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Six things better than sex when you're in your 40s

IN THEORY you’re totally down to f**k, but since you turned 40 there’s so much that’s more satisfying than making the beast with two backs: 

An empty sink

Imagine waking up for work without the washing-up waiting for you. Making a cuppa without first scraping the greasy sediment of take-away scum from your bowl. The deep pleasure of not eying last night’s burned-on lasagne as you eat cereal. Sexy times.

Watching a full movie

Remember the time before kids? Those heady evenings when you could devote a full 120 minutes to the suspension of disbelief? And now, on a rare night when the kids are asleep, you’re expected to cut The Meg short just to have sex? F**k that. Whole movie, uninterrupted, start to finish. What a horny way to spend a night.

Ironing your clothes and putting your T-shirts on hangers

You kinky bastard. Reaching into the wardrobe for a clean pressed shirt and feeling the erotic thrill of the fabric beneath your fingers. Glancing at the empty washing basket with satiated pride. You did that, you provocative little beast. And you deserve it.

Drinking

The anticipation of sex can give you a buzz all evening, but so can a nicely chilled Riesling. And you can make it last an hour then open another bottle, which is very much not the case with sex anymore. So uncork with abandon and let it do what it wants to your body.

Reading

You used to be a voracious reader. Now you manage 15 minutes on a good night, and a third of that’s spent trying to remember who’s who. God, imagine the sensual thrill of being in bed early, your partner already asleep, and finishing a whole chapter. So arousing.

A bunch of other things that need no explanation

Hot pizza. Cold pizza. Sunny weather on a bank holiday weekend. Affordable curtain rails. Calling a support centre and not having to hold. Remembering where you put your glasses. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

'Why are you such a twat?' and five other questions Dominic Cummings should have been asked

LAURA Kuenssberg’s interview with the prime minister’s former SPAD was packed with explosive revelations we already knew. Here’s what he should have been asked:

Why are you such a twat?

Did your parents not give you enough attention, or were you so unpopular at school that your only friend was a BBC Micro? How are you still convinced you’re a genius when everything you do f**ks up? Why are you replying by leaning back saying ‘nobody can be 100% certain if I am a twat or not,’ like a twat?

What’s with the sneering?

Was your Mekon face born with a disdainful sneer plastered across it, or is it an uncontrollable reflex that only kicks in when you’re bitching about your old boss? You do realise that being superior to Boris f**king Johnson is no achievement, you self-important prick?

Why should we believe you this time?

You lied to win Brexit, you lied to win an election, you lied through your bastard teeth about the Durham road trip shitshow. So why should we believe a word? We only accept that Boris is an incompetent clown who should be desposed for Britain’s good because the evidence is overwhelming.

How jealous are you of Carrie? 

I mean it’s obvious mate. When it comes to pulling the PM’s strings you were beaten at your own game. But do you also fancy him, a bit? Did he once fall asleep on your shoulder on the Vote Leave bus and you treasure the memory?

How badly did you f**k this up? 

Less than two years ago you were the man behind an 80-seat Tory majority. Now you’re out of government, out of work, hated by the nation and hell-bent on a revenge mission which is achieving nothing. Could you have f**ked it more?

Johnson, Gove, Sunak: snog, marry, avoid?

Which is it, Cummings? Do you want to kiss Boris firmly on the lips? Could you see yourself spending life betrothed to wealthy Sunak? Surely everyone would avoid Gove? Answer the question, Cummings, you might as well, you’ve got nothing else to say that anyone gives a shit about.

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