It’s cathartic. South West London is a bubble of privilege and petty grievances. A good roast pops the bubble.
You roast because you care. No one roasts a stranger. You roast your friend for buying a £9 loaf of sourdough. You roast them for their faux rustic kitchen.
It’s about truth in a joke. The best roasts are 90% true. We just add the 10% bite.
The Unwritten Rules
Rule one: Never roast someone’s actual bad luck. Only their choices. Their decor. Their hobby of “gin tasting.”
Rule two: Timing is everything. Deliver it while they’re holding a flat white. They can’t throw it. It’s too expensive.
Rule three: Always smile. A roast with a smile is a joke. A roast with a straight face? That’s a diagnosis.
