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My timeshare apartment on the Gaza Strip is already bought. If yours isn't, you're an anti-Semite

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who is putting in a counter-offer for the Chagos Islands

I WAKE, the sun glowing through the blinds. I rise, fling them aside, and gaze out from my timeshare onto the exclusive resort and spa once known as Gaza.

Watching the joggers on the broad boulevards, the sunbathers on the white sand beach edging into sapphire seas, the late-night gamblers staggering from the casino into unexpected light, I murmur ‘Another day in paradise.’

It all happened so quickly! Once a 999-year lease was agreed with Israel, Trump’s bulldozers moved in the very next day. Wearing hi-viz and hard hat, this experienced property developer stood behind the megaphone himself.

The detritus of a failed state was cleared. The hotels sprang up, every one seven-star. The marina filled with billionaires’ yachts. The sound of happy, playing influencers, so absent these last 60 years, could be heard once more.

The former residents? Happy, we’re told, in a place far from this site of their shame. They hate to be reminded of it so their location remains secret and we’re forbidden to contact them for their own good.

And meanwhile in Gaza, a new Mar-a-Lago has been built here on Earth. I thank Trump for his mercy and his beneficence, then head downstairs for my morning mojito.

A fantasy? Now, perhaps. But when has this most grounded of presidents ever made a promise he did not keep? So when he says the US will construct ‘one of the greatest and most spectacular developments of its kind’ there is no doubting him.

Soon the timeshare sales teams will arrive on British streets. Former IDF members, they will not accept no for an answer. I, of course, will sign up immediately because I am not anti-Semitic. I hope you can say the same.

My annual fortnight in Gaza, breathing the air of freedom, walking streets literally paved with gold, unsullied by outdated left-wing opinion, will be the highlight of my year.

Join me. Abandon the Algarve. Say ta-ra to Torremolinos. Instead, send Greetings from Gaza postcards to envious relatives. Because we all wish we were here.

Six sexual milestones you didn't realise you were meant to be stressing about, by the Mash sex columnist

IF you’re not panicking about arbitrary sexual milestones, then you really should be. To contribute to your insomnia tonight, here are five you may not have considered:

Fantasy chat

Opening up about your sexual fantasy – your real one, not the one you chickened out and pretended it was – is a milestone any shame-abiding citizen would rather avoid. If only your partner could somehow divine that you want her to feed you Mini Babybels while dressed as a National Trust volunteer without you having to spell it out. 

Playlist reveal 

The moment when you first open up your Spotify in the bedroom (not a euphemism) is enough to send a chill through even the most committed music aficionado. You might love music, but that doesn’t mean you know the right tunes to pork to. Do you play it safe with some sultry Brazilian bossa nova or throw caution to the wind and just whack on some Wham!? And is Rammstein definitely off the table?

Underwear judgement 

A big milestone for all couples is when your other half gets that first glimpse of the underwear you really like to wear. Those old M&S pants you carry from flatshare to flatshare like a favourite teddy, which used to be white but are now on the turn, full of holes but not in any useful places… If they can’t accept them, it’s game over.

Caught wanking red-handed 

That first time your partner catches you masturbating, and not in a ‘fun, sexy’ kind of way. More in a way you’re so into it it’s basically cheating. If you haven’t already had that ‘fantasy chat’ – or if you lied during it – this will most probably require some truth-telling. If you want your relationship to survive then lie. As a rough rule of thumb, keep your turn-ons to yourself if they involve dogs, pissing or Ed Miliband.

Bedtime routine

Sooner or later, you’re going to have to reveal to your partner what you really get up to before lights out. He will be unnerved by the 16-step embalming process you commit to with the fervour of an Egyptian pharaoh’s send-off team. She will be disgusted you didn’t even bother to give your dick a proper rinse. Talk about an unhealthy hygiene obsession – you were planning to squirt your knob with Lynx tomorrow.

Sex toy unveiling

So, you’ve bought your partner a couple of buzzy little gadgets to spice things up, but at what point do you reveal the enormous collection you already own? You don’t want him to be left feeling inadequate, but it would be a shame if you doubled up on buying them. Although you could always make him get into pegging just to get some use out of them.

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