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Catfish ghosted

AN online catfish who spent four months pretending to be a 24-year-old Belarusian model is devastated that his target ghosted him. 

Hacker Jordan Gardner has been building his relationship with single British man Stephen Malley since before Christmas, only to find his messages suddenly going unanswered.

He said: “So that’s it? It’s over? When I hadn’t even asked him for bitcoin?

“I thought we had a real connection to milk for cash. I thought this time it was different. Then one day I get up and he’s moved on? How am I meant to feel?

“It just hurts every time it’s over. It’s always the same – I slide into his DMs, win his trust, gradually introduce the topics of love, marriage and international airfare. I get my hopes up and wonder if it’s actually going somewhere this time and then boom, he’s gone.

“Does he not appreciate how much research went into creating Lera Lanskaya, the nuclear physicist, masseuse and lingerie model? Keeping up on the weather in Minsk? All my many and varied excuses for not appearing on video chat?

“Has he forgotten all the nights we sexted until 3am? That he told me he loved me? You put in all the time and effort and then he cuts you off. Were his feelings real? Is anyone genuine anymore?”

The six stages of trying and failing to leave the pub

ONLY staying for one? The immutable laws of the pub will prevent you from doing so as you become trapped in the following sequence:

‘I’ll just have one’

You start out strong with intentions for one honest pint. Only before you know it that pint has slid down faster than a snake’s lunch and you’ve barely had a chance to make an opening remark about Arsenal’s chances this year. It would be rude to leave now.

‘Right!’

You slap your knees decisively, announcing an intention to leave. And then you slap them again and your hands snag on your wallet, which accidentally slips out and orders you a second drink. An unfortunate error.

‘Oh, go on then’

Renewed intention to leave drives you out of your seat, but now your mate at the bar has signalled with a tipping motion. In this cost-of-living crisis, surely it would be criminal to pass up a freebie? You sit back down, for savvy financial reasons.

‘One more won’t hurt’

It’s become harder to remember how many drinks you’ve had, which must be because it’s barely any. Therefore, the only sensible course of action seems to be to have another to steady yourself.

‘I really must be going’

You get the sense that now really is the time to leave, because of a noise that might be last orders or your brain clanging against your skull. However, when trying to move, you can’t seem to find the exit or which order to move your limbs to walk.

‘F**k me, I’m bladdered’

Curled up in a ball on the floor, you admit defeat and wait for some kind soul to shove you into a taxi. Not to worry though, you’ll be back tomorrow for another go. And it’ll definitely be just one that time.

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