How to look incredible in your 50s, 60, 70s, 80s and when you're dead, by Jennifer Lopez

STILL smoking hot at 53, Jennifer Lopez explains how she’ll remain a Hollywood miracle past being octogenarian and from beyond the grave: 

If you’re not fuckable in this town you’re not alive. In my 50s, very much my current decade, I’m having my menopause through a surrogate and keeping my glow with a punishing workout schedule, ludicrous diet, team of make-up artists, flawless genetics and access to only the finest clothing and jewellery. And I’ve still ended up married to a narky bloke who slams car doors.

By my 60s I will be technically unemployable due to slight signs of aging, so I plan to go in on cosmetic surgery damned hard. By 2033 global warming will be out of control, the seas will be rising and you’ll be saying ‘Is that J-Lo? Maybe? Whoever she is, she has magnificent tits.’

Only Jane Fonda made it to her 70s with her dignity intact. We were in a film together, I hate her. As soon as I hit 70, I’m going to hit every premiere in town with a decrepit woman in her 90s, ideally from Stirling, cackling her way down red carpets with a stick while I glide youthfully beside her. Also I’ll release a sex tape.

My 80s? De Niro’s 80 this year and he’s just had another kid. For women it’s different. At this point I’ll turn to the unconventional and attempt to sell my soul to the devil. In a basement formerly owned by the legendary Anton LaVey I’ll practice human sacrifice and bathe in the blood of lambs. That should get me another three Oscars and a chart hit.

And after my sad demise in Ben’s arms, while he’s probably still starring in action movies? I’ll continue to attend the Met Gala. Whether reanimated or just serenely deceased in Versace and a wheelbarrow, I’ll be a role model and icon for the billions of other dead people out there. And I’ll release a new fragrance, Le Petite Mort by Jennifer Lopez, after I’ve been dead six months.

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Go right, bold Conservatives. Go righter than you've ever gone before. Britain will follow

By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who believes the SAS have a moral duty to terminate Gary Lineker

ENOUGH wishy-washy centrism. The voters hate it or they wouldn’t have voted Lib Dem. Doubt not, Conservatives. There is always further right.

The National Conservatism Conference – so chock-full of common sense it’s made lesbians six miles away awaken to their true biological destiny – has shown the way.

A parade of luminaries, resplendent against unblinking royal blue, opened their mouths and truth fell out. One cannot hear ‘the omnipresent heirs of the Blob have drunk the hemlock of decline’ and walk away unchanged.

The centre ground is scorched earth. The territory once held by UKIP is annexed and occupied. Time, like those bold adventurers of Empire, to strike out to new lands of hitherto undiscovered right-wingness.

Sell the NHS. Destroy the BBC. Let work camps for the feckless, unwisely pregnant or voluntarily mentally ill be a mere refuelling stop.

Compulsory working. Compulsory commuting to preserve the unique character of our office districts. Food available by Pret subscription only. All men to be armed at all times.

Ten-year sentences for littering, 20 for riding a bike on the pavement, and life for cannabis. Demolish their houses, send their children to Wales, and hang the health and safety. Hang them in the town square during a torchlit National Conservatism rally.

Let the scales fall from the electorate’s eyes. Let them realise ‘hey, we’re bastards, let’s act like bastards!’ Let our country forge ahead, tacking ever rightward, leaving the US floundering in our wake.

Because if we do it? Turn independent, unshackled Britain into an authoritarian utopia? I’ve a funny feeling the voters will say ‘You know what? You were right all along.’