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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. 

THIS is a national emergency. We are on Defcon Alert Code Red and we need to press the button now, and the button is marked Unlimited Ballroom Funding.

CHOOSING to live by the shackles of olden values doesn’t mean I’m a prude. At times I have not simply lain still and thought of England when making love, but of forbidden Eire as well.

‘No show without Punch,’ they say. Well I’ve just watched Les Miserables and he wasn’t in it once.

WAKING with a hangover so intense it raises the room temperature from 33 to 38 degrees, I sip down several gallons of water and reflect on another notable week in my pastoral career.

HI folks! Sir Paul McCartney here. Beatles legend. Affable Scouser. Macca to his mates. I'm doing my famous thumbs up with my mouth open. You love that, don't you? Well it is bloody iconic. 

We’re always hearing of Tyson Fury but rarely his other emotional states Tyson Melancholy, Tyson Introspective and Tyson Horny.

WAKING with a hangover so excruciating my eyeballs are hanging from their sockets, I drink a tank of water, spitting out the goldfish, and check the progress of my recently released single.

‘NET migration has fallen!’ trumpets this desperate, collapsing government. As if it matters. As if that were ever an electoral concern for anyone.

THERE is no such thing, post-Delevigne, as ‘too much eyebrow’. Ideally they should take up around 85 per cent of a woman’s face.