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WAKING with a hangover whose painful pulsing could be detected by the crew of the Artemis II spacecraft, I look back on another week in which a prominent politician sought my counsel. 

WAKING up with a post-Easter hangover whose size would make astronomers classify it as a dwarf planet, I take my customary dose of 48 paracetamol and reflect on the week’s events. 

Sure, if you pay peanuts you get monkeys, but before long they’ve typed you the complete works of Shakespeare. So monkey-wise it’s a mixed bag.

LEAVITT: There is no war because there’s no Iran, okay? It’s gone. It’s dust. So after three more weeks of strikes the US will withdraw.

WOMEN are proud, shy creatures, who keep their metaphorical cards close to their heaving chests. Has she come? Or not? Might you be offended if you ask?

Stop using the phrase ‘flew too close to the sun’. Some of us are still in mourning for our close friend Icarus.

WAKING up with a hangover so horrible that my first act of the day is to shave my tongue, I reflect on a week which saw church and politics mix in controversial fashion. 

HELLO, I’m Ryan Gosling and you may be entitled to compensation. Yes, that’s the Hollywood heartthrob and star of La La Land. I earn a bit on the side making compo claim calls. Why not?

I CAN’T find Mary Berry anywhere. Her recipes, I mean. That book has been my Bible – albeit stained with jam which you wouldn’t do with the actual word of God – for years.