Britain has been naughty, and I've got the austerity strap-on. By Rachel Reeves

YOU love a bit of austerity, don’t you? That’s what you voted for and now you’re going to get it – good and hard. No lube.

Pointless spending cuts turn you on, don’t they? They make you feel responsible and knowledgeable about the economy, like you’re one of the ‘grown-ups in the room’ who can ‘make the tough decisions Britain needs’. 

Well you’re not. That’s my job. After 14 years of Tory underinvestment and tax cuts for their mates, the economy is stuffed. Gosh, I am totally shocked. But the point is: there’s a hole in public finances, and now your hole is going to pay.

Which strap-on should I use? The Anal Intruder? The Double Behemoth? The Cancelled Hospital Projects? I think the last one. That’s really going to sting, so we’d better pop a ball gag in.

Of course, I could go easy on you and weather our debts while increasing spending, like every mainstream economist is telling me to. But that’s not as sexy as being an ‘iron chancellor’ dishing out punishment for ‘maxing out the national credit card’, whatever the f**k that means.

Bend over the pommel horse and I’ll strap you in. I’m actually getting pretty excited myself now. I’m going to Hong Kong next week for posh meals with really important bankers and all the people I was at school with will see me in the newspapers and be impressed. One of these days I might even meet Bono! That’s what public service is all about.

What’s that you’re mumbling? We need a safe word? Oh go on then. I suppose we’d better have one in case you rupture. Let’s go for ‘No magic money tree’. That always cracks me up and there’s no harm in having a laugh while I’m wrecking your sphincter.

Right, let’s get on with it. This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me, but that’s austerity in a nutshell.

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Walked two miles to open an envelope then straight down the pub: GCSE results day in the 90s

KIDS who get their GCSE results by email today will never know the fun of results day in the past. Here’s how yours played out.

Walked two miles to open an envelope

You couldn’t just open your email on your phone while lying in bed to discover your results in the 90s. No, you had to physically traipse all the way there to be handed an envelope by a teacher obviously pissed off at having to come in during the holidays. At least you got to see your mates, unlike the phone-obsessed Gen Z loners you’ve raised.

Shrugged at your results

These days there is a huge amount of pressure on young people to get incredibly high grades, but back in the 90s it didn’t seem to matter so much. Obviously you needed to get into the sixth form, but getting a couple of Cs in English and Maths was all you technically needed for university. Once you did eventually get to uni it’s not like you had to worry about paying back £45,000 tuition fees if you were actually too thick to be there.

Didn’t get chosen for the photo in the local newspaper

The only people who got chosen for the obligatory ‘jumping in the air’ photo were the kind of swingy-haired middle-class netball girls that the photographer from the local paper enjoyed perving over. You and your flared-trouser-wearing, roll-up-smoking indie mates were never going to get picked, even though you got way better grades than those PE-obsessed cretins.

Queued up at a payphone to break the news to your parents

You couldn’t text your parents, or send them a Snapchat, or record a reel. No, you had to stand in line at the single payphone outside the school reception and wait until you could phone them. And when you did, they weren’t in anyway, and you had no other way to get hold of them. Oh well, they could wait until you got home 14 hours later.

Went down the pub

Yeah, so you weren’t even 17 yet but you knew the landlord in the Crown and Anchor would turn a blind eye, despite the fact you turned up with a gang of similarly spotty little mates chattering on about starting sixth form next month. After three Archers and lemonade you ran out of cash, because you only got a fiver a week pocket money.

Head to a park with some cheap cider

After asking a strange man outside the off licence to purchase two litres of White Lightning with your remaining £2, you and your mates went to the nearest park to get thoroughly shitfaced. After you passed out, one of your mates reversed the charges in a phone box to call your mum and an important rite of passage on your great journey to adulthood ended in serious trouble and vomiting copiously.