Premium

EXPRESSING your desire to take things up a notch in the bedroom when you’re wide awake with faith in your libido and/or dick is only the first step.

Following Red Light Spells Danger with Get Outta My Dreams, Get into My Car is Billy Ocean telling you he’s fighting an unsuccessful battle against picking up streetwalkers.

WAKING with a hangover so intense I feel it would require a guillotine rather than an aspirin to remedy, I reflect on the passing of Pope Francis and my decision to apply for his job.

I’M taking myself off on a little holiday. After a google I opted for Budapest, with its cheap beer, stunning architecture and rich history. Although if my history was mainly ‘collaborating with the Nazis’ I’d keep quiet about it.

If your town needs something to put it on the map, that's not the fault of the town but the map. Maps should have all the places on them. That's the point of maps.

WAGWAN? Heaster is here, fam. An’ it is usually da time to celebrate chocolate, but Active J is a gangsta crew bossman hadult now, bustin’ a peng goatee, innit. An’ da Heaster Bunny is only for toddlers.

ANOTHER day, another L for the global economy. And not even Donald Trump can aura farm his way out of this one.

It’s good that the Doctor has a closer relationship with his companions these days. It used to be: ‘Okay, we’ve spent several years together mostly in one room and saved each other's lives countless times. F**k off then.’

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.