HUMOUR

THE hellscape of modern society is the result of decades of dickheads beavering away. But here are six awful aspects your mum blames on you personally.

Spam emails

Your father got an email inviting him to purchase some penis enlargement pills. Your generation’s obsession with sex is what led to him clicking on a dodgy link and divulging his bank details to some foreigner with internet access. Which, incidentally, is another awful thing that’s your fault.

Petrol prices

Back in the old days, petrol was far cheaper. Now, because of inflation and various oil crises, prices at the pump have skyrocketed. You weren’t alive back then, but you are now. Coincidence? Your mum thinks not, and she won’t stop driving or complaining until you finally put your philosophy degree to good use and bring them down.

Litter

The streets are filthy, especially in cities where the young live. As an important figure within the under-60 age bracket, why, exactly, haven’t you urged today’s youth to clean up their act? And get those kids to pull up their trousers, while you’re at it.

AI chatbots

Nowadays it’s impossible to get hold of someone on the phone and shout at them when you have a problem. Instead, you’re forced to converse with a stupid AI chatbot that can’t even flinch from your bellowing. It’s young people like you with your woke sensibilities who have turned complaining into a chore rather than a pleasure.

People playing videos on public transport

Your mum is happy to endlessly swipe through knitting patterns on Instagram, but she would never play them out loud on the train. And in the quiet carriage, no less! How could you be so selfish as to invent the endless scroll and make the volume button so small and fiddly?

Hospital waiting times

According to the way your parents tell it, in the 70s you could turn up at the (white, male) doctor’s house any time of day or night and he’d sort you out. Now you have to go to A&E and wait for hours to see a so-called ‘physician’ who might have long hair or even a nose ring. Assisted dying can’t come soon enough.

A MAN has forgotten how to be an underperforming drone after the four-day Easter weekend, it has emerged.

A long weekend of lying on the sofa and eating chocolate has resulted in Martin, not his real name, not remembering how to fall short of his ‘key performance indicators’ and risk being laid off during the next round of redundancies.

He said: “I knew something was off when I confidently walked into the office early. That’s so unlike me.

“My suspicions grew as I promptly replied to emails, organised my to-do list, and whipped up a presentation of budget-saving measures the company could easily implement. Usually it takes me all morning to turn my computer on.

“I tried to get back into the swing of things by sending emails without the necessary attachments and taking lengthy toilet breaks, but it’s no use. I stupidly got a raise after coming up with profitable ideas during this morning’s team meeting.

“Am I ever going to remember how to fill in a spreadsheet incorrectly or miss a deadline? Or am I doomed to a successful career of spouting corporate jargon and being respected by my awful colleagues? Christ I hope not.”

Marttin’s boss Kah Pau said: “I understand Martin’s concern. But once he’s burnt out he’ll go back to being an unproductive husk.”

THE sight of a single takeout pizza van has caused villagers to think their town is now on a par with London, it has emerged.

Having grown accustomed to their Nisa and a chippie that takes half an hour to drive to, residents of a Gloucestershire village believe they are about to become the new Shoreditch thanks to a van that sells overpriced pizzas.

Local Donna, not her real name, said: “I thought food trucks were something MasterChef made up for the telly. Yet there it is, in all its dazzling, gentrified glory for a pleb like me to enjoy.

“I phoned my kids who live in Camden to tell them I tried something called fior de latte on my margherita. They already knew what it was thanks to their swanky university education, and suggested I try an anchovy topping next. It’s all very cosmopolitan.

“The young lad who runs it says you can’t move for food trucks like this in the big city. Apparently they even sell Asian-fusion tacos and curried lentil dishes. Sounds a bit extravagant for our tastes but each to their own.

“Maybe if the novelty of pizza served out of a van catches on we’ll be treated to other London perks like a Gail’s and unaffordable housing. We can only dream.”

Pizza cook Jack, not his real name, said: “A place like this is perfect for entrepreneurs. I could serve these hicks reheated Pizza Express ready meals and they’d never know.”

SPOTTED a colleague on the train or bus? Commute ruined. Unless you follow this guide to hide from them in a mature way.

Check your phone

Oh dear god, according to the news there’s a rainstorm in Patagonia, this requires immediate attention. Stop, stare down at the screen, brow furrowed. Or check your stocks and shares. Never mind that you don’t have any, you could and they would require regular urgent attention. You’re just practising for that.

Take a call

Admittedly, your voice might attract the target’s attention, but sometimes a bold strategy is needed. Say either ‘Those numbers are unacceptable, Simon’ or ‘Dad, you’ve fallen?’ whilst walking purposefully away from your colleague. In the unlikely event that they follow you, get off at the next stop or hide in the toilet.

Inspect some building work

Angry letters to the council about potholes won’t have the required bite unless you know what you’re talking about. Go and stick your face close to that crater in the road. Take out a measuring tape if necessary. Or find a wall and start counting the bricks. Your dad’s right, things aren’t made as well today. If it’s a low wall, you can duck down behind it too.

Have an emergency shoe inspection

Bend down and make sure laces are tied, even if they’re slip-ons. You never know. Or just give them a good hard look to see how shiny they are, as if that’s something you’ve ever given a toss about before. You may become less invisible if someone trips over you, though.

Put on headphones

Now you’re wearing chunky noise-cancelling headphones, you can’t be seen. That’s a scientific fact. It’s like there’s a force field around you. No one can hear you or talk to you. If your colleague gestures at you to slip the headphones off, pretend to have no idea what they could possibly mean. Besides, that would be impossible, they are now welded to your ears.

Find a newspaper

Most newspapers on public transport are used by drunks as vomit receptacles, toilet paper or trousers. If you manage to find a clean one, don’t pretend to read it as that leaves you vulnerable to interruption. Instead, craft it into an impenetrable disguise by poking out a couple of eye holes and holding it over your face. For the finishing touch, keep it in place then run away.

A MAN has wisely asked his girlfriend’s cat for permission to marry her.

Nathan consulted Nikki, not their real names,’ grey tabby cat Mr Wiggles because he felt he could not go against the wishes of such an important authority figure in her life.

He said: ‘Nikki looks up to Mr Wiggles in a weird paternalistic way. She asks him questions and takes any meow as an affirmation or rejection.

“The cat rules her life to the extent that Nikki consults him on everything from politics to savings plans. She asked him if I should be clean-shaven instead of sporting a beard. Mr Wiggles appeared to meow in favour of the first, so now my face is naked and cold.

“But I totally understand why she wanted me to do the traditional thing of asking the cat for her hand in marriage. When the time came I was quite nervous, and I had to wait for Mr Wiggles to wake from one of his many naps and give his balls a good lick.

“I’d bought him a catnip-infused cloth mouse, but Nikki said that was going too far. Mr Wiggles might think I was creeping and lose respect.”

She said: “Unfortunately Mr Wiggles had doubts about Nathan marrying me and living with us, and when Nathan asked him I was forced to interpret the answer as ‘no’.”

How to party like accountants this financial New Year’s Eve

EXCITED about the new tax year? Here’s how to party like an accountant before a thrilling new fiscal year begins in April. Don’t forget the Alka-Seltzer!

Choose the venue prudently

Hiring a party venue can be costly, and the company office has overheads, so show fiscal prudence and reduce outlay by partying at someone’s home. If everyone rocks up with their laptop and logs in, the host can claim on their tax return for using the house as an office. Talk about starting the party with a bang!

Estimate outgoings for food and drink

Base your figures on the previous financial year’s consumption and forecast an average spend. Historic data patterns reveal one of the party will be pregnant and abstain from drinking, but will consume double the snacks, and your fat bastard colleague Gareth will appreciate to two persons with food and three for drink.

Dress to bill

Accountancy party clothes vary only slightly from work clothes. For men, it’s a novelty tie, for women, it’s brighter shoes and smaller bag. Aftershaves and perfumes never fluctuate, only percentage application increases. Now you’re ready to paint the town the colour of a worrying deficit in a ledger.

Harvest attendance data

As with company accounts, there’s no room for ambiguity. Collect signed and witnessed confirmations from all potential attendees. Last year’s figures indicate that approximately 12 per cent of attendees will bale out, and a further seven per cent will get lost en route. All figures must be quantifiable to one decimal place and rounded down. ‘Who needs booze when you’re having this much fun?’ you joke.

Have quantified fun

Now the party can begin in earnest. Having calculated you will take 1.25 hours to consume each of your four 330ml cans of moderately pissy IPA, you can index-link letting your hair down accordingly. Start with some accountancy games to break the ice, such as ‘Pin the upturn on the flowchart’. As the alcohol flows at join in the karaoke with a rendition of Pocket Calculator by Kraftwerk. By the fourth can your probability copping off with someone feels statistically high. Sadly this was the booze talking, and a further audit of the figures reveals you will sing Auld Lang Syne and go home alone.

The morning after

Despite your last drink being a Horlicks, you wake up with a thumping hangover next to your laptop and a crusty taxi receipt you will sponge clean and file. You hang up a new calendar and begin your Financial New Year’s resolution to format a new spreadsheet for the coming year. It’s been a party that will go down in accountancy legend!

TRIED to spice things up with dirty texts and been rebuffed? Here’s how to move onto a much safer topic: the British weather.

Tell your partner they misunderstood

When you asked if she was wet, what you meant was ‘due to the downpour we just had’. If you requested shower pics, you meant her in a charming mac caught in an April shower. Sadly you have now condemned yourself to receiving and commenting on ‘adorable’ pictures of her whenever she gets caught in the rain. Get ready with those ‘likes’.

Show concern

You only wanted to know what he was wearing to make sure it was climate-appropriate. The same with telling him he was ‘hot’. You just were trying to persuade him to wear a sun hat and cooling lightweight clothing. How could you worrying about heatstroke and dehydration be misconstrued as sexual? Shore up this gaslighting by asking if he’s ever been treated for sex addiction.

Blame the seasons and your allergies

Alright, you were a bit forward, but it’s the weather. The warmer temperatures have caused the flowers to bloom and release pollen and it’s made you delirious with hayfever. So let’s talk about that and not that dick pic you sent. Admitted this is the first case of hayfever to have the same effects as malaria, but you don’t have many options. Maybe you can convince her you accidentally dropped your phone down your trousers? No, that’s just as bad.

Turn your dirty talk into a weather report

For example: ‘After a warm front, things have turned rather chilly. There’s been a sharp drop in enthusiasm and earlier projections of heavy activity have now been downgraded to light drizzle at best. Conditions are tense but stable. Expect a long dry spell ahead.’ See, this is like a spoof weather report on a comedy show! Ha ha ha! Is he laughing? No, he’s thinking about dating someone less weird.

Never speak of what happened again

Like a sunny spell, your attempt at being sexy came and went and now you’re back to gloom and small talk. Both of you should bury this awkward memory and only talk about the weather from now on. It’s the British way.

BREAKING up is hard to do, and it would be wrong to outsource it to a Large Language Model like all other hard work. That’s why all of these are human and genuine:

The generic

‘I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship – and it’s not working. It’s not just you, it’s us, the war in Iran and the prevailing wind speed. I wish you all the best in your future endeavours. If you want, I can write a version that is kinder.’

The one with examples

‘It’s important to remember there have been some positive periods in our partnership, such as when we had our tender first kiss during the season two finale of The Office, the show’s first 40-minute episode which was viewed by 7.6 million people and scored 4/10 in the overnight Nielsen ratings.’

The ironic

‘I can definitely give you several reasons why a couple might break up. Firstly, problems with communicating. Secondly, a lack of effort. Would you like me to keep going?’

The hallucinatory

‘There are many good reasons to end our relationship, including your frequent infidelity while disguised as a white bull, a swan and a shower of gold. You’re right – these are seductions used by the Greek god Zeus, and bear no resemblance to any situation in your actual relationship. Well done for catching that.’

The mean

‘While I can help make a message more direct, I won’t write anything to intentionally hurt someone. Instead, here is an insult from the playwright William Shakespeare, spoken to the character Falstaff: “Thou art as fat as butter.”’

The hyperlink

‘Tom has sent you a link to a ChatGPT conversation. Click here to view.’

GOVERNMENT guidance has called for screen time to be limited for children under five. But frankly these other groups could do with some restrictions too.

Seething gammons

Huge chunks of the internet are nothing more than a hate engine powered by outraged, narrow-minded pensioners. Restricting the amount of time they can bark about Meghan in the Mail Online comments section will cool down the culture war and make them realise that voting for Reform UK is probably a bad idea. It’s in the national interest that they’re pacified with a TV that plays Battle of Britain on an endless loop instead.

Dating singletons

Endlessly swiping through apps and realising your low ranking on the dating market is terrible for a person’s wellbeing. Scaling back this activity will get desperate, horny singletons approaching each other in real life again and hopefully reverse the gradual population decline. Either that or it will accelerate it as everyone realises they’ve totally forgotten how to flirt in real life.

Boyfriends who use toilets

Limiting boyfriends with working bowels to an hour of screen time a day will have a dramatic effect on how long they stay on the shitter. The previous average of 40 minutes will be brought crashing down to a tight ten, maximum, as they’re forced to ration out their private scrolling. However women need to be prepared for having to spend more time with their terminally boring partners as a result.

Social media influencers

True, social media influencers are going through a tough time at the minute after being driven from their homeland in Dubai. But cutting back their screen time is the next step in rehabilitating them into becoming useful, functional members of society. We will no longer need them to upload challenge videos or record sponsored reviews, and it would be really useful if they could start building houses instead. In fact why not make it compulsory?

Everyone else, realistically

Nobody is truly immune to the damaging effects of gawping at a screen 24/7. Putting a cap on it will shield young boys from the manosphere, prevent mothers from getting radicalised by Mumsnet, and protect your budget from late night eBay purchases. Upon doing so, society will soon revert to wholesome analogue pleasures, like getting shitfaced and having affairs.

AN outwardly normal couple have decided to have not one, not two, not three, but four children, it has emerged.

Anthony and Jess, not their real names, of Bush Hill have four offspring, but all appear to have been conceived, birthed and raised without their parents being visibly deranged or members of a cult.

Neighbour Martin, not his real name, said: “Initially we assumed they had some kind of contraceptive f**k-up at least twice, but apparently they really did choose to have this many children.

“They do normal things like going to work, taking the kids swimming, going on a family holiday every year. Frankly it’s creepy how they act like there’s nothing wrong.

“Sometimes they even seem happy about this waking nightmare they’ve created for themselves. Surely one day they’ll both snap and set fire to their seven-seater Citroën?”

Family friend Kah Heng, not his real name,  said: “It’s weird. They’re not religious and they know about contraception. I’d understand if they were parenting influencers getting lucrative washing powder deals, but it’s like they enjoy having kids or something.”

Youngest son Oliver said: “I’d like to have more brothers and sisters, but mummy said ‘No, there’s a limit to how many times I can watch Bluey, so f**k that’.”

ALLOWING another road-user to take precedence over you is an unforgivable sign of weakness and should incur points, motorists have agreed.

Giving way, whether to a car, a cyclist or a pedestrian is an act of submission which should, if repeated, lead to the loss of a driving licence and in extreme cases a full ban because of the danger it poses.

Qashqai driver Karen, not her real name,  said: “It’s basic biology. Do rhinos give way to a herd of antelope? No. They charge ahead because they’re top of the food chain.

“By hesitating around being courteous and prioritising others, these idiots are causing crashes among real drivers like me: confident, brake seldom, basically apex predators with windscreen wipers.”

Shane, not his real name, a Ford Ranger Raptor driver from Stafford, agreed: “There are rules about who has right of way at junctions, and there are unwritten rules about self-respect and what it takes to get ahead.

“I’m not giving way just to be ‘nice’. It’s not the 14th century and I’m not a gallant knight. I’m a 43-year-old man on the way to the big Sainsbury’s to buy toilet roll.”

Reform MP Robert Jenrick said: “This nation has been weakened by the constant nanny-state need to make sure others are not ‘at risk’ of an ‘imminent collision’. When we should be ruling the road and dominating every junction, instead we ‘give way’.

“I don’t even stop for red lights. I go straight through them.”

A MAN on Tinder who appears to be without significant perversions, addictions, commitment issues or a receding hairline is a huge red flag, women have agreed.

When 28-year-old Hannah, not her real name or age, matched with 32-year-old Guido, not his real name or age, she was immediately unsettled by his individually-tailored responses and failure to send a dick pic.

She said: “It was like I was talking to a human being, not an AI. So I was creeped out immediately.

“Tall, but he didn’t say ‘6ft cos apparently that matters’. No pictures in Lederhosen or by someone else’s sports car. Zero requests for nudes or feet pics. In every shot he’s fully clothed. My freak siren was screaming.

“Even worse, he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me and ‘wants a monogamous relationship’. What unspeakable horror is this concealing? He’ll be asking me to shove a hairbrush up his arse on date one.

“He uses full sentences and correct spelling. How could he possibly be single? This is London. Any halfway normal man is chased by mobs of women the moment he leaves the house.”

Guido said: “Hannah’s right to be happy. I am in fact a 62-year-old about to interest her in an exciting crypto opportunity.”

GAS is rising. Diesel’s already unaffordable. The time has come for me to install a 249ft wind turbine in the garden of my new build.

Solar panels? For wimps. I might have been forced against my will to go green, but I’m not being wet and environmental about it. Besides, the sun never shines in this bloody country, apart from now but you get my point.

No, it’s a wind turbine, and if it’s going to power my gaff it’s going to have to be a f**king big one. There’s not a room without at least a 55-inch telly and we don’t turn them off.

Plus there’s three Range Rover Evoques – mine, the wife’s and the one for our 14-year-old to grow into – which are all going to have to go electric. They’ll be a serious drain, especially as we plan to leave them idling 24/7 once it’s free.

The garden’s not large, as I say it’s a new build, but we should be able to squeeze it in between the summerhouse, the decking, the hot tub and the brick pizza oven. Most of it’s height after all.

And as luck would have it I know a few of the lads who’ve been installing them and they’ll do it for mates’ rates. Can’t get me one that’s fallen off the back of a lorry though. Broken Britain.

Should be up by summer and I’ve told the neighbours they can piss off. You don’t need planning permission if it’s green, do you? And the blades are only 144 feet so they’ll easily clear the roofs.

Bollocks to Iran, Qatar and the whole Middle East. They’ve had enough of my money. I’m going self-sufficient in a big way. And if local kids shin up it trying to scrump my amperage I’ll be out here with a bloody cricket bat.

YOU know who gets texts from blokes, ignores them and it only makes them want me more? Me over here, a licensed plumber. Need him hungry for you, girls? Do this: 

Don’t respond to messages too quickly

You can’t be answering immediately. Makes you seem cheap. They have to be reminded they need you more than you need them. And go ahead and tease a little. Men like mystery. Make them wait in all night then send a last-minute text saying you’ve got another job that’s gone long but you’ll try to get to them sometime later this month. They love that.

Never let him know what you’re thinking

Keep him on his toes. Seem friendly, then give them the silent treatment. Say you’re nipping down Screwfix for a part then don’t come back for two days. Act like it’s no big deal it being a Sunday, then casually drop in that it’s double-time with a call-out fee once they’re committed.

Let him chase you

Set times you don’t show up for, book in dates you’re no intention of making, and when he’s had enough that’s when you reach out with a 750-word WhatsApp message revealing you’ve been going through some personal stuff lately but it’s over now and you are ready to make this work. Then don’t turn up again.

Reinforce that you have all the power

He can complain, he can vent, he can say ‘I thought we’d agreed this’ and ‘I don’t think I’m getting what I wanted’ but remember you have the power tools and the power. He’s completely dependent on you and he knows it. If you walk out now he’s completely f**ked. If he threatens to find someone else? You know how tough it is out there. He won’t.

Go bloody crazy on his pipes

Finally, give him the payoff. Show him you know your way around a pipe like nobody he’s ever let get down on their knees and see what’s flowing. Service good and bloody hard until he’s gasping with delight, then quote for six days’ work.

A MOTHER is gripped by a new live-action reality show which she is binge-watching via the streaming service of her kitchen window.

Mary, not her real name, could not get into Made in Chelsea or The Only Way is Essex, but has found herself riveted to the squabbles about trellises and hanging baskets that drop every day in her neighbour’s back garden.

She said: “I missed the first few seasons but the plot’s easy enough to pick up. And thanks to the second-screen-friendly dialogue I can even scroll on my phone at the same time.

“Basically, it’s about this suburban middle-class family who are coming to terms with their pointless existence via horticulture. Not only is it unmissable, there are no ads.

“It’s impossible to only watch one episode. Just when I’m about to see what’s on the telly, the conversation switches from the ivy that needs trimming to their daughter’s bulimia. I can’t walk away from a cliffhanger like that.

“The only downside is that nobody else watches it, so I can’t talk to anyone about the plot twists. I’m trying to get my friend Helen to give it a go by saying it’s like Ground Force meets Bridgerton.”

Neighbour Kelly, not her real name, said: “Mary’s obsessive viewing habits are disturbing. But we are nicking her WiFi and using her Disney+ account, so it’s a fair trade.”

THE long-held suspicion that it is impossible for women and women to have genuine friendships has been proved by researchers. 

A study which included peer-reviews of bitchy WhatsApps, lab measurements of subtle, withering comments about each other’s wardrobes and longitudinal studies concluded that women are incapable of friendship with women.

Professor Ronny, of the Institute for Studies, said: “What was a popular theory is now a scientific fact. Disagree and you’re as deluded as a flat-Earther.

“Women may all appear to be close confidants to the untrained, male eye. Look closer and you’ll see even the closest of friendships is a long war motivated by fiery hatred and a refusal to concede superiority. And if they’re actual sisters even more so.

“Resentment runs through everything women do. Hen parties are a calculated humiliation ritual. Weddings only exist to establish dominance over their closest enemies. Even their slumber party pillow-fights are just a controlled release of physical rage.

“Compare this to how well women get on with men. Often their friendship blossoms into ill-judged sex and occasionally marriage. After which they stop talking, but still.”

Woman Helen Archer said: “Who did they do this study on? I bet it was Emily, that f**king bitch.”

AN invitation has arrived, and of course you have no intention of going. But how best to do so without offending the host who unreasonably expects your presence? Try these: 

Turn it down

The cleanest strategy for handling invites is also the most challenging. Going against every instinct to embrace your anti-social nature with a swift ‘F**k no’ is tough, so ingrained is pretending people are pleasurable to spend time with. It does eliminate uncertainty over whether you’re a fun or available person, helpful in the face of future invites.

Accept, then cancel

Allows you to experience for a moment the feeling of being a normal sociable person who wants to ‘hang out’ while not actually doing it. It’s most convincing to leave making your excuses to a week before the event while bemoaning the other commitment that has cropped up ‘out of nowhere’ and is ‘truly gutting’.

Ghost

May require moving house, changing jobs, or going no-contact with family, but worth it if you struggle communication, confrontation and the rigmarole of basic human courtesy. A straightforward blanking allows you to continue as if an invite never arrived, safe in the knowledge that the host will eventually give up trying.

Turn it down then accept

Reverse the established norm to give your host a rousing rollercoaster of emotion, then cancel again, then accept again, and before long they’ll be ignoring your texts. Quite a turnaround.

Refuse to commit

Ideal for those who want to give their prospective host the most anxiety possible, this option suspends your host in a quantum state of indecision, waiting for you to sync diaries, taking hopes you can make it at face value, eager to see if fictional competing engagements pan out. Eventually text ‘sorry, can’t make it’ an hour after the event begins.

YOUR boisterous, irrepressible dog is fun and full of character. Everyone you meet definitely feels the same way, so it’s fine to do the following:

Let him off the lead

Anyone out in a public place is thrilled to have a random dog leaping up at them and barking wildly. Parents only take their toddlers to the park in the hope of securing such a delightful animal encounter free of charge. If your dog also entertains picnicking strangers by stealing their ham sandwiches, so much the better.

Take him everywhere you go

Cafes aren’t for a relaxed catch-up with friends, which is dull. Brunch needs to be enlivened by you and your dog rocking up at the adjacent table. His incessant barking, lunges at anyone passing and rancid farts will give everyone a subject to converse on. Are those yummy mummies laughing or gagging? Laughing, obviously.

Ignore all hygiene concerns

Current dog ownership involves forgetting everything you knew about the established scientific concept of ‘germs’. Don’t worry if your pet has had a lick at the Victoria sponge you’re serving to your guests. They’ll just laugh at what a mischievous little scamp he is and definitely won’t be thinking, ‘I’m eating shitty dog arse.’

Laugh off misbehaviour as delightful

Your dog isn’t dangerous, he’s an amusingly naughty boy and has no deep-rooted psychological issues a tasty treat won’t address. Anyway, a dog who doesn’t growl and snap is like a football match without goals: boring. He was only playing. That child’s parents should stop overreacting with silly talk about stitches, police, and post-traumatic stress.

Expect friends to look after him

Don’t pay for expensive boarding kennels when you go away. They treat all dogs the same, and your dog is an individual! It will be a wonderful privilege for your friends to dogsit, which means picking up dogshit and their fitted carpet being dug up. If they’ve walked him for less than three hours it’s their fault he ate their sofa.

Put a photo of him on your Christmas cards

Christmas wouldn’t be complete for your extended family without a picture of your terrifying hound on their mantelpiece. Life’s so busy, they haven’t really had a chance to visit since you got him. This will be a lovely festive reminder of the abject fear they’re missing.

DO you sometimes have to ensure your elderly parents attend a family event, keep a doctor’s appointment or simply come to visit? Here is the painful process step-by-step.

1. Have they remembered they’re going? No. Your inward groans begin. 

2. Discussion of weather. Yes, it could rain on the way to your car at the top of their drive. And gloves would be wise. It’s mild right now but it could suddenly turn into Hoth.

3. Use of toilet suggested. Debated for much longer than it takes to have a wee, or attempt to. Suggestion rejected.

4. They appear to be taking a long time to get ready.You go upstairs and discover they haven’t started yet. They are looking at a fly in the bedroom.

5. Putting on coats. Somehow takes seven minutes. They’ve only got two arms.

6. Actually they will go to the toilet. Urge to shout ‘For f**k’s sake!’ resisted by not wanting to give your mum the excuse to pretend to be shocked as if it’s the 1950s.

7. You point out the time. It is meaningless to them since they live in a timeless void known as ‘retirement’. 

8. Key-carrying responsibility discussed. Dad will lock the doors, but Mum will transport the house keys in her handbag. Which has also been confirmed to contain lip balm and tissues. Glad all that’s cleared up.

9. Unnecessary task performed, eg. washing-up. Yes, four unwashed mugs and two plates with scone crumbs on will be swarming with rats and cockroaches if left for two hours.

10. Door exited and locked. The stress thus far has taken six weeks off your life.

11. Check that door is locked. It is. Luckily the lock is designed not to randomly unlock itself.

12. Second check that door is locked. Sizewell B has fewer failsafe procedures.

13. Open bathroom window noticed. Dad goes back inside to prevent doll-sized burglar getting in. All previous door steps repeated.

14. Stopping on way to car. An urgent inspection of a flowerbed is required. Geraniums confirmed to exist. No further action necessary at this point.

15. Chat with neighbour. Sadly it appears Mrs Brown’s husband is still dead.

16. Seatbelt torture. The silver bit goes into the buckle clearly designed for that, so why does your dad appear to be fighting an octopus? Haven’t retracting seatbelts been around since the 1980s?

17. Journey begins. Request to go back and get travel sweets denied for 12-minute drive.

18. (If walking) Stop to look at something utterly uninteresting. Eg. unspectacular fallen branch, minor scaffolding project, the incredible coincidence of a neighbour having the same car as one of your relatives. You pray you will somehow never get old.

19. Realisation that one has forgotten their glasses.Yes, your mother failed to notice that everything had turned into a large fuzzy blob. You must return home. All progress is undone. You want to cry.

MORE and more places are welcoming dogs these days, but society still has a long way to go. Here are just six of the places I should obviously be allowed to take my gorgeous little fur baby.

Restaurants

Dogs are social creatures and they love to eat, so really a restaurant is the perfect place for them. If you’ve got a problem with my dog begging, drooling and sniffing your crotch while you enjoy dinner, that sounds like a you problem. Perhaps you should eat at home so my little angel doesn’t have to experience your dog-hating.

Your child’s birthday party

I don’t have a child. I have a dog. But why should that exclude me from your infant son’s birthday festivities? My labrador may be largely untrained and absolutely enormous, but he’ll have a blast hurtling around with your two-year-old and his mates. Just tell them not to get too rowdy as he is very easily startled.

The theatre

Just because my dog doesn’t speak English doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the magic of theatre. And yes, perhaps he will run onto the stage and try to mount the cast – but that’s just how he expresses that he enjoyed the performance. He can’t exactly clap, can he?

An intensive care ward

I can already hear the protests – ‘But I’m critically ill!’ and ‘I’m in a coma!’. Well I’m sorry, but Milo is a curious little guy and there are lots of interesting things for him to smell in here. Plus, he absolutely loves chewing all the wires and tubes. If you saw how happy he’d be gnawing on a catheter you’d think twice about excluding him from your precious ward.

A funeral

Look, I’m sorry that a large portion of your aunt’s eulogy could not be heard because my dog was barking. But it’s not his fault. He saw a squirrel outside.

A nuclear submarine

Some people think bringing a dog aboard a cramped vessel packed with weapons of mass destruction is a bad idea. They say things like ‘It’s an extreme security risk’ and ‘How did you even get on board?’ But Milo just loves to explore new places and he won’t be any bother. If he accidentally launches a Trident missile and triggers a world war while chasing a tennis ball that seems like a design fault.

LONDON is the most dangerous place in the country according to your mother who last visited in 1981 for the Royal Wedding. This is what she thinks happens there:

Your phone will get stolen

Every resident of London has their phone stolen by youths on e-bikes at least five times a day. It’s in the Mail. Statistically, that means your phone will be snatched within 28 seconds of getting off the train then twice again before lunch. You’d be much better visiting somewhere safer, like Banbury or Dubai.

You’ll encounter a migrant

Not that there’s anything wrong with migrants, of course. They’re perfectly welcome to seek refuge in London so long as they stay there. It’s just they sell vapes and aren’t qualified to cut hair and I don’t understand why they can’t be migrants in their own country. It would save them the trouble of crossing the Channel.

You’ll commit knife crime

They’re all at it: wealth managers, PR girls, Tube drivers. Everyone in London indulges in knife crime on a daily basis. Honestly, before you’ve got to Cockfosters you’ll find a big deadly blade in your coat pocket and a burning desire to use it. Do you really want to stab someone just for having the wrong postcode when you could stay here in Uttoxeter?

You’ll question your entire identity

London is a diverse, multi-cultural melting pot, and worse they think that’s normal. Even just a day trip to the Big Smoke can have you reassessing whether you’re heterosexual or need to mix race. And the evidence shows that makes property prices go through the absolute roof.

You’ll get gentrified

You as you are? Not good enough for fancy Londoners. They’ll tear down your charming, homely features and replace them with a soulless glass-and-steel construction too expensive for anyone who isn’t a finance wanker to enjoy. Bad enough, but when you come back here you’ll look terribly out-of-place and your friends will rightly bully you.

EVERY arsehole you have the misfortune to speak to now aggressively calls you ‘buddy’, Britain has confirmed.

The twats, who can work in any field from vehicle repair to fencing installation, now automatically add ‘buddy’ to their verbal interactions while making it clear it is in no way friendly.

Julian, not his real name, of Stevenage said: “When a man greets you with the salutation, ‘alright buddy?’ it is natural to assume fellow feeling. Natural and wrong.

“In my experience, the next stage will be to tell you you cannot park there, or this particular meadow would be an unwise place to walk through with children as he is exercising his pit bulls, or the quote he gave over the phone was ‘provisional’.

“What happened to calling someone ‘mate’ or ‘pal’ to be hostile? Why has rampant Americanism changed our language so ‘buddy’ is the new codeword of belligerence, spat out rapidly at the end of sentences designed to dishearten?

“You are not genuine when you call me ‘buddy’. We are not ‘buds’. I am not fooled. Though obviously I will continue to be polite and play along.”

Heat pump maintenance engineer Stephen Malley said: “Yeah looks like a bird’s nested in it. That’s gonna run you about three grand buddy.”