RETURNING to consciousness naked and face-down in a pool of my own bodily fluids in the nave of St Paul’s with Pope Francis standing over me, I am pleased to realise this is all a bad dream.
TRAINSPOTTING the movie was a phenomenon, selling posters, soundtracks and Irvine Welsh DJing in clubs. But was it any f**kn good, aye?
WHEN Chris Hemsworth is filming movies like the worst Thor one in Britain, he heads to Boots for lunch just like any office worker. He explains how he gets value out of his Meal Deal.
Enjoy railway lines, disused power stations and sprawling new housing developments? Then Didcot is your kind of shithole.
SEXUALITY? Straight as a die. No changing teams for me. Until I spent one afternoon with Penny Mordaunt, and now I’m her lesbian love-slave.
Now he’s gone, it’s clear that Boris Johnson’s greatest achievement was giving homeworkers the phrase ‘go to the fridge and hack off a piece of cheese’ as a euphemism for wanking.
I AWAKE dangling from a spire atop Westminster Abbey by the belt loop of my trousers, my cassock over my head, my garters visible to all below as I slowly rotate.
GOOD afternoon family. It is clearly the will of your mother that she should be the new head of the household and effectively your new father.
TWO children, the oldest a toddler. A young, beautiful mother who could be left homeless. ‘And divorced,’ said Dorries, who’s been on the Pinot.
Iconic 60s concrete office blocks, the Fairfield Halls, Ikea and a big dual carriageway; what hasn’t Croydon got?