Designer bags with string handles, and other things that make you feel like a little f**king prince

ACTUAL luxury is unaffordable in Rishi’s Britain unless you’re Rishi. The rest of us have to make do with these minor thrills: 

Ordering sparkling water in a restaurant

‘Still, sparkling or tap?’ the waiter asks. You glance suavely across at your date, cock an eyebrow, and press the f**k-it button. It might taste of aluminum and technically you’re paying more for less water, but who cares when it makes you feel this superior?

A paper bag with string handles

You haven’t bought clothes. You’ve bought an item, a piece, and those fibres in your palm feel like silk sheets on an unprompted erection. The boxy weight of the bag carries the heaviness of an ormulu ashtray on a private jet. And, when you take the item back with its receipt in a little envelope, you get to feel it all a second time.

Receiving a massage

Tell your great-grandfather, who fought in the war you know, you were paying a stranger to rub your back because it feels good and he’d smash a can of Spam into your face. In our enlightened age all it takes to experience an hour as a League One footballer is a few quid and lying to leave work early.

Offering a friend a cigarette

You normally smoke roll-ups, but two drinks in you were feeling flush. The feel of the filter when you’re used to Rizla cardboard is exquisite. The nicotine just tastes better. Your friend didn’t even ask – you wordlessly held out the packet to share your largesse, so you could experience this moment of opulence together.

Changing your sheets

The sheer luxury of stretching out on fresh, stiff, clean cotton sheets, as if you’re staying in a Travelodge in your very own home. Nestling down into them with only the scent of fabric conditioner, not your own foetid sweat. You could have this every week if you could only be arsed.

‘Keep the change’ 

As you enrich a cab driver to the tune of a massive 75p, a halo of virtue surrounds you. Money is no object to a player like yourself, though whether you’re motivated by altruism or are simply above handling grubby coins goes unanswered. Either way, the world is richer for your presence.

Five scam emails so intriguing you're compelled to open them

YOU know it’s a scam, and that opening it might unleash a destructive virus on your computer. And yet you just can’t help but click on these:

Comgrabulations!. Youvb beem choosen for a spec;ial priz!

The fact that the subject line is littered with errors does not stop your primitive monkey brain from wanting something for nothing. After clicking through and being informed, somewhat suspiciously, that you were the 1,000,000th visitor to Google, you still find your finger straying towards the pixelated ‘Click He;re to Claim’ button, like a massive idiot.

These penis enlargement pills really work

You kid yourself that you’re totally fine about the size of your penis and you’re only opening this email because you’re intrigued by the science. However, ten minutes later you’re about to hand over $499 for a six-week course of pills. Luckily your partner enters the room and you slam the laptop shut, breathing a sigh of relief that they’ve saved you from giving your credit card details to what is clearly a criminal enterprise.

We’ve hacked your computer and filmed you watching porn

This is a ‘sextortion’ scam, where so-called hackers email you and say they’ve got videos of you doing unspeakable things in plain view of your front-facing camera which they’re going to post on Facebook. Your initial panicky knee-jerk reaction is to pay them what they want, until you calm down and realise it’s bullshit. Still, it’s enough to make you cover your phone camera with Blu Tack next time you have a wank.

We attempted to deliver your parcel

This one nearly gets you. You did order something from Amazon. You were out at work today. What if they’ve left your new AirPods on the porch, ready for a sneaky thief to nab on their way past? Closer inspection reveals that the email is from amazonparcel@dxcsa8&.com. Even a technical dunce like you knows that this seems a bit dodgy, but you still leave work early, just in case.

Dear Beloved Friend

You know this email isn’t real, but it’s such a golden oldie that you can’t resist opening it. When you click through, a Nigerian prince wants to transfer you $1,000,000, but only if you deposit $10,000 into his bank account first. You get a pleasant rush of nostalgia for the time when the internet was a more innocent, but still completely scam-ridden, place.