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Mr Miyagi had it wrong. It should have been ‘Wax on, wane off.’

WAKING up with a hangover so severe the multicoloured emanations from my brain are causing an aurora borealis in my bedroom, I look back at my important contribution to current affairs this week. 

HI, Chris here, Coldplay's lead singer, songwriter and spokesperson. The famous one. Even I'd struggle to pick out the rest of the band in a police line-up. The lucky anonymous bastards.

Why did the band on the Titanic play Nearer My God to Thee? Bit on the nose when the encroaching freezing water was enough of a portent of doom. A jazzy tune like The Entertainer might have gone done better in the circumstances.

WAKING up with a hangover so vast it has its own moons orbiting it, I am pleased to be informed of new rules regarding financial disclosure for members of the House of Lords.

WHY shouldn’t I? After all, nobody else is paying. But while the Albanians can walk out with armfuls of diamond bracelets, you guessed it – it’s different for Brits.

MODERN dating is a hellscape. Or so my friends enjoying bountiful casual sex thanks to dating apps tell me. But relationships are the real AI-generated desert.

PROFIT from a Freakier Friday body-swap scenario in which people invariably return to their own bodies by demanding £5,000 not to cut off a leg. 

WAKING up with a hangover that has turned my genitals quite, quite green, I reflect on the week’s unusually warm weather. 

I'M off on holiday. It's been a while and a mate down the pub told me Sorrento is pretty upmarket. As a discerning chap, I wanted my first time in Eyetie Land to be classy.