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The top six middle-class wanks

MIDDLE CLASS? Thinking of lying back and treating yourself to a bit of a strum? Here are six social-status-suitable self-abuse scenarios:

Rachel Weisz is your son’s private tutor

She’s been helping your son with maths for some time – he’s very intelligent, it’s just that he learns differently from others – when she calls you in to discuss progress milestones, your lips find hers and you end up making passionate love. Post-coitally, she tells you that Cambridge is a realistic prospect for him.

Tom Hiddleston loves your garden office

The Loki actor absolutely loves what you’ve done with your garden office, and is especially impressed with the internet speed. ‘I could spend all day out here,’ he says, looking meaningfully into your eyes before doing you over your ergonomic reclaimed-wood desk.

Timotheé Chalamet is your daughter’s boyfriend

Brooding, quirky but very polite to his elders, Chalamet comes round to see your daughter but she’s out. He stays, helping with crossword clues, until your lust overwhelms you and you make love to him on the hand-tinted porcelain tiling. He ensures you orgasm then eats two helpings of casserole.

Florence Pugh ravishes you on a parkrun

Everyone else streaks ahead, leaving you and Florence keeping pace, absorbed in a conversation about sustainable tourism. Before long the parkrun is all but forgotten and the Little Women actress blows you under a bridge. You finish the parkrun and get a PB.

Charlize Theron suggests you set up as a limited company

Theron, who is your accountant, advises that your self-employment earnings are projected to easily pass the £80,000 threshold and you should set up your own limited company for corporation tax of just 19 per cent. She’ll handle the paperwork – for a price. Makes fiscal sense.

A threesome with Dan Stevens and Phoebe Waller-Bridge

This hot couple in your reading group are blown away by your insights into Ali Smith’s Seasonal Quartet. You open wine and discussion of Brexit turns into intimate three-way lovemaking that brings alive a side of you you’d never dreamed existed. Afterwards Phoebe asks you to collaborate on a screenplay.

Five f**king nightmare wankers you'll end up sat next to on the plane

GOING on holiday abroad again at last? Prepare yourself to endure five hours stuck next to one of these utter arseholes.

The pisshead

The novelty of being able to drink at 5am means this twat is shitfaced before even getting on the plane. They strap themselves in next to you and start loudly demanding to know when the drinks trolley is coming before the plane has even reached the runway. After abusing the cabin crew, they fall asleep and drool on your shoulder all the way to Athens.

The nervous flyer

Endure this wuss chattering nervously to you while clutching the sick bag as you prepare for takeoff. When they grab your arm in terror and whimper ‘What was that?’ for the 19th time after you hit a spot of turbulence, saying ‘A pigeon just got sucked into the engine and we’re going down’ should frighten them into fainting and giving you a bit of respite.

The incessant chatterbox

You got up at 3am to drive to the airport and you just want to be left alone to have a nap. Not with this gobby arsebag next to you. It will start with some pathetic quip like ‘I hope the pilot has done this before’ then descend into a full-scale interrogation about where you’re going, how long for, and other things which are none of their f**king business

The space invader

There’s always one twat with absolutely no sense of spatial awareness and they’re sat next to you. They commandeer the shared armrest and insist on spreadeagling themselves across their seat and most of yours. Smile obligingly when they ask if they can leave their book and jacket on your lap when they get up for a piss, as it at least allows you the opportunity to rifle through their pockets for some bonus holiday money.

The couple with a baby

Screaming babies and plane flights are a combination only the most selfish wankers would inflict on fellow travellers, but that’s what you’re putting up with for thousands of miles. The real fun begins when it shits itself mid-flight, there’s a queue for the toilet and you’re stuck gagging at the stench of fresh infantile faecal matter while trapped inside a metal box. Devon next year?

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