Six weird grievances splitting up means you can get off your chest

RELATIONSHIP gone tits up? Ease the heartache with the knowledge that you’re finally free to air these home truths that have been bugging you for years.

You’ve been lying about her cooking

You’ve been putting up with her shit cuisine for years. You’re not some awful bloke who expects his tea on the table every night, but that’s why you’ve been politely suffering through flavourless pasta dishes for so long. Your ex claims to derive her ‘inspiration’ from Nigella Lawson, overlooking the fact she has neither the culinary talent nor Nigella’s breasts to compensate. Now you can finally tell her that. The breasts jibe is a bit unnecessary, but you feel it’s relevant. 

Saying ‘Can I get?’ instead of ‘have’ in restaurants

This has pissed you off for years, but you’ve not wanted to sound like a grammar pedant. No, you can’t ‘get’ it, you illiterate twat, because you’re not one of the chefs and the kitchens are off limits. Not that it would be a good idea, as Marmite on toast still presents a culinary challenge for your boyfriend. While you’re at it, correct him about saying ‘could of’ instead of ‘could have’. There’s nothing to lose, and frankly that’s worth splitting up over anyway.

Using stupid hand gestures to illustrate her point while talking

You can hear her perfectly well, thanks, and don’t need the animated arm-waving like she’s conducting an orchestra or communicating in sign language. Although given how often you zone out when she’s recounting her latest irrelevant work gossip, she could be forgiven for thinking you’re hearing-challenged. Now you can tell her in no uncertain terms, and not because you’re bitter she’s sacked you off to shag one of your friends. Hope you enjoy being stuck in an episode of See Hear, Steve, ‘mate’.

His nauseating eating habits

You’ve kept quiet about his disgusting table manners since you met. Talking with his mouth full like some kind of human cement mixer. Blowing his f**king nose on his napkin. Mopping up the last of his gravy with his finger then licking it off. It’s been like spending the last five years dining with a pig in a sty. And if he leaves his used knife lying on the table again instead of placing it neatly next to the fork on his plate, you may as well stab the bastard with it. It’s not like it’ll affect your birthday present.

The running commentary on her internet browsing

Apparently, she thinks the middle of a penalty shootout is the perfect moment to ask for an opinion on that new outfit she’s thinking of ordering. Or to tell you some garbled bollocks about two celebrities you’ve no interest in splitting up. You’re now at liberty to tell her that dress would make her look fat, and sarcastically ask when Timothée Chalamet will be picking her up. Indulge yourself. She is shagging Fergus at the office.

Repeating the same anecdotes

You wanted to scream whenever he told you yet again about the time he bumped into the singer from Ned’s Atomic Dustbin in Tesco, or the occasion he allegedly put his boss down with a witty one-liner in his appraisal. When he did it in company you got to cringe with embarrassment too, so grab the chance for revenge. Ask him if he’s ever been tested for short-term memory loss, which could explain his tedious repetitiveness. And also that comment a year ago about spending the rest of his life with you. He definitely remembers that, right? Only it seems to slightly contradict his recent decision to shag someone with slightly bigger tits.

I regularly popped into donor's home for a dump, admits Streeting

WES Streeting has admitted that when touching cloth in Covent Garden he would often call into Lord Alli’s penthouse flat to defecate.

The health minister, challenged by footage obtained by the media of him hurrying into the lavish £1.2 million toilet and leaving wreathed in beatific smiles, confirmed he did not declare every instance of dropping his fudge.

He explained: “On occasion, when visiting London’s West End, I have found myself overwhelmed with the urge to void my bowels much like any ordinary Briton.

“As a gay man of working class origin, I avoid using public toilets in case a labourer attempts to wank me off. So, as I was in possession of the code to Lord Alli’s flat for electoral reasons, I would call in for visits I promise were wholly excretory.

“Yes, I perused high-end magazines while at stool. The toilet roll was of a higher ply than I am accustomed to. The Diptyque fleur d’oranger reed diffuser was above my pay grade.

“But having laid my cable I would not linger. I admit on one occasion I made a courtesy call to the local sewage works informing them to book in overtime as there was a big job coming in, but I do not feel censure is appropriate.”

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Streeting confessed: “If I’m honest, those were some of the greatest shits of my life.”