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WAKING in a walk-in refrigerator, having mislaid my hotel keys, the hotel’s name and the name of the city I am currently in, I am joined by a visitor.

THERE’S a point at which it’s time to stop fixing and start again, and Britain has reached it with our woke BLM-kneeling gender-obsessed Marxist fifth-columnist teachers.

I haven’t had a first date in a decade so I’ve pushed the boat out, and you know what that means: French.

Right at the heart of England, yet awkwardly out of reach like a boil between the shoulder blades, Bromsgrove is perfect for anyone yearning for a characterless shit tip where everybody hates you.

THEY’VE been friends since they were teenagers when they made a pact drunk that one party fully intends to honour. Will Lucy Parry and Jordan Gardner marry?

Joining Disney+ to watch The Banshees of Inisherin felt weird at first, but then Mickey Mouse does only have three fingers.

WALKING in an upholstered chair at a round table with studio lights beaming down harshly, I realise that I am on the panel of Question Time. 

I KNEW it had started and sneak in to see Akshata watch it. ‘They stitched you up! They got your A-level coursework!’ she calls out.

IN the horn-free light of day, nobody’s patting a penis on the head and giving it a little stroke. They’re even more repulsive than hairless cats.

Everything here has fascinatingly bizarre names. The football team are called the Harriers. The local paper is The Shuttle. The carpet museum is called the Museum of Carpet. Okay, not everything.