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Not one reporter on the campaign trail asked Andy Burnham his view on the appeal of licking and smelling Carol Vorderman’s arsehole. The by-election result must be declared null and void.

WAKING with a hangover so severe brain matter is leaking from my nostrils and blowing my nose lowers my IQ by 15 points, I reflect on the week’s events.

ON the eve of the most important election of the last 400 years, it is finally time to admit my truth: I have had Andy Burnham, and his microdick went off after two thrusts.

GETTING older is a natural process and nothing to be ashamed of. And if you believe that, please exit the dating market and go to an open space to die.

Impossible to believe Jordan Pickford was born in 1994. That is a face that went over the top at the Somme.

WAKING with a hangover so excruciating that only by injecting coffee directly into my eyeballs can I mitigate its ill effects, I look back on the start of the World Cup and what it might hold for the church. 

THIS week’s story is so chilling it’ll make you want to swap your summery Starbucks Frappuccino for a piping hot Starbucks Grande Mochaccino. Remember to use my discount code CRIME for ten per cent off at any participating Starbucks.

THEY’RE doing deepfakes now. Your computer takes an ordinary photo and makes it look like you’re up to hanky-panky you haven’t touched since Butlin’s, Bognor Regis, 1985.

Bit desperate to secure the next Bond theme aren’t we, Dua Lipa?

WAKING with a hangover so excruciating I have to fight off my dog lest it makes off with the liver and kidneys I have vomited up, I restore my innards manually and and reflect on a somewhat traumatic week.