'He's so inspiring,' I told my wife. 'I cannot believe you found a leader even shorter than you,' she agreed

From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Europe’s second-shortest leader

‘CRACK the Pouilly-Fumé if you want,’ my wife said. ‘I get it, you’re excited. Finally a world leader even shorter than you are.’ 

‘No wonder you’re giving him jet fighters. You must feel like such an alpha with him around. Can you get him in your cabinet?’ ‘I think President Zelensky is busy,’ I say, proud she noticed.

‘I suppose he is a comedian,’ Akshata continues. ‘They are always short. Kevin Hart, Syd Little, Ronnie Corbett. It makes them more comical because they are small. Always fucking up like you do but when they do it it’s funny.’

‘Well Voldomyr isn’t a comedian now,’ I say, effortlessly wresting control of the conversation. ‘He is a brave defender of Western civilisation, and I stand foursquare with him.’

‘Well, it’s all you’ve got,’ she observes. ‘But the two of you in those helmets? Ridiculous. Like a pair of little Lego men. You know the ones where the head comes off with the hat?’

‘Anyway,’ I continue undeterred, ‘it was not only the right thing to do but a political coup. Now everyone will know Rishi Sunak is not afraid to stand up for the little man.’

‘The even littler man,’ Akshata said. ‘But it is quite an achievement to give him eight fighter jets in return for a photo opportunity. The air miles I get with my black Amex cost less.

‘Never in the field of human conflict has a prime minister given up so much for so little reward, mm? Not even two points up in the polls.’

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Five sexual practices to retire once you've had children

CHILDREN are ostensibly the point of sex while being expert and dedicated boner-killers. Your once-adventurous fucking is halted at every turn by their constant, invasive presence. 

As a parent, unless you want their year four teacher hearing that ‘Mummy rides Daddy like he’s a pony’ then say goodbye to these sexual acts:


Any sex act performed with children in the house – even if it’s midnight, and they seem soundly asleep – must be readily explainable for when they burst in, eyes wide, vomiting already.

For either of you to be head-down servicing a set of overexcited genitals is a nightmare. Why is Daddy down there? Why did Mummy have that thing in her mouth? What do you mean, you were helping him scratch a difficult bit? Can I help?


Come on. You already know where this leads. To having three of the little buggers being chauffered round in a 14-year-old Renault Espace and paying a mortgage you can’t afford on a four-bed new-build outside Bedford, all because your husband fancied raw-dogging.

Is it worth the risk of twenty years of caring for an entitled psychopath just so you can pretend you’re young again? Even if you are on the pill? If you can still get aroused at this point, you’ve got the kind of sex drive seen only in serial killers and Boris Johnson. Everyone else should gracefully retire from lovemaking and embrace their offspring’s function as nature’s condom.

Kinky shit

The thrill of being caught in flagrante delicto is dampened somewhat when you’ll be caught by an avid watcher of Peppa Pig. And no, there’s no episode where the world’s leading porcine couple experiment with Mummy Pig’s firefighter outfit in the bedroom, though it certainly happened.

Retire your whips, your handcuffs, your blindfolds and nipple clamps and tell yourself there’ll be time for all that shit when they leave home. Think of it as one big experiment in edging and orgasm control where you’re holding pleasure off until 2038.


As if you’ve got the time, energy or inclination to ‘touch’ your wife in her ‘erogenous zones’ when there’s PE kit to hang out. Bollocks you have. Even if you caressed her perfectly she’ll be snoring through foreplay: wide-mouthed, snorting, exhausted. As if you’ll stay awake. If you’re so desperate for loving physical contact you’ll skip the foreplay and wedge it in, and don’t. As detailed above.


An unrealistic indulgence when there’s shit to pick up, homework to shout about, crying to do. And children watch for it. As if eager to see they’re not repeated, they police your affection and call ‘Gross!’ at any display of affection. And if you think about it – touching your lips against the person whose fault all this is – they’re right. Never ever kiss again.