“He was as dull and uninspired as, I don’t know what.”

A cavalcade of "toe-curlingly bad analogies", from the Spectator (in London). Some beauts:

The accountant had the world-weary air of a ferret that had been up so many trouser legs that life held no more surprises.

She gazed at him as lovingly as if he were her ear-lobe, replete with a diamond-encrusted earring, as reflected in a Parisian mirror.

Her manner became so suddenly grim it was as though she had injected all of Aberdeen directly into a vein.

He clumsily tried to fold her into his arms, a bit like folding a bottom fitted king-size sheet but not getting it right and starting over and getting it wrong again and finally saying oh the hell with it.

He was as angry as an eight-year-old who spends six hours building a Lego battleship and then his three-year-old sister smashes it to pieces and stomps on it so he whacks her and he gets severely punished.