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Hen weekend puts a price on friendship

A WOMAN has informed her friends via her hen weekend that the price of her friendship is £415, plus spending money. 

Emma Bradford has been friends with bride-to-be Carolyn Ryan since secondary school, but was saddened to find that she was now obliged to pay close to £500 for the privilege.

Bradford said: “Me and Caro have had some great times. But now the invoice is in.

“A small but joltingly expensive cottage in Wales, several meals, transport and an afternoon making a clay cock and balls with eight other women I’ll see only once again, while drinking shit wine.

“Then we’ll submit our memories of Susan while judging each other on who’s a better friend, then we’ll go clubbing, then we’ll cry, and this is all part of the terrible price you pay for having friends.

“It does make me regret friendships slightly, knowing that the bill will be due one day and I’ll be lashing out a month’s car payment doing things I f**king hate. Hey ho.”

Susan Traherne said: “My bond with my friends is priceless, but I suppose if you were to put a figure on it, it’d be £415.”

The melodramatic twat's guide to rain

IS THE bad weather only happening to you? Does everyone else need to hear your wild overreactions to heavy rain? Try these: 

Act as if getting a bit wet could kill you

Treat the shortest trip outdoors as a race against time to get home before pneumonia sets in. Insist family members change out of wet clothes immediately, as if they’ve been in the North Sea, not walking the dog in Crewe.

Form an office Apocalypse Committee

Despite zero risk of flooding in your area, demand to know what your company is doing to protect staff. Don’t worry about looking like a dick – that was established beyond doubt last month when you asked about suicide bomber attacks.

Be alert and spring into action

The nanosecond you notice raindrops, sprint to get your washing in as if snatching a child from the path of a lorry. If you’re in the garden, bundle everyone indoors in a panic as if an air raid sirens are sounding.

Set up flood defences

Buy some cheap buckets and dot them strategically around your house. Lean a spade by the front door for unspecified purposes. This will achieve nothing in a real flood but it’s not worth filling 50 sandbags for your flood disaster live-action roleplay.

Buy a boat

Not a proper one, especially if you live somewhere awful and landlocked like Derby. A Lidl dinghy is more than adequate for fantasies about saving attractive neighbours and leaving the ones you’re always collecting parcels for to drown.

Draw up an emergency plan

It’s fun to stockpile food and imagine society is going to break down, and if you’re short of time you can just rejig your ‘heatwave’, ‘Brexit’ or ‘virus that turns people psycho’ emergency plan.

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