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Five sexual practices to retire once you've had children

CHILDREN are ostensibly the point of sex while being expert and dedicated boner-killers. Your once-adventurous fucking is halted at every turn by their constant, invasive presence. 

As a parent, unless you want their year four teacher hearing that ‘Mummy rides Daddy like he’s a pony’ then say goodbye to these sexual acts:

Oral

Any sex act performed with children in the house – even if it’s midnight, and they seem soundly asleep – must be readily explainable for when they burst in, eyes wide, vomiting already.

For either of you to be head-down servicing a set of overexcited genitals is a nightmare. Why is Daddy down there? Why did Mummy have that thing in her mouth? What do you mean, you were helping him scratch a difficult bit? Can I help?

Penetration

Come on. You already know where this leads. To having three of the little buggers being chauffered round in a 14-year-old Renault Espace and paying a mortgage you can’t afford on a four-bed new-build outside Bedford, all because your husband fancied raw-dogging.

Is it worth the risk of twenty years of caring for an entitled psychopath just so you can pretend you’re young again? Even if you are on the pill? If you can still get aroused at this point, you’ve got the kind of sex drive seen only in serial killers and Boris Johnson. Everyone else should gracefully retire from lovemaking and embrace their offspring’s function as nature’s condom.

Kinky shit

The thrill of being caught in flagrante delicto is dampened somewhat when you’ll be caught by an avid watcher of Peppa Pig. And no, there’s no episode where the world’s leading porcine couple experiment with Mummy Pig’s firefighter outfit in the bedroom, though it certainly happened.

Retire your whips, your handcuffs, your blindfolds and nipple clamps and tell yourself there’ll be time for all that shit when they leave home. Think of it as one big experiment in edging and orgasm control where you’re holding pleasure off until 2038.

Touching

As if you’ve got the time, energy or inclination to ‘touch’ your wife in her ‘erogenous zones’ when there’s PE kit to hang out. Bollocks you have. Even if you caressed her perfectly she’ll be snoring through foreplay: wide-mouthed, snorting, exhausted. As if you’ll stay awake. If you’re so desperate for loving physical contact you’ll skip the foreplay and wedge it in, and don’t. As detailed above.

Kissing

An unrealistic indulgence when there’s shit to pick up, homework to shout about, crying to do. And children watch for it. As if eager to see they’re not repeated, they police your affection and call ‘Gross!’ at any display of affection. And if you think about it – touching your lips against the person whose fault all this is – they’re right. Never ever kiss again.

'If the money runs out, the day after I'm not here': the strong moral stance of Pep Guardiola

by Pep Guardiola, manager of Manchester City

I AM an ethical man, and that does not come cheap. My employers are currently accused of financial misdealing and I have warned them: with no money, I am not here. 

They only have to look at my record to know I am telling the truth. I began with Barça, where I bought only the best; then Bayern, which I found limiting because Germany is too unattractive a prospect for young millionaires. Then City. 

I came here why? For the challenge. For the project of building a club that could rival the greatest in the Premier League. And because here at City money simply rains down from the air. 

My vision cannot be compromised by anything less. How can one create a squad that truly loves the ball when one is forced to play a mere £45m winger? Would Picasso paint a portrait if told ‘sorry, we could not afford green’? 

The charges laid against my club are serious. And I promise the players and the fans that if they are found to be true and the club faces restrictions on spending, I will be out and City will not be my friend anymore.

How can I work in an environment where I do not stumble across bricks of unmarked high-denomination bills in every corridor? How can one even build a team without leisurely picking the cream of other clubs’ players? 

Such a game is not really football. It is budgetary management, coin-shuffling, balance-sheet-checking. It is a game for an accountant. Not an artist. 

Should City fail me, I shall take my leave. It has always been my way. Even as a player I chose Qatar over England. Without the purity afforded by immense, unchallenged wealth I cannot survive. 

I believe this is the secret of my achievements: I have never once worked with a team who were not already rich and winning everything. It saddens me that other coaches choose to debase themselves with less. 

It is a moral line for me. If City are compromised, I would take my skills to a league that appreciates them, like Ligue 1 and Paris Saint-Germain. 

For I am compelled to do what is right for football. For Pep. And that is, and is always, a fucking shitload of money. 

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