Five other situations and how I would stupidly f**k them up, by Thomas Tuchel

A World Cup semi-final is not the only situation Thomas Tuchel can stupidly fumble. Here he explains other activities he likes to screw up. 

Organising a stag do

Strippers and a bar crawl? Too predictable. The last night of freedom should be a taste of married life. My itinerary involves a trip to IKEA on a Sunday afternoon, then an argument over something trivial when the groom is trying to get to sleep. I’ll only invite his exes, and I’ll keep everyone entertained by sleeping with his bride-to-be.

Parallel parking

Neatly slotting your car into a row of vehicles is boring and takes forever. I much prefer to get 80 per cent of the way there, then reverse over the car behind me, set fire to my vehicle, then walk away without leaving my insurance details. Back-seat drivers can criticise me all they want, but at the end of the day the other cars were better and wanted it more.

Ordering a takeaway

Apps have made ordering a mid-week Chinese far too straightforward. For the best results you’re better off phoning them from somewhere with terrible signal while having no idea what you want from the menu. As for your delivery address, give them vague instructions then get pissed off when they’re understandably annoyed. The terrible decision I made to only order spring rolls can hardly be pinned on me.

Defusing a bomb

Common sense would suggest you evacuate the area and alert bomb disposal experts who can snip the right wires. Where’s the fun in that though? It would be much better to put the explosive in a suitcase and try to take it through an airport scanner. Security could do with some excitement and will surely thank you for livening up their day.

Breaking up with someone

Only cowards follow the playbook of finding a quiet place, gently telling your partner how you feel, then thanking them for your time together. My strategy is all about shock and awe. I dump them halfway through a candlelit dinner, show them the matches I’ve already got on dating apps, and finish off by hitting on the waitress. Sounds crazy but it gets results. Tearful, tearful results.

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Today, I become Labour leader. Big f**king deal

AT lunchtime today, I will be made the leader of the Labour Party. Whoop-di-f**king-woo. Think I give a shit about that?

Labour leader. As if that’s something to be proud of. As if it’s not a badge of shame to wear for the next 72 hours before I become prime minister.

Maybe in 2010 it would have meant something to be Labour leader, but you gave it to Ed Miliband. Great f**king idea that was. Or in 2015, when the party chose Jeremy Corbyn instead. Only cost us two elections and Brexit, that one. Brilliant move.

Honestly, at that point I was done. Better buggering off to Manchester than hanging around with Jezza and his Marxism Today marrow-humpers. I wasn’t initially going to become mayor but 20 failed job interviews convinced me I wasn’t qualified for anything else.

Now, improbably, one more f**k-up of a Labour leader later, I’m the party’s new darling. Elected leader unopposed. About bloody time, but parliamentary procedure means I’m leader today but don’t get the big job until Monday.

So how does it feel to lead the Labour party after all these years? A ballache, mate. An appointment made for administrative reasons. A shitload of pointless paperwork.

I’m giving a speech later like it’s a milestone, but it’s not the big speech, is it? That’s Monday on Downing Street. Might even wear a tie for that one. This one is, like the job I’m getting today, unnecessary busywork.

So when you see headlines saying ‘Burnham made Labour leader’ and think ‘so what?’ I’m right there with you. Still, means it’s not on me when England lose tomorrow.