Cheeky reads, quirky finds and a bit of nonsense.
A hotel breakfast buffet is a beautiful, terrifying self-service negotiation. The Cheekie Monkey has devised a totally unofficial scoring system for the single-file sausage economy, the toast-machine bottleneck and the person building a fried-bread fortress — so you can rate any buffet from a Travelodge truce to full continental chaos.
The thermostat is not a dial; it is a negotiating table with a digital display. As the cold snap settles in, The Cheekie Monkey unpicks the quiet warfare of British home heating, from the Thermostat Nudger to the Blanket Baron, and offers a diplomatic toolkit for surviving the winter without losing the moral high ground over the radiator valve.
Roll out the red banner and prepare the goodie bag of forgotten subscription trials: The Cheekie Monkey is handing out gongs for Black Friday 2026’s boldest bargain-bravado. From the phantom was-price to the bundle nobody asked for and the receipt flex that omits postage, this is deal theatre at its finest — plus a proper guide to doing the maths.
You said you'd be twenty minutes. Three hours later you're in a garden centre holding a novelty gnome and a bag of bark chips. A cheeky field guide to the great British quick errand, its classic detours and how to escape with your Saturday intact.
Britain has a secret national sport and it takes place in doorways. From the double-door shuffle to the lift-exit tango, here’s how to survive the great ‘after you’ standoff without causing a diplomatic incident.
There are two types of Brits: those who fling the door open in a dressing gown, and those who hit the deck at the first sight of a high-vis jacket. This is the cheeky field guide to the national art of pretending you’re not in — from safe-place politics to the neighbourly parcel hostage situation.
Twinkly lights, wooden huts, and a sausage that costs more than your lunch. Here's how to navigate the great British Christmas market without becoming the mulled-wine menace everyone quietly steps around.
It arrives every December with a £2 charity donation and a whiff of loft. Here's The Cheekie Monkey's survival manual for Office Christmas Jumper Day 2026 — the competitive knits, the passive-aggressive compliments, and the group photo that will haunt the intranet until Valentine's.
Britain’s meal deal is not lunch. It is a tiny daily republic with its own laws, betrayals and crisp-based hierarchy. Here is the Cheekie Monkey’s field guide to surviving the fridge, the queue and the last decent sandwich in 2026.
Every kitchen has one: the drawer where logic goes to die and a single chopstick rules alone. This cheekie excavation ranks the classic inhabitants, explains why we never tidy it, and invites you to confess your own drawer crimes.
Streaming was supposed to set us free, but in 2026 the remote is still the most fought-over object in the British home. Here is the cheeky field guide to channel flickers, password hoarders, volume tyrants and the delicate art of not ruining family telly time.
The office tea round is not a beverage service; it is a delicate social contract held together by goodwill, memory and the correct biscuit. Here is The Cheekie Monkey’s field guide to surviving the kettle politics of 2026 without accidentally declaring war on Accounts.
There is no British institution quite like the Sunday carvery: a beige banquet, a meat-ladle standoff and a Yorkshire pudding allocation that can make or break family harmony. Here’s our cheeky field guide to surviving the queue, respecting the gravy, and scoring your local in 2026.
A thoroughly unscientific ranking of this year’s Christmas adverts by sob factor, celebrity audacity and mince-pie urgency. Grab a cuppa, lower your expectations and let’s judge telly’s festive offerings with the seriousness they absolutely do not deserve.
The shared office kitchen is a beautiful, terrible ecosystem held together by goodwill, lukewarm kettle water and one unspoken rule about not reheating fish. Here is The Cheekie Monkey’s entirely unofficial survival manual, from decoding passive-aggressive Post-its to surviving the Great Mug Amnesty without losing your mind or your colleagues.
Panto season is back, and the audience is part of the cast whether the theatre likes it or not. Here’s how to shout, boo and heckle like a proper Brit in 2026 — without getting escorted out by a bloke called Dave in a high-vis tabard.
There's a precise moment on a sunny Saturday when a British pub garden stops being a place of leisure and becomes a contested border zone. Here's our cheeky field guide to claiming a table, defending your patch and committing none of the classic etiquette crimes.
The cheeky Nando’s is less a meal and more a national institution with its own laws, hierarchies and diplomatic incidents. We bravely wade into the heat-scale politics, the ordering ceremony and the side-order civil war that splits families every Friday night.
From the cheeky Nando’s to the cheeky mid-afternoon biscuit, we’ve put Britain’s favourite modifier through a totally unscientific 2026 ranking. Expect mock-science, reader nominations and one very cheeky test.
Britain’s self-checkouts are not really tills. They are tiny stages where we perform innocence, panic and the tactical packing shuffle for an audience of one smug machine. Pull up a basket and enjoy the panto.