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THE internet is the dominant technology of the 21st century, with millions using it every day to look up Anna Kendrick’s age, bukkake porn, or Benedict Cumberbatch’s height.

Go on. Treat your wife to half a Dr Oetker Ristorante pizza tonight. She's earned it.

WAKING up with a hangover so intense my tortured neurons are sending signals into space, I look back on the events of yesterday which led to my present condition. 

Councils shouldn’t install ornate lamp-posts. There’s a real risk people might end up learning to tap dance.

WAKING up with a hangover emitting a stench worse than pilchards left to rot on a gym changing room radiator for a fortnight, I reflect on a personally momentous Wednesday. 

HOPE is not lost. Action can be taken. A hapless, sodden so-called leader and his homeopathic Conservatism ousted, and a victory won.

NOT everything is on the internet. Some content, like plays and non-league football games, only happen once and then they’re gone forever. That’s criminal.

It’s big news in the football this weekend! Will a team win, or will another team lose? And what does this mean for the colours red, blue, and lighter blue?

WAKING in my bed awash with vomit, the result, doubtless, of a bad kipper after a late evening, I hose myself down and reflect on yesterday’s events. 

IF there's one thing more quintessentially British than our victory at Dunkirk, it's a Sunday roast. I know the French take the piss with their 'les rosbifs' jibes, but who cares about a nation who would've beheaded Princess Di?