Category: Humour
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Shall we take a photo?
You agreed. This is your first mistake. What follows is a negotiation, five attempts, one selfie stick nobody asked for, and a version of your mouth you don’t remember authorising.
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How to adult: Manual sold separately
I thought adulthood came with a manual: mortgages made sense, lentils behaved and you stopped Googling “how long do eggs last”. Then you find yourself on a kitchen floor at 11:32pm watching a tutorial about a fridge that sounds like an injured dinosaur.
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Cling film wars
Making a sandwich shouldn’t require strategy. And yet. This collection lives in the gap between expectation and reality—where appliances hold grudges, keys vanish on a Thursday, and the mundane turns theatrical. It’s everyday warfare, told over a proper cup of tea.
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Just one more squeeze
A humble tube of toothpaste becomes a daily referendum on character. This piece unpicks how small habits turn into battle lines—rolling versus squeezing, dignity versus chaos—and why we care far more than we should.
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Surviving Monopoly: Mayfair, Jail, Repeat
A “quick game” of Monopoly is never quick. It’s a slow, cardboard unravelling of trust: bankers accused of fraud, rules replaced by vibes, and one person quietly plotting a board flip like it’s a civic duty. Family bonding, but with hotels.
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When your trolley chooses violence
A supermarket trolley should be a simple partnership. Then one wheel goes rogue and suddenly you’re diagonally line-dancing through Aisle 5, sweating with pride, refusing to swap carts like it’s a moral failing. Modern life, but with tinned tomatoes.
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Sunshine amnesia: barbecues, blankets and barely warm beers
England does sunshine like it’s a celebrity cameo: unpredictable, brief, and capable of making grown adults abandon laundry in favour of sitting on damp grass with warm beer and unearned optimism. I used to fear the sun. Now I’m out here, face tilted up, quietly negotiating with the sky for permission to live.
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The Xmas Hunger Games
Peace on earth, goodwill to… whoever gets the last parking space. I’m writing about Christmas shopping as a full-contact sport—traffic gods, Mariah, and physics-defying bags included. You’ll laugh, then wonder why we call it “festive”.
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Slang Wars
Ever sent your child the perfect parenting message, only to get a reply that crushes your millennial soul? I explore the linguistic battlefield between generations and why “K” hurts more than rejection.