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WAKING caked in vomit, my head pounding like Mr Fred Flintstone at his front door and my underwear clearly bearing a double load but otherwise fine, I recall this week’s events.

‘YOU remember,’ Akshata says, ‘she did it every two weeks. Press conference, Downing Street, everyone expecting she resigns then she says “Vote for my Brexit.”’

WAGWAN? Da feds try to bust man dis mornin’ an’ smash Active J’s network wide open. Copdem shakedown school hassembly by fakin’ doin’ commoonity policin’.

CASH is dated, which means it’s problematic. Hitler, Stalin and JK Rowling all paid for things with physical money, so it’s a dangerous road to go down.

CALL it a rut, call it a comfort zone, call it three minutes each of oral followed by five minutes of no-eye-contact sex, but it’s the bedrock of the majority of marriages.

Once you go black, you never go back. Because that toast is ruined.

WAKING up with a mouth as dry and desiccated as the remains of Mother Teresa, I sweep away the empty bottles strewn across my bed and ruminate on the events of last week. 

BARBIE was amazing, perhaps not to actually watch for two hours, but as a phenomenon. But now the dust has settled, it’s definitely got problems you don’t have to be a bitter misogynist to notice.

UNTIL now, no one has ever doubted Mary’s account that she was literally a virgin impregnated by a divine spirit, but new evidence is making experts think having a baby may require sex to take place.

I'M off to a traditional Irish pub that does food in Birmingham's Irish Quarter. Just hoping my English accent doesn't get me blindfolded and executed.