Milton Keynes

Half-named after a man who did some culture, all connection with the corpus of the arts ends there. There aren’t even any bands from here despite it being full of young people who are bored shitless.

Wrexham

Has no connection to English culture because it’s Welsh, but has no connection with Welsh culture because everyone speaks English. The feet of Ryan Reynolds have trodden its pavement and he was in Deadpool & Wolverine. That’s as close as it gets.

Blackpool

Home to some of Britain’s most accomplished dick artists, who draw large cocks and balls on every unattended surface in the mouldering, deprived, permanent hangover of a town. Also hosts Strictly’s Blackpool week, which is best viewed safely on television.

Portsmouth

The perfect gauge of this town’s tolerance of culture is to try declaiming a Shakespeare sonnet in a kebab shop and see how quickly you get punched in the face by a sailor. If you make it all the way to ‘and more temperate’ then it deserves to be nominated. You won’t.

Sheffield

A thriving centre of culture if you count Sean Bean, Pulp and The Full Monty, all of which are decades old so you shouldn’t. Ready and willing to make art which is about how evil Thatcher was and how she ruined the North. Unwilling to make art about anything else.

Ipswich

The home of Ed Sheeran, which automatically disqualifies it. He’s not even popular with his fans now.

Swindon

Included on the list as a joke to check if anyone was reading it, and still on the list because they weren’t. Culture is anathema to Swindon. Most of its residents only moved here because fiction confuses them and they want it to be renamed ‘lies’ and banned.

Inverness

Easily the most cultured city on its latitude because everywhere else is a village. Naming it a ‘City of Culture’ is like saying ‘there’s a bookshop here’ which anyone who lives in the Highlands already well knows, for good or ill.

Middlesbrough

Volunteered for this because the residents have heard of culture and, what the f**k, everything else they’ve tried has failed so why not? Once they try it they won’t like it, and any visitors asking about it will be pointedly ignored.

Margolyes, who is gay, impeccably left-wing and says the C-word on chat shows, is thought to be a much more palatable pick for younger generations than the ‘problematic’ Rowling.

A spokesman for Warner Brothers said: “As owners of the cinematic rights to the Harry Potter franchise, we needed to protect our investment. And Joanne was an issue.

“It isn’t just her attacks on the trans community. She’s always on Twitter, which is an unacceptable hive of Nazis, and the whole ‘being Scottish’ thing isn’t as fresh as it was back in the oughts especially as she doesn’t back independence.

“Miriam, by contrast, was an enthusiastic Corbyn supporter, she’s pro-Palestine, she’s rude to all the right people. She’s the kind of loveable sweary auntie we need as writer. The other one can carry on writing her nasty spiteful murder books like a big old meanie.”

32-year-old Harry Potter fan Hannah Tomlinson said: “This means I can fully embrace derivative books for children about a boy wizard as central to my identity again!

“This isn’t just good news for me, but for my boyfriend, family, colleagues and everyone around me. Okay, all do a quiz to find out what your Hogwarts house is.”

Lucy Parry has condemned herself to a lifetime in debt by choosing a course which only broadens her mind and enhances her life instead of leading to a solid middle-management position.

Friend Ellie Shaw said: “I explained the point of university is to give yourself an unassailable advantage when applying for white-collar positions at blue-chip companies. But she kept talking about her ‘passion for learning’.

“What can she possibly learn by studying English Literature? All the books are summarised on Wikipedia now anyway, and if you need to do critical thinking about them there’s ChatGPT.

“Closely analysing incredible works by great writers is a waste of three years. All she’ll develop is a keen sense of empathy and a rich cultural understanding of the world around her. Employers don’t give a f** about that.

“And when she’s not making her way through the canon, she’ll be out on the piss and hooking up with boys doing sports science. I couldn’t think of a more dreary existence.”

Parry said: “Yeah, well if I regret my decision I’ll be able to articulate my despair in a Petrarchan sonnet.”

Susan Traherne: “I borrow money from an ex until payday”

I pretend I’m a single mother with six children who fails to plan ahead financially. At the end of the month I’m out of cash and the kids need crisps and energy drinks, so I borrow £80 from an ex – my husband, wearing a shell suit – and am so grateful I have sex with him in his housing association flat out of sheer gratitude.

Sophie Rodriguez: “I get a full house at bingo” 

He’s calling off the numbers and I’m marking them one by one using a dabber I bought off eBay. The tension is mounting with each one, we’re exchanging glances and fully aroused. When I finally shout ‘Bingo!’ he tells me I’ve not only won £125 in Matalan vouchers but his heart, and he takes me backstage, bends me over a folding table and does me.

Julian Cook: “I’m a plumber, she works at Greggs”

She’s got the branded polo, hairnet and apron on. I walk in, van parked on double-yellows, and order a sausage roll. She asks if I want vegan, I say ‘Do I look like a f**king media studies lecturer?’ and we’re both inflamed by the casual profanity. After I give her a good seeing-to in the back of the shop I hand her a fiver and tell her to keep the change and she does.

Carolyn Ryan: “I haggle at a car boot sale”

I’m seated on a nasty little folding chair behind a table of tat when a man asks how much for a tea-towel of Filey. I tell him a quid and he huffs and puffs and counters with an offer of 30p. I tell him jog on. He raises it to 50p and tells me I drive a hard bargain, we exchange goods, he sweeps the table clear and shags me on it then we drink strong tea from a flask.

Tom Booker: “I win the World Darts Championship”

I’m wearing the shiny top playing the deciding game at Ally Pally in front of a baying, drunken crowd. I hit all the right numbers, win the top prize and my wife fellates me while wearing a beer bottle costume. I used to start this fantasy with walk-on music, but my wife suggested it was too indulgent and was having an adverse effect.

Stephen Malley: “We fake genuine interest in other people” 

My barrister wife and I pretend to be poor commoners meeting in a public house. The kinky aspect is that we show real interest in each other, rather than bragging about our careers, children’s educational achievements and property portfolios. It gets primal and leads to carnal engagement. We can’t tell our friends, they’re not as open-minded as we are.

Serial killer Tom Logan, with six victims to his name, says that books like The Thursday Murder Club have spurred him to centre his crimes around church fetes and elderly choirmasters.

He said: “My first few murders were twisted, psychosexual affairs requiring clinical psychologists close to madness to put themselves in my depraved shoes. They were so 2008.

“I knew I had to move away from that derivative, outdated Wire-in-the-Blood nonsense and soon became absolutely captivated by the cuddlier side of crime. Offers such a contrast.

“My latest victim, for example, was a retired chess champion with a secret stash of Krugerrands underneath his mattress. Where did he get them? Why did I leave them? Only the local vicar-turned-sleuth can find out.”

Infamous strangler Bill McKay said: “Choking got old. Instead, I’m bludgeoning innocents to death with kitsch middle-class knick-knacks. I did the last one with a surprisingly sturdy polka-dot Emma Bridgewater teapot.”

“The contrast between the bloody crime scene and the kitschy tableware gave the police serious Midsomer Murders vibes. Though if I am caught, I hope it’s by a septuagenarian spinster who gets sensitive information by bribing officers with delicious baked goods.”

The Duke and Duchess of Sussex are rethinking their entire plan to ingratiate themselves with the British public after a single winsome smile from the country’s only true princess left them looking like money-grubbing, vainglorious dicks.

A Royal insider said: “Not only is Kate smiling, she’s also wearing a hat. You’re finished, interlopers.

“With this single smile, which would have made every man in the Western world erect if that were not disrespectful, the Sussexes have lost. They won’t settle over here. Meghan will never get an acting job. Their children will be bullied out of school.

“The wattage of that mighty beam has exposed them for who they truly are; pathetic scum trying to worm their way back into the Royal family just because Harry is, technically, the King’s son. It won’t work. They can’t compete.”

To follow up the smile, Prince William will engagingly joke with ordinary members of the public while wearing a suit and that will be pretty much game over.

The lost continent of Atlantis

When sunken ships can be stumbled across, an entire lost civilisation should be a piece of piss. Decode a few ancient manuscripts, chart volcanic and/or meteor activity, hire a decent submarine. With a bit of prep it would take an afternoon at most. Whereas even a dentist who takes NHS patients won’t consider letting you on the waiting list.

A needle in a haystack

Hay is grass. Needles are metal. A metal detector from Argos and you’ll solve this proverbial conundrum in minutes. Finding an NHS dentist will require widespread industry reform and better pay for workers, all of which would make Tory newspapers angry, so you’ll just have to keep paying £220 a filing for now.

The clitoris

Not as difficult to locate as its reputation suggests. It’s tucked underneath a little hood like a teenage criminal, but you’ll know when you find it because of the intense reaction. Also its owner is keen to to give directions. Meanwhile NHS dentists look like regular people and their surgeries are just normal buildings. You could be one, for all you know.

Your soulmate

There are billions of people in this world, which makes finding the one a daunting prospect. Luckily though most people are happy to settle. NHS dentists are fewer in number and in much higher demand, and there are no apps ready to hook you up with them during a late-night swiping session.

Enlightenment

Buddhists make finding inner peace sound impossible. But if you obey their teachings, which they’ve been kind enough to jot down, you’ll achieve a higher plane of existence in 20 to 30 years at the outside. Sit under a tree and you’re halfway there. While NHS dentists were allowed to exit the Wheel of Karma in 2011 by the Cameron government.

Yes, in this country cricket may not be a sport anyone but red-faced all-day drinkers care about, but it has an international following. Wages are good, your memoir will sell and best of all you can get as pissed as you like without consequence.

Football? Its drinking days are over. You’ll earn millions, but you’ll be living on steamed chicken and rice until you’re 40. And your club will force you to marry your childhood sweetheart and have five kids to boost your stability and transfer value.

But cricket? While the sport may be sedate, it’s played by true wildmen. Look at Brydon Carse, handcuffed outside a Derby nightclub. In the background? Ben Stokes, who was straight out on the piss after winning the first test against New Zealand.

And that’s after Harry Brook got punched by a bouncer in NZ last winter and the whole team was out getting wrecked in Australia. It’s a global stag do that never ends.

The game itself? You’d have to be smashed to even understand it. A level of hungover befuddlement is the ideal accompaniment to playing cricket. You won’t understand what’s going on but nor will you care. And if it rains you’ll be sinking pints before noon.

So if you’re sporty but can’t be arsed with all that clean living bollocks, pick up a bat and give cricket a try. Cheating encouraged. All applicants must be cheerful losers.

The warning has shattered men’s collective belief that tapping ‘Follow’ on the account of an attractive stranger was a private act nobody would ever discover, much less judge.

28-year-old Sophie Rodriguez said: “It’s sweet how naive they are. Imagining we don’t go straight to their follower list once we find their accounts. I’ve done it from the car park after first dates.

“And it’s all there – Only Fans models, ‘fitness’ videos clearly designed only to give your wrist a workout and obvious AI scam bots with names like ‘Big Tits Zilla’ and ‘Legs Daily’.

“They always say ‘I don’t know her’. Of course they don’t. She’s a porn star living in LA and they’ve hardly left Doncaster. But they seem to think liking all her posts is the first step to a sexual relationship.

“It’s not like we’re hacking into the Pentagon, boys, there’s an actual search button. We’re also looking for exes, anyone a bit young for you, friends you’d clearly bang given the chance and any sudden, suspicious interest in women’s sports.

“Why don’t they understand the whole world can see when you comment under a thirst trap with ‘yummy’? I haven’t been able to look at Grandad the same way since.”

Boyfriend Jack Browne, aged 27, said: “Soph’s a massive hypocrite. She claims she’s following my ex for ‘fashion tips’.”

Nodding in reasoned agreement

Ever wanted somebody to actively listen to whatever psychodrama you invented in work today while offering no contrary opinions? Perhaps muttering ‘God, she’s such a bitch’ at the appropriate moments? Premium subscribers can even have the name of the supposed bitch in question added for that personal touch.

Sweater-wearing

Nudity as an erotic kickstarter is nothing compared to a man wearing a really nice sweater that complements his beard, which was not grown to hide a double chin but because he works outdoors. The sweater is also not hiding a belly. You could fall asleep with your head on it while watching a Netflix film he has no interest in whatsoever.

Apologising

I’m sorry. No, stop, you were completely in the right and you have nothing to apologise for. I’m just so sorry I did that thing I did or I said that thing I said or didn’t do one or both of those things. You deserve so much better than (subscribe to read more).

This isn’t gay

Watch as men who definitely aren’t gay do the gayest shit you ever dreamed of while telling each other that they totally aren’t gay. Shirtless men daring each other to put things inside themselves while rubbing oil into their chests and listing all the famous women they would never have sex with. Ninja levels of really-not-gay.

Walking home alone at night

Seeing somebody not concerned for their personal safety in public places is aspirational wealth-porn. It’s a mile from the train station and there are no buses? He doesn’t care. Gape in amazement as he strolls off, noise-cancelling headphones on, not even checking over his shoulder.

Shutting the f**k up

Not a word. Not a f**king word.

‘Not trying to shag you’ simulator

A VR adventure where you enter text prompts for everyday social situations and not a single response is from a man and predicated on whether he wants you to do things to his penis. One of the hottest things you ever saw on the internet.

Despite it being her special day selfless bride Carrie Ryan is making sure the bouquet, bringing with it the promise to be next to wed, is caught by old friend Emma Bradford whose boyfriend Joe Turner has well-known commitment issues.

Carrie explained, “Yeah, it’s lovely to be getting married to the love of my life and everything, but that doesn’t mean abandoning the sisterhood.

“We discussed the bouquet-catching. We worked out Emma’s best angles, We practiced. As long as she doesn’t drink more than two glasses of prosecco before the throw, she’s got this and Joe has questions to answer. Or pop.

“I’ve also rewritten my husband’s speech to get a few digs in about Joe’s inability to pit a ring on it, and I’ve even made sure the bridesmaid’s dresses aren’t hideous to encourage romance. That’s hard for any bride but I made the sacrifice.

“Her not being married is just embarrassing at this point. Normally I find proposals at weddings cringey, but honestly, it’s all I really care about today.”

Emma said: “I’m not married, I’m not engaged, I’m not massively arsed. It’s everyone else who’s obsessed with it.

“Besides Joe didn’t even know I’d caught it. He was playing Minecraft on his phone.”

Roy Hobbs, roofer: “Satanic abuse network collapsed and they’re fleeing arrest most likely, same as Ellen.”

Helen Archer, relationship manager: “Because if they can reverse Megxit, it will prove to the country you can reverse Brexit. Yeah. That’s how evil they are.”

Wayne Hayes, traffic warden: “Simple. He’s got Anne Hathaway pregnant and it’s going to come out ginger.”

Sophie Rodriguez, charity co-ordinator: “Clearly they missed having the Daily Mail thump onto the doormat every morning, full of insightful stories about them and their lives.”

Mary Fisher, magistrate: “Being in the state where the industry is based and films proved an irresistible temptation and Meghan’s been doing porn again.”

Stephen Malley, landscape gardener: “Yeah, not to be all boring about this but he’s here because his dad’s dying. Sorry if that’s brought the mood down.”

Worried that the disgusting truth will ruin his chances of getting his end away, Tom Logan is vehemently denying that he just gave his penis a quick scrub with his partner’s Imperial Leather.

He said: “I don’t like to lie, but what would she prefer? That my dick smelt like some dank old Camembert? I highly doubt it.

“Besides, that’s what soaps and sinks are for, cleaning things. It just so happens that on this occasion they were cleaning the helmet under my foreskin. She should be grateful really, that I’m so hygienic.

“It’s weird that she’s making a big deal about it. Everyone knows that ‘freshening up’ is a euphemism for ‘I’m going to clean my genitals because hopefully you’ll put them in your mouth.’ Spelling that out would spoil the sexual tension.

“I even dried my cock on her fresh, fluffy hand towels so it wouldn’t drip all over her bed. You can’t win with some people.”

Logan’s girlfriend Nikki Hollis said: “This isn’t the first time he’s lied about his penis. Six inches, my arse.”

Back at my chambers, there is a knock at the door. Two gentlemen beam at me and hand me their card.

“Good morning, your Grace. We are Mr Timms and Mr Soper, representatives of the UK arms trading firm Amios.”

I could sense that a request for a donation was imminent. Don’t these cretins know the church only takes money and never gives it away?

My generous offer of “No fucking thanks” was met with a reply of: “B-but the British government has already agreed to fund us generously. We thought you might care to also?”

“Well, the British government are fucking idiots.”

“Please – please, your Grace, can you not see it in your Christian heart to make at least some sort of donation?”

“Wait there,” I said. I returned with two souvenirs of ground to air defences. I bid them turn around, pull down their trousers and underwear, and send them away with rockets up their arses.

That done, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical where I read that Julia Hartley-Brewer has called for people not to contribute to Jason Arday’s funeral costs. Meanwhile Nathan Cofnas, the ‘race realist’ who uncovered his apparent plagiarism, has been suspended from Ghent University.

Fuck me, no fuck you, you world’s worst pieces of scum. Hartley-Brewer, the only crowdfunding there’ll be the day you cark it will be for the piss-up to mark the national celebrations, you venomous, sadistic fucking hag! As for you, Cofras, your fucking delusion of racial superiority is way more a fantasy than anything Arday came up with, and a fucking evil, malicious, immiserating one at that! You shouldn’t be in fucking academia, you should be in a fucking pointed white hood!

This week, Channel 4 broadcast a documentary titled The Great ADHD Myth, presented by NHS psychiatrist, Daily Mail columnist and Spectator contributor Dr Max Pemberton. Claiming to be science led, it focuses on the experiences of one particular child.

Yeah, well, seeing right there which cunt tabloids are printing your fucking shit, we can see which side your fucking bread is buttered! Of course fucking ADHD is real, in the same way fucking global warming is real, despite the Channel 4 documentary 20 years ago claiming it was a fucking swindle! What’s in question is whether Channel 4 are suffering from Attention Seeking Moral Deficit Syndrome! I hope Ofcom tear you a new fucking arsehole! Like that’s gonna fucking happen!

Images from the Beatle biopics directed by Sam Mendes have been released. They show the Fab Four walking on Abbey Road’s famous zebra crossing, with one member flicking the Vs at the camera.

Yeah, like the fucking Beatles ever fucking did that! Who or what are these characters supposed to be? ‘John Lennon’ looks more like Father Abraham out of The Smurfs! As for the other three, who the fuck are they meant to be? Is the cunt at the back Tony Hadley? The other two look like a pair of fucking garden gnomes who’ve lost their fishing rods! This is gonna be even worse than the dog’s abortion that was Danny Boyle’s Sex Pistols biopic!

Finally, Reform UK announced a policy to ‘End Benefits Britain’ this week. The BBC spent an hour with cameras trained on an empty podium bearing the slogan. Nigel Farage said it was time to end the ‘something for nothing’ culture.

Shitting hell on a smouldering wildfire, if anyone knows about something for nothing it’s the cunt who draws a six figure salary per annum as MP for Clacton and doesn’t even bother to turn up! It’s you who should be sweeping the fucking streets, you scrounging, layabout! As for the BBC, once again, what is it with you and your fucking boyfriend Reform UK? Clearing the fucking decks to let them spout their stupid, uncosted, unworkable, distracting-from-Farage’s £5 million donation bullshit?

Meghan, forced back to the UK by her husband, believes if she is going to be in every tabloid and gossip magazine anyway she may as well go right where their bottom-feeding readers live.

She said: “I swoop in from America, prove I’m the real owner of the Queen Vic and kick Alfie Moon and the Slaters onto the street. See? You hate me already.

“Next I begin a flirtation with Jack Branning while also contracting Phil Mitchell to do a little illegal gun-running for me on the side and, I don’t know, help Honey Mitchell romance scam Mark Fowler Jr or whatever. All the usual shit.

“Anyway, once the viewers despise me so much they can’t sleep we’ll turn it all around. I’ll save Phil from his demons, uncover a illegal adoption ring running out of the laundrette, and, being unable to tell TV from reality, the audience will think I’m bloody brilliant again.

“The acting will be easy. I have first-hand experience of dysfunctional English families alive with bullshit drama from the last ten years.”

Following the news, the Princess of Wales has announced she will make a special guest appearance in Emmerdale as the living fount of all that is good and holy and resurrect six characters, which is not uncommon over there.

Optimism

He’s Spanish, or Argentinian, or Brazilian, and he scored eight in Georgia’s Erovnuli Liga last year so this is clearly a next-level signing. He can’t help but be an incredible find by your club’s expert scouts and £30 million will be a bloody bargain when he takes us into the Champions League.

Denial

He needs match fitness. He was shit on his debut, admittedly, and subbed off the game after but early days. Ignore the fact he’s a professional athlete with f**k all to do all week but work on his fitness. How out of condition can you be when you’re running around all day, being watched every second in the gym and on a closely monitored diet?

Bargaining

It’s hard to adapt to another country and the weather’s not like it is at home. Never mind that he has an army of people looking after him, lives in a massive house and his girlfriend, mother and little sister are all here too. Perhaps he needs to adjust to our style of play? It’s so different to other clubs, definitely not all about kicking the ball between those two posts.

Anger

F**king well injured now. Bloody prima donna pulled up with his hamstring or ACL or some other medical phrase you claim to understand like an expert even though you don’t have basic first aid. He’ll be off for eight weeks, long enough for you to forget his underwhelming performances so far and build him up to be the next Rodri again.

Depression

First game back, sent off. Pissing joker left you down to ten men at Old Trafford and you got battered as a result. Two-match ban incoming. F**k it. Time to start shouting about how shit he is.

Acceptance

Loaned out to Preston North End. By now you’d almost forgotten he was on the club’s books. Signed in August, on his way down the footballing ladder by spring. Never mind, he’s bound to come back next season better for the playing experience. Are we still paying his £130k a week wages? F**k’s sake.

Aware that his return to the UK will be shrouded in scandal, Harry has decided to sidestep any awkwardness by simply picking up where he left off before moving to America as if that were perfectly normal.

He told reporters: “Scrapping my royal titles? Getting snubbed by my dad? Dunno what you’re talking about mate. I’ve been knocking around Buckingham Palace all this time.

“You might’ve missed me because I’ve been so busy working on the Invictus Games. Sporting events for military personnel don’t organise themselves, you know. Now they’re over you’ll be seeing more of me.

“You thought I bitched to Oprah about my family and that Meghan, the nation’s sweetheart, was flogging jam? That’s some imagination you’ve got there. You should be writing novels, not giving me weird looks.

“Anyway, duty calls. I’ve probably got to cut a ribbon somewhere, then it’s off to Will’s for a catch up. I’m sure he won’t mind me dropping in unannounced, we’re tight like that.”

Upon being presented with a copy of his memoir, he added: “Ah, now, you see that’s… f**k. Is it too late to pulp them?”