After handy leaflet told migrants that rape isn’t allowed in Britain, here are six other key lessons for life in Blighty

WELL, thank God for that. Now the Home Office has published those pamphlets telling immigrants not to rape anyone or thump their children, we can be sure that none of that sort of thing will ever happen again. Posters remind asylum seekers: ‘If you have sex without consent, you could go to prison’ Credit: Home Office Shabana Mahmood, grab yourself a pad and take note of what other rules we must also disseminate to our new wet-footed ‘guests’ Credit: Alamy After all, if you want something dodgy stopped, simply publish a handy leaflet in plain English (other languages are available) explaining why no one should ever do it — and hey presto, job done. Well, we shall have to see how that goes, but I notice no small boats have arrived since news of the advice was announced, mercifully. Perhaps the message has hit home: “Hey, Ibrahim, they say that you cannot beat your wife and children in this so-called paradise of England. Let’s try somewhere else!” Meanwhile, I would like to suggest that the advice does not stop there. I think we need more leaflets dispensing more advice. Indeed, there are many customs of this great island that should also be strictly observed. Behaviours that shape our great nation and put the Great into Great Britain. So, Shabana Mahmood, grab yourself a pad and take note of what other rules we must also disseminate to our new wet-footed “guests” (and any other transgressors). 1. NEVER QUEUE AT THE BAR. You’ve heard about Britain’s love of queueing, but there are limits. The younger drinkers in our midst have started a ridiculous new habit of lining up at the bar to order whatever 0% craft beer happens to be in vogue. This is never acceptable. Patrons must jostle at the bar for space and, when reaching the front, catch the barman’s eye with a look that politely indicates that you know he has seen you. A good barman — or barwoman (we allow them over here!) — will know exactly when it’s your turn. If they get it wrong, you politely refer them to the person who is next, smile at them while gently rolling your eyes in the direction of the bar staff. 2. SPEAK IN GIBBERISH. People, places, objects — very few things should be referred to by their real name in Blighty (see?). The cockney rhyming slang dictionary is your starting point, vital for working out why everyone “fancies a Ruby” at 11pm every Friday. No one should ever be addressed by their first name. Always use the surname with the addition of the letter “y”. If that proves too much of a mouthful, simply take the first few letters of the surname and add “o”. Nicknames must also have limited relevance to the individuals given them. If a person is as much as one centimetre taller than everyone else, they must always be “Big Dave” etc. Some might even suggest Davey McDaveface (don’t ask!). Cartoon illustrations alongside instructions told asylum seekers to ‘never make sexual comments to strangers’ Credit: Getty You must never drink a cup of tea when you are thirsty Credit: Getty 3. LEARN OUR E-TEA-QUETTE. Tea is our national drink but the secret to effective consumption is that you must never drink it when you are thirsty. A cup of tea (it is always a “cuppa” or a “brew” (see above)) is a reflex, a punctuation device. Back from the shops? Put the kettle on to mark your return. Friend visits with bad news? Sit them down and dig out the Tetley. Finished writing a column about when to drink tea? You get the picture . . . 4. CELEBRATE PETTY DESTRUCTION. Perhaps you will find work in a bar or restaurant, in which case you will inevitably one day slip on some escaped mashed potato and send a tray of food or drinks hurtling skyward. When it lands, do not be alarmed when the entire room cheers. It is mandatory practice in Britain to celebrate such accidents as loudly as possible. Experienced staff may respond with a theatrical bow. Once upon a time there was a man called Jeremy Beadle who handed out £250 to anyone who captured moments like this on grainy VHS footage. He died a hero. If you’re working in a restaurant, and drop a tray of food or drinks, don’t be alarmed when the entire room cheers Credit: Getty Colin’s six key lessons for life in Blighty 5. CROWBAR THE WEATHER INTO EVERY CONVERSATION. Britain has a temperate climate — that means it is only ever too hot, too cold, too wet, too mild or too windy. We are never happy with our weather and waste no opportunity to complain about it. Familiarise yourself with unique British weather phenomena, such as “persistent drizzle” and “raining cats and dogs”. And remember, it is never actually warm here, it is only “close” or “muggy”. Eurgh! 6. APOLOGISE ALL THE TIME. Walking on the pavement the other day, all of a sudden some Deliveroo cretin on an electric bike — perhaps you know him? — came charging out of nowhere and nearly knocked me flying into the “pound a pound” fruit stall. Of course, my first instinct was not to castigate this motorised moron but to say “sorry”. You see, that is the British way. Someone pushes in front of you in the queue for the bus? You apologise. Ask a shop assistant for a product and they have to go and find it? Beg for forgiveness. Why do we do this? I haven’t a clue. Sorry. MANE FOCUS ON JOB I MAY not be a top-flight athlete (no really, I’m not) but I do share something in common with former Timotei-locks footballer, Erling Haaland. Like him, I also sported hair down to my nipples in my early 20s and had it chopped off in one aggressive barbers visit. With eyes on a job in the media, where my “rave casualty” look was not looked upon too kindly, my magnifi-cent mane had come to the end of its life. So there I was, sitting in a chair as some excitable chap pinned it back and with one snip whipped off my thick rope and deposited it in a plastic container. “Is that heading off to a wig maker?” I enquired, aware that real hair was in great demand by the perruquier industry. “No sir,” he replied curtly. “That’s the bin.” Rickety robots can’t help playing silly Games My sides have been completely obliterated this week watching footage from the World Humanoid Robot Games Credit: Reuters ON your marks, get set . . . explode! My sides have been completely obliterated this week after watching all the hilarious footage from the World Humanoid Robot Games. The sight of something resembling a Star Wars battle droid beating Usain Bolt’s 100m record then smashing into a padded wall and bursting into flames was the finest ten seconds of comedy I’ve seen since David Brent walked the Earth. Close second was the “boxing” match. I’ve seen better co-ordination from a pair of pissed-up punters having a scrap outside the boozer at kicking-out time. It’s easy to get all spooked about the Rise Of The Robots when we’re being fed selective videos of killer K-9s and machine-gunning mechanoids from AI firms. But these preposterous games, broadcast live from Beijing, paint a somewhat more reassuring picture . . . for now. TATES NOT SO GREAT IN least surprising news of the week, it has emerged the ludicrous Tate brothers – the manosphere’s very own Right Said Fred – don’t actually own all those supercars they are forever posing in. According to lawyers for Andrew and Tristan – currently facing an extradition hearing in the US – all those Aston Martins and Bugattis are rented in order to make it look like they are wealthier than they actually are. So essentially what their briefs are saying is that these knuckleheads are LYING and that their lives are pretty much a sham. Oh dear. But while all the penis extensions may be phoney, there is no doubt whatsoever that they are certainly attached to two bona fide knobs. SYDNEY OUT IN FRONT Sydney Sweeney is to thanks for the sales of push-up bras being pushed up Credit: Instagram/syrn CLEAVAGE is back . . . well, to be more precise it is “big back”. So says some poncey New York fashion mag, which has spotted that push-up bra sales have been pushed up, thanks to stars like Sydney Sweeney. Well let’s hope the current fashion only extends to women buying extra padding to stay on trend. Because let’s face it, there is no boob job surgeon on the planet that can make someone’s flat chest look anywhere near as stupendous as Sydney’s natural wonders. You only need to clap your eyes on Lauren Sanchez Bezos’ Everestian bust to realise that. With access to the second-largest personal fortune on Earth she can somehow only find a doc to equip her with what a (female) pal of mine refers to as “angry tits”. PADDINGTON, everyone’s favourite ursine immigrant, has been slapped with a trigger warning due to some of his old antics. ITV reckon the sight of the fury little fecker doing the can-can back in the 70s is far too much for modern viewers, who must be warned about such “outdated attitudes”. Which came as a surprise to me. I would have thought a hairy bloke flamboyantly dressed as a woman was about as 2026 as you can get. IN a bid to pimp my Nissan, I fancy the COL 1N number plate, currently on another Colin’s whip after he paid a lumpy £61,000 for it. Wonder if I can rent that? FACEBOOK owner Meta has agreed to pay up to $16billion to settle a case in the US that alleged, among other things, that it had harmed kids with its addictive apps. Poor Mark Zuckerberg eh? Or maybe not. To put that settlement into perspective, it re-presents just over ONE per cent of Meta’s $1.4trillion value. A dent that seemed not to trouble investors much, who, Reuters reported, welcomed the news thus: “Shares of Meta rose 2.3% in early trading.” Well that’s told ’em.