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This is the perfect storm, as I said when Halle Berry was cast in X-Men.

WAKING with a hangover so excruciating that in desperation I bite my dog, as a dog’s hair apparently alleviates the effect, I masticate thoughtfully on fur and reflect on a momentous few days.

MY performance in One Battle After Another – the hit black comedy that had you holding in a piss for three hours – won me a BAFTA for Best Supporting Actor. But I'm also supporting vulnerable bridge jumpers in California.

IN my day dirty old men wore raincoats and leered. Like Touchy Terry down the butcher’s. Marie married him, but then she had to with her moustache.

The hardest part of being a beekeeper is coming up with names for them all.

WAKING up with a hangover so intense its menacing presence is causing all the dogs within a mile's radius to bark incessantly, I look back at the week and one annual event in particular. 

NOBODY does pageantry better than Britain. But there’s one bit of pomp and ceremony we’ve not indulged in for a while, and it would draw one hell of a crowd.

WITH my husband busy breadwinning for our six-child family, what else is a woman to do but uphold feminine values like banging the postman?

Kevin Pork, Kevin Ham, Kevin Gammon, Kevin Bacon. There you go, done it in four.

WAKING with a hangover so excruciating my head feels like a timpani being pounded with sledgehammers by a 15-foot half-man, half-gorilla, I drink ten gallons of water and open a letter concerning a trust fund I set up.