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Six ways to look an arsehole in… a scarf

OUT there it’s dark, cold and inhospitable and will be for months, so why not subliminate that nagging desire to hang yourself into knotting a scarf instead? 

Perfect whether you’re posh, don’t have a coat that keeps the neck warm or insufferably posh; if you’re into basking in the glare of others’ contempt a scarf is a must. Here’s how to wear it:

With a light jacket

Remember hurrying across the quad, scarf flapping behind you, on your way to see your professor to discover if you got a First? No? Not Oxbridge? Then take that scarf off and stop pretending you represented Gonville & Caius on University Challege, baby!

With a heavy coat

The serious scarf-wearer with echoes of West Berlin during the Cold War, knotted up and tucked in. Ready to exchange documents with a defector, protected from high and icy winds, and your new girlfriend’s parents won’t see your prison neck tattoos!

Oversized

How long is a length of string? Infinite, right? Why accept less for your scarf? Whether length, width or thickness of knit, go large. Trailing 12ft behind you in traffic or piled so high you’re peeking over the top like the eyes on the poop emoji, you’ll be noticed. Isn’t that what this is about?

Encoded

Scarf colours are information. Black with two yellow stripes means you went to the University of Glasgow. Black and white means you support Derby County. Green with light blue square means you’re a gay hustler specialising in blowjobs. Only the slow can’t read the codes.

Indoors

The Stone Cold Stunner of twat moves is the indoor scarf, all pretence of this being a warmth thing abandoned, just straight up draping fabric around your neck like your head’s a vase and this is a still life. The means of your strangulation is right there. Will anyone have the courage to take both ends and pull them tight?

Left on a bus

The ultimate fate of every scarf, whether designer or cashmere or knitted by your gran, is to be left adorning a seat on a bus. Supple, coiled and casual, it classes up that downstairs double and is easily forgotten because it’s entirely unnecessary. Abandon yours on the 39B to Kirkcaldy today!

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Why people need to stop parking outside our houses, by U2

BONO here, lead singer and spokesperson for U2, global poverty and the planet herself. It’s not cool to park outside our houses, guys. Let me tell you why: 

Bono

Beginning with me, because I’m the main one, it has a profound effect when I see cars outside the mansion walls. It’s a small community, a creative one, and when I see 70-80 cars parked on verges I know the whole place is on the verge of being a mudbath.

I wish it wasn’t my fault, though I know it is. I kid myself they’re here for a day at the beach, or to play at the football fields, or even for the much-advertised car boot sales, but we all know Bono, saviour in tinted glasses, is the object of their adoration and it fucks me right off.

Imagine if some stranger imposed something like that on you, their ugly Renault Espace parked at an angle by your entrance gates, or an album on your iPhone without asking. So knock it off, guys, alright?

Larry Mullen Jr.

Hi. I sit at the back of U2, behind the drumkit. Parking for non-residents outside my place also 100 per cent has to stop. Every other Friday I invite 200 of my friends round for a nude masquerade ball, like in the film Eyes Wide Shut. It’s consensual, adult fun and parking is at a premium, so avoid those nights.

Oh, and I’ve got the BT Openreach engineer coming around on Thursday lunchtime as well, so avoid then. But mainly it’s the sex parties.

The Edge

Edge here, or David to friends and family, a simple hat-wearing megastar guitarist. Bad investments of the proceeds of the 170 million albums we’ve sold – I tend to take men in pubs at their word – means I live quite a humble life. Bono gives me a monthly stipend, which I spend on pop and crisps, but I live in a flatshare above a Chicken Cottage in Croydon with Flea from the Chili Peppers and one of the lads from REM.

And I really need people to stop nicking our spaces. Parking’s permit-only and we can’t afford one, so there are only four spaces where I can put my Fiat 500 without getting another fecking ticket. Traffic wardens are piss takers. They have no sympathy even though they know how strapped for cash I am.

Adam Clayton

I’m the bassist of U2, but generally keep my head down about it. When people ask I say I’m a music teacher. If they press me further on my cool jackets, angular haircuts and leather trousers, I tell them I’m having a midlife crisis and made a few quid off of crypto.

To be honest, no-one’s really parking outside my house. I live in Westminster so it’s either red routes or metered. But anything for a quiet life and Bono’s announced this as a full-band project even though it’ll be as disastrous as the Passengers album.

So yeah. If you were to park in the Westminster area, avoid 8am-9am Wednesdays as that’s when my hot yoga instructor’s over, and at 7pm on Thursdays a man from a historical society is giving me lessons on how to churn butter. Thanks.

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