer and an old jazz mag: Professor Alice Roberts on her archaeological dig at an A57 layby

HI, Professor Alice Roberts here. We’ve run out of old Norse settlements to explore, so we’ve moved on to laybys. Here’s what we discovered on the A57 west of Sheffield.


It appears these were part of a primitive mating ceremony in which males and females met to frantically copulate. Archaeologists are unsure why, but this ritual only took place in darkness. Possibly it was a ceremony to appease the culture’s moon god, with condoms and knickers left in the hedgerows as an offering.

Truckers’ Tizer

Our team unearthed several bottles of a cloudy yellow liquid. The hieroglyphs on the outside of many said ‘Lucozade Energy Drink’, but one of the team had a sniff and said it smelled like rancid piss. This is evidence of a tradition where traders taking their wares to market would urinate in bottles and leave them by the side of the road, possibly as a superstition to bring them luck.

Burger van sign

Laybys were the site of important hostelries, providing food and drink for weary travellers. Hostel keepers would each have their own sign – much like medieval knights had their own coats of arms – and cater to travellers from a broken-down caravan. Curiously, the more colourful the sign, the worse the victuals offered.

Many small shiny metal cylinders

In ancient times, the layby was an important meeting place for the community, and young Britons would gather there with curious shiny silver cylinders. We can’t be completely sure, but our best guess is they were used in a game called Huffing. The rules of this have been lost to time, but it appears to have been very popular as there are literally hundreds of these things.

Disposable nappy (used)

Sometimes we come across a discovery that reveals a sad story, and such was the case with this item. The nappy would have belonged to a family forced to halt their long journey and spend 20 stressful minutes clearing up after their baby shat everywhere, before flinging the item in a bush. Difficult for them, but useful for archeologists as these things never, ever biodegrade.

AA Road Map 1990

A map was a large book in which scribes had drawn aerial plans of the entire country. It sounds remarkable to us now, but ancient travellers would look up their destination on the relevant folio page and use it to guide their progress as they went. Wiser old men would often eschew such maps, using intuition, the sun and self-confidence instead. These learned elders would offer younger men advice on the best roads to travel upon, especially ‘if there be roadworks and a contraflow on ye M62 westbound’.

Well-thumbed copy of Razzle

Beneath a patch of brambles we found a surprisingly well preserved journal named ‘Razzle’, dated September 1986, which offers an important insight into the fetishes of the time. For example, several of the women are pictured reclining in barns on bales of straw, leading us to conclude that farms were viewed back then as extremely erotic, despite stinking of cow and pig shit. Fascinating.