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‘I regret ever getting that parrot,’ your parrot says, mournfully.

WAKING in a skip on an industrial estate in what would appear to be Doncaster, bedded down in the broken glass of a gross or more of rum bottles, I sigh.

I DID moan rather about Baroness Mone during the pandemic, never giving me a minute’s peace and so on. It seemed my wife listened. ‘Are you the bra woman? Piss off.’

I LOVE a big TV show. There’s nothing better than sitting down with the new series of Umbrella Academy for ten hours straight.

STREET food? What, like a burger van parked in a town centre at pub chucking-out time for all the pissheads?

DIRTY talk is hot, except when you try it. Then the only hot part is your flushed, ashamed face as you pray for an embarrassment-induced stroke.

TO say sorry for all the lives lost in elderly care homes, Matt Hancock has used his I’m A Celebrity money to buy each of them a mechanical rodeo bull.

WAKING with a start in unfamiliar surroundings, I realise that I am actually in my own bed. A wheelbarrow at the bedside affords some clue as to how I was transported here. 

THE papers say it was my best PMQs yet. I arrive home and the door’s locked. ‘No prime ministers of poor countries,’ my wife says on the intercom.

THEY’RE meant to hate racism. The left, the woke, the warriors of social justice. But this racism? Fine with them. Be as prejudiced as you want about private schools.