You. Yeah, you sitting there.

I know what you're thinking of. I know what you're really thinking of.

You want that cheese snack. Yeah. The one you steal from your kids' lunchbox, perfectly round, cheesy and baked to perfection.

The one you hide on the top shelf so your short game can't reach.

The one you keep in your glove box for traffic jams? Or just because? You're thinking of mini-cheddars.

Oh, did it just make it worse by

mentioning it? Sorry, go on. Give in, I would. Mini-cheddars baked with real cheese. Still thinking

about it, aren't you? I grew up in a middle-class family, but I became working class when I was 16

working at McDonald's.

Hello and welcome to The Trawl where we scroll through social media so you don't have to.

I'm Gemma Forte.

And I'm Marina Perkis.

And just for a second, I want you to imagine you've got an opinion column in a national newspaper.

You're lucky enough to be paid some one million quid a year for this column. So when you sit down to write, you make sure you've done your

research, your opinion is well structured, it's based on insights and well-documented truths,

so you can land your well-thought-out, engaging piece to make a thought-provoking point. Except you didn't get that column.

No. Instead, it was handed to a lazy shite of a man who can't even be bothered to do the most

basic bit of research before he puts pen to paper to write out his usual tabloid guff.

Actually, Marina, if you've got a calculator there, seriously, divide 52 into one million.

Let's find out how much each beautiful column is worth.

Wonderful.

Because, of course, we are talking about the one, the only Boris Johnson, who sits down every week to do his homework, and you can imagine, can't you?

...