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WAKING with a hangover so intense that the blood trickling from my nose is bright green, I reflect on the special announcement I made yesterday to my parishioners. 

FORGET the Oscars or riding around in climate-controlled limos - what really gets me off is the thrill of mildly inconveniencing people to use the charging points on trains.

25-year-old accountant Olly O’Connor is looking for love and 22-year-old content creator Sophie Rodriguez is hoping for a monthly subscription.

About time that f**king tree got some leaves on, if you ask me. Shameless branchy bitch.

WAKING up with a hangover that causes traffic lights to malfunction throughout Westminster with its electromagnetic intensity, I reflect on a new ecclesiastical initiative I trialled this week. 

‘A NEW Great Depression may loom,’ says the BBC. ‘We could be going back to the 1930s,’ warns ITV. Am I the only one cheering and punching the air?

ASK any man with swollen nuts and a stagnant love life hoping nobody sees him in Ann Summers: spending unaffordable amounts on risqué lingerie is a sure route to a shag.

How do you solve a problem like Maria? ADHD meds.

WAKING up with a hangover whose energy, if harnessed, could provide light and electricity for a small Scottish village for six months, I reflect on the past few days and my most recent holy initiative. 

FUNNY lot, the Arabs. Always killing each other and living in tents in the desert because they're too lazy to build proper houses. Nothing wrong with camping, but you can take things too far.