What white Brits really want is to sip chai lattes in their local independent coffee shop while tweeting hilarious pictures of cats from their Macbook, and occasionally do some creative freelance work. This would leave them free to organise their own time and finally escape the dreaded 9-5. They will be the people in the cafe tutting at you for daring to speak to each other and distract them from their work.

On the downside, this means that their working life will bleed into the rest of their day, giving them the impression that they are fantastically busy. At evenings and weekends they will be too busy to meet their friends, because they’ll be frantically scrambling to finish the work they put off during the day. Their various and complex tricks to avoid procrastination have a hard time contending with the temptations of making their own juice or having a two-hour yoga break.

However, make sure that you do not imply that they work any less hard than their office peers. Phrases such as ‘shirking from home’ will not endear you to them. Instead, quote Richard Branson, who works from home from Necker Island, and argue that “To successfully work with other people, you have to trust each other. A big part of this is trusting people to get their work done wherever they are, without supervision.”

On the other hand, they just love nostalgia. Show them a VHS or Mega Drive and watch them turn into bubbling excitable fools. They simply adore 35mm cinema prints, cameras with real photographic film, hand-drawn animation, vinyl records (in Stewart Lee’s words, “like a massive, flat mp3″), and they never, ever stop going on about how much they love the smell of books.

As with all things, white Brits are conflicted about this. They hate staring at screens, yet all their favourite activities revolve around LCD-lit devices of varying sizes. One of the things they like the most is complaining about how the digital world is depersonalising human interactions, where posting and ‘liking’ comedy YouTube or Buzzfeed links on each other’s walls has replaced actual face-to-face conversations.

But to their jaded, digital-native minds, just hanging out is no longer entertainment enough. No social gathering goes by without one white Brit showing another at least one viral picture of a cat or Ryan Gosling, or a Bad Lip Reading of a recent world event. Of course, they complain about this by angrily tweeting “So sick of social media and gadgets! When’s the last time you were on a beach or in a park? #boredoftheinternet” from their smartphone.

Hence Instagram: a faded, retro nostalgic device that you can only do on a smartphone, and which you can digitally ‘like’ without the trouble of physically meeting your ‘friend’ IRL.

Now that white Brits have finally got over their smoked salmon and scrambled eggs obsession, a new breakfast trend has boldly emerged. If you find yourself in a café for brunch and notice that the eggs are paltry hen’s eggs, it is advisable to make a swift exit. An establishment that has not yet adopted the duck egg for all its eggy recipes is clearly unfit for the patronage of any self-respecting white Brit.

Bigger, richer and just overall better in every way, the duck egg is to the hen’s egg what dauphinoise is to mash. Broadway Market and Waitrose, ever compliant to the wishes of their clientele, stock free range duck eggs in ever greater quantities. Perhaps it is their translucency, or the crisp white shell. Perhaps it is their creamy, silky texture. But duck eggs have captured the hearts, and truly the plates, of white Brits all over the country.

Other foods that white Brits will never tire of include: sourdough and soda bread, smoked salmon, avocado, asparagus, capers, camembert, manchego, and home-made pesto. Try mixing them all together into a nice mush and you could be the lucky winner of the upcoming Hackney episode of Come Dine With Me. However, N.B.: white Brits are fickle creatures, and formerly-popular choices such as sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts are now considered outmoded.

Along with the usual drinking, smoking and raving, white Brits also regularly engage in more wholesome activities such as crochet and making their own smoothies. Stressed by the many troubles of their trendy media city lifestyles, they find these pastimes ‘soothing’ and ‘therapeutic’. Therefore, instead of being a lame sign of ‘growing up’, they can be spun as a necessary side-effect of their hedonistic lives.

Anything crafty is especially good, as it also allows white Brits to show off their creative side: painting, drawing, sewing, sculpting, and generally ‘making things with your hands’. The produce of these creations doubles up as handy gifts, which have the twofold benefit of being lovingly hand-made and dirt cheap.

Despite white Brits’ protestations to the contrary, pastimes such as these do point towards their gentle and inevitable transformation into sophisticated respectability. Before they know it, the self-destructive studenty pastimes are dropped, and their knowledge of what seeds to plant in which part of the garden grows. As their salary slowly increases and they trundle along towards Islington and Stoke Newington, white Brits become increasingly mellow and house-proud, until they accidentally find themselves having dinner parties. But, god damn it, they do still like Animal Collective.

What sets a lahmacun (or ‘lammy’) apart from the common kebab or fried chicken is that, although easily found in the Dalston area, it is not readily available in all fast food shops. This ‘Turkish pizza’ is described by white Brits as “the hidden secret of kebab shops, really authentic” due to its reduced cost and foreign-sounding name. It is also a prime example of white Brits co-opting a traditionally working-class product as a way to boost their own street cred.

If a white Brit wants to impress the kebab shop owner, and all their friends, they will know that lahmacun is pronounced ‘lah-ma-joon’. For the full experience, order it with salad and both chilli and garlic sauce. Thanks to lahmacuns, white Brits are able to show off their obscure London knowhow and knowledge of different cultures, granting them a modicum of dignity even whilst their cheap takeaway food trickles down their chins on the nightbus home.

The vegetarian alternative, of course, is the classic hoummus and falafel wrap. However, seeing as omnivorous white Brits tend to feel bad when eating meat, the small amount of mince in a lahmacun is another point in its favour: enough to give it flavour, but insubstantial enough to lessen the guilt.

White Brits have come to terms with, and almost even accept, the inevitable onslaught of Olympic branding, relentless sponsorship, bafflingly Big Brother-esque mascots, inexplicably huge spend of tax money, and the temporary re-appropriation of the Union Jack from BNP members. They can currently be seen sulking around, crying into their locally brewed organic lagers.

In anticipation of the worldwide embarrassment that is sure to follow the Opening Ceremony (which will presumably include horrors such as Boris Johnson, the Middletons and Cheryl Cole), many white Brits will simply leave the country for the duration of the Games. The few left behind will do what they can to sabotage the event, by sticking witty banners to their windows or affixing the #keephackneyshit hashtag to the end of their tweets.

Seeing as many white Brits reside in the affected area (East London), they whine and whine about how the Olympics will disrupt their travel into work and put them at risk of terrorist attacks, or of being engulfed by the hordes of tourists. Ironically, however, without the added resources and investment in the East End occasioned by the Olympics, very few white Brits would actually inhabit these now-rather-gentrified areas, with their organic delis, arthouse cinemas and pop-up art galleries.

* N.B. Following the ‘multiculturalist leftist propaganda’ of the Opening Ceremony which celebrated nurses, immigrants and young people, white Brits have shaken off their initial misgivings and started to quite like the Olympics. 

Any given statement or situation in a white Brit’s life is likely to occasion one of two responses: “I read an article in The Guardian that said…”, or, “Have you seen that South Park episode?”. While The Simpsons and Futurama are seen as A Very Good Thing, Comedy Central’s South Park is widely considered to be The Best Thing Ever. Despite being cruder, less nuanced and more reliant on toilet humour — or, perhaps, because of these traits — South Park is the animated TV show which white Brits most frequently choose to quote.

Pleasingly lowbrow, yet surprisingly balanced on religious, political and social issues, its brand of idiot satire satisfies a deep need for white Brits. While they will go on, and on, and on about Stringer Bell or Don Draper, white Brits secretly consider Eric Cartman, in all his spoilt and whining glory, to be the most perfect character ever to grace TV.

One of South Park’s most genius moments is its systematic and ruthless destruction of Family Guy, a show which is universally hated by white Brits due to its racism, misogyny, anti-Semitism, and offensiveness to disabled people. To the untrained eye, South Park may appear to display all of these characteristics. However, the crucial difference is that in South Park these bigoted views are usually presented as Cartman’s, and therefore ridiculed, instead of being woven into the very fabric of the show. More importantly, South Park is actually funny; Family Guy, sadly, is not.

As unashamedly elitist as a left-wing comedian will go (all of his fans have at least one university degree), he takes great pride in his narrow appeal, referring to the frequent walkouts he provokes as ‘refining the audience’. His recent cult TV show Comedy Vehicle has brought him financial stability, but also means a higher number of people who do not like his particular brand of humour accidentally coming to his live shows.

His audience-baiting act, or ‘passive aggressive war of attrition’, consists mainly of:
* insulting other comedians,
* insulting the audience,
* pointing out how badly his jokes are going down,
* repetition of one unlikely concept for 40 minutes (with slight variations).

His attack on other comedians is two-pronged: on the one hand, he criticises comedians who think political correctness has ‘gone mad’ and mistake offensiveness for ‘bravery’; on the other, he despises the observational comedy of Michael McIntyre et al. For this reason, white Brits have realised that they hate all other comedians, and are only able to enjoy Stewart Lee and Daniel Kitson.

Some of Stewart Lee’s extended comedic routines have centred around Scooby Doo, pear cider, the Queen’s vagina, PC World, an encounter with Jesus Christ, buses to and from Stoke Newington, the IRA, and crisps. One of his long-running jokes is that he doesn’t have any jokes. He may make a joke, then accuse the audience of being racist for laughing at it. Otherwise, when the audience fail to laugh at something he says, he casts doubt over their intelligence. This is seen as keeping white Brits on their toes.

Half of Stewart Lee’s appeal to white Brits is that they know they are part of the elect few who ‘understand’ him. Not only a comedian, he is seen as a shining example of morals, intelligence, politics and lifestyle. Together with his collaborator Armando Iannucci, he is part of the sacred group of satirists which all white Brits admire and aspire to.

Hashtags are #ubiquitous. Normally, white Brits simply insert one hashtagged word into an otherwise normal sentence; however, if they are feeling particularly bold they may construct a phrase made entirely out of #words #with #hashtags (this pertains to writing only). The quality of one’s choice of which words to add hashtags to is seen as directly proportional to the perceived worth of a white Brit as a human being.

A high profile example of hashtag use is ‘#Fail’ in Dalston Superstars, which in turn inspired ‘#Hashtagfail’. This is an especially useful word for white Brits, who use ‘Win’ and ‘Fail’ to describe any given situation. Adding a hashtag to these words is highly recommended if one wishes to blend in. Other good words to use include ‘Winning’, ‘Epic Fail’, ‘FML’, and ‘Lash’.

Like ostriches burying their heads in the sand, white Brits surround themselves with possessions and pastimes that maintain the illusion that life consists of fine wines, art galleries and reading À Rebours. Where possible, the big bad real world is something they try to avoid. This is why designer cupcakes, vintage furniture and, crucially, fairy lights are so important to them.

Not just for Christmas, fairy lights are ubiquitous in the life of white Brits. They decorate several rooms of the house with them, and it is a well-known rule that every social gathering, meal, café and bar is made better by some craftily-placed fairy lights. Something about their soft-focus lighting makes white Brits’ lives feel a little bit more bearable. Everything looks more picturesque, romantic, and gentle. The tiny lightbulbs are often shaped like stars or flowers, in order to further increase the impression that one lives in a pink and lovely dream world. Turning on fairy lights is the equivalent of taking photos in Hipstamatic: it is a filter through which white Brits look at the world. This way, what they see finally matches the idealised, ethereal perception of reality that they have in their heads.

Between friends (usually male), it is a jocular moniker. If you are describing Keane or Razorlight, no other word will do them justice. Aimed at a Tory politician, it is deadly serious, as demonstrated by Jarvis Cocker’s best song of recent times, (Cunts Are Still) Running the World.

The harsh sounds of ‘c’ and ‘t’ make it a deeply satisfying word to use, which partly explains why white Brits call someone a cunt on pretty much a daily basis. A large part of the comedy lies in the contrast created by the crudity of the word and the relatively posh accents of white Brits, much in the same way as attempting to rap makes them look both adorable and tragic. White Brits take great pride in the knowledge that the word is considered shocking by more moralising outsiders, and the more inappropriate the situation, the funnier the effect is deemed to be. It is worth noting that many white British girls suggest that its status as ‘the worst possible swearword’ belies deep misogynistic tendencies, and they therefore make a point of using it nonchalantly.

Perhaps the apotheosis of this word is its use in Withnail and I, when Withnail exclaims ‘Monty, you terrible cunt.’ This particular phrase is particularly in vogue as a term of endearment among close friends.

Poached eggs and bacon and are the way to any white Brit’s heart. Around 2pm on a Sunday, you won’t be able to go for even a cursory stroll without seeing crowds of hungover white Brits queueing up for smoked salmon, hollandaise sauce and smoothies. Brunch is also a good weekly excuse to indulge in enormous amounts of food, with the justification that it will soak up the excesses of the night before.

One’s preferred brunch location can reveal a lot about the white Brit’s age, status, beliefs and lifestyle. Edgier white Brits will brunch on Clapton’s Chatsworth Road, while older and more affluent ones brunch in Angel’s many upmarket establishments. Old Street’s Breakfast Club is the standard choice for the young and trendy white Brits who inhabit Shoreditch. With its retro music and pun-riddled dish names (Ham-so Eggsited, Green Eggs and Ham), it generates queues that span into the horizon.

However, while all of East London proliferates with artsy cafes, Stoke Newington is the culmination of white British brunching. Its green and leafy village feel provides a comfortable environment for the white British community. As they walk into their regular cafe for brunch, locals will find anything they need advertised on the cafe’s notice boards: yoga classes, singer-songwriting lessons, artists’ studios for rent, music festivals, and babysitters. The shops on Stoke Newington Church Street sell vinyls, vintage clothes, retro furniture and, increasingly, children’s clothing. White Brits will wear their Sunday best (making sure it looks effortless), strut along the street, look at the deer in Clissold Park, and meet and greet one another. It’s not called Church Street for nothing.

White Brits revere Jeff Goldblum with a mix of 90′s irony and genuine admiration. It is perhaps his effortless mix of highbrow, lowbrow and borderline insanity which has given him such standing in white Brits’ collective minds. This unique combination has made him a hero, thanks to his appearance in masterpieces such as The Fly, Jurassic Park, Earth Girls Are Easy, and  The Tall Guy. Any white Brit worth their salt will mention Goldblum at least twice a week for no apparent reason.

Moreover, he would certainly spice up conversation at a dinner party, delivering pithy one-liners that combine danger, sleaze, and obscure new-age mysticism.

* Other popular answers to this game: Charlie Sheen, Werner Herzog, Notorious B.I.G.

Other people may show off about “partying all night with A-listers in a really trendy nightspot”, but white Brits take particular pride in their lowest, most far-fetched connections to long-forgotten never-beens. They may, and will, boast about going to the same dentist as Jedward, having had breakfast opposite Idlewild, once being on the same train as someone from Eastenders, or having gone to school with the brother of the girl who photocopies her arse in 40 Days and 40 Nights.

At the same time, however, they will try to sneak in real claims to fame that will legitimately increase their ‘coolness’ and ‘street cred’. If they do so, they must mask it as a pathetic or even embarrassing encounter (“You partied with Big Boi… at a West End musical?”). If their lame claim to fame is revealed to be an authentic blowing of one’s own trumpet, it will be labelled ‘name-dropping’ and therefore backfire.

They feel a similar way about U2; however, they will express their opinions about Bono in a much more vehement and expletive-ridden manner. What white Brits feel for Queen is quite different: less aggressive, it hovers halfway between indifference to the music, mild snobbishness towards the fans, and genuine consternation at the idea that Queen may be considered “innovative”. Note: bringing up Bohemian Rhapsody will not change their mind.

Mere virtuoso talent at singing or guitar-playing seldom impress a white Brit, who instead prefers their music to contain experimentation and elusive lyrics by artists with unconventional singing voices (e.g. Serge Gainsbourg, Bob Dylan, Jeffrey Lewis, Joanna Newsom, Tom Waits). The only known exception to this rule is Jimi Hendrix.

In terms of talented musicians whose death was prematurely caused by AIDS, Arthur Russell has garnered much more favour among the white British community. If Queen come up in conversation, make sure you bring up his name. Although they have nothing in common musically, this will show your impeccable taste and therefore impress your white British friends.

These, they think, are endearing and idiosyncratic quirks. Instead, white Brits direct their vitriol at anyone whose shoes are slightly pointier than theirs, whose moustache is more ironic, whose jeans are skinnier, or whose knowledge of obscure alternative bands is greater. Areas such as Hackney or Shoreditch are populated entirely by people who hate each other, and, secretly, themselves.

This widespread feeling has caused a great proliferation of hate websites, the humour of which depends on the white Brit being reassured that there are people out there who are slightly more like a hipster than them. White British idols Charlie Brooker and Chris Morris encapsulated this disgust for the hipster in their creation of guerrilla filmmaker, screenwriter, DJ and all-round twat Nathan Barley.

The white British scorn for hipsters is matched only by their abhorrence of “suits”. White Brits therefore inhabit an uncomfortable liminal space between the two extremes, gravitating rather more strongly in the direction of ‘hipster’. Nevertheless, the self-loathing that would be caused by moving towards “the norm” would be far greater. Because of this, white Brits are destined to a future of semi-hipster existence characterised by a subtle but constant feeling of self-revulsion.

Louis Theroux is as close as it gets to a white British superhero. This investigative broadcaster and Gonzo journalist travels the world revealing injustice, corruption and evil. He shows a non-judgemental and unbiased approach to controversial subjects, which chimes well with the mindview of white Brits.

His gritty documentaries offer the viewer with a delectable mix of interest in subcultures and in the human side of criminals and ‘outsiders’. The moral greyness that ensues is a feeling that white Brits find highly agreeable, as it flatters them into feeling fantastically open-minded.

Thanks to his friendly interviewing technique, he has a knack for making people freely express terrifying views. This was particularly disturbing to white Brits when he made a programme on the self-professed Most Hated Family in America, whose contempt of homosexuals was only matched by their belief in their own Christian righteousness. But his shows also offer a great deal of humour. The contrast in speech patterns of a well-spoken, bespectacled Oxbridge graduate while in conversation with enormous psychopathic murderers can result in dialogue that is highly entertaining to white British ears.

Theroux’s cinéma vérité style provides the closest thing the UK has to The Wire. Over the past fifteen years he has made programmes on high-security jails, neo-Nazis, white supremacists, black nationalists, porn stars, Thai brides, body builders and born-again Christians. The main purpose of his work appears to be raising awareness, a thing that white Brits love. Conveniently, however, his documentaries are watched exclusively by people who agree with him already, which explains why no one in the world has ever criticised his work.

Once their initial enthusiasm wears off, the grinding repetitiveness of their daily tasks will drive them to distraction. There are some who are fortunate enough to bag a job in the media; however, they soon find out that 95% of their tasks will still centre around admin. The average white Brit will soon start to experience terrifying nightmares about excel spreadsheets, photocopying, envelopes, and more spreadsheets, in an endless Kafka-esque loop. They will feel trapped and depressed, and will fear for their dwindling mental capabilities. If only they could be doing something a little bit more… creative.

Two years in, the lure of the PhD kicks in with a vengeance. By this time, they have forgotten the antisocial hours, pain, frustration and feelings of intellectual inferiority caused by their time at university. In retrospect, waking up at 10am, writing essays about The Wire and going to seminars on Bob Dylan was, in fact, the best time of their life. Most of all, when they were students, descriptions of their daily work would sometimes cause others to say “That is really interesting.” Seeing as descriptions of admin seldom have the same effect, impressing others at parties is significantly more difficult.

Added to a substantial sense of entitlement, all of this combines to make white Brits idealise the notion of spending four years in a library, with no money, attempting to construe an original idea about an obscure author from illegible manuscripts. Nevertheless, most of them are ultimately put off the PhD by a combined lack of funding, momentum, and job prospects.

The ability to find such objects amusing does denote a certain snobbishness and condescension, but, crucially, also signifies an advanced sense of irony. This is something white Brits never tire of.

Comedy mugs, in particular, deserve a special mention. A white Brit’s mug is their pride and joy, and, like puns, the worse it is, the better. Although white Brits are noted for their fervent anti-royalist sentiment, ironic purchases of Royal Wedding mugs by them will account for roughly 90% of the total sales. Although the coalition is universally hated, Con-dem-nation tankards are a must-have item, and mugs with non-celebrities on them are always a winner, too. Novelty items such as moustache mugs or nose mugs are especially prized, and will enable a white Brit to display their easy-going, fun-loving nature every time they enjoy a cup of tea.

Superfoods can be thrown in to any food to automatically counteract any implications of unhealthiness. White Brits are keen on treats such as chocolate beetroot cake, green tea ice cream, flapjacks made with flaxseed (or ‘flaxjacks’), nut-free, gluten-free and wheat-free brownies, or gourmet burgers topped with avocado. White Brits indulge their love for Superfoods with overpriced fresh fruit smoothies, anything labelled ‘detox’, Super Organic Porridge with low-GI Agave nectar, frequent visits to Whole Foods, and handy ‘graze’ boxes, which deliver dried fruit and nuts directly to their home or office.

You may wish to mock them by comparing them to Gwyneth Paltrow, whose inspirational newsletter GOOP they probably read every week. Ironically, of course.