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‘You tuber,’ you whisper, to a potato.

SEATED in the first class compartment of a train from London to Brighton, I snort, wonder when it will deign to set off, and take a restorative draught of whiskey.

AN English beach, the surf crimson. RAF gunships sinking distant boats. A one-way plane to Rwanda awaiting any survivors. Doesn’t it gladden the heart?

BATMAN movies keep coming, ever-darker, ever-ignoring that bats aren’t scary even post-Wuhan. Is 2008’s The Dark Knight the best one ever, or crap?

ON the fringes of, but thankfully not part of, the blighted industrial wasteland of the Black Country, Stourbridge has but two claims to fame – glassblowing and late 80s indie.

MIND-BOGGLING as it is to contemplate, there is a greater variety of size, shape and flavour of boobs than there are of crisps.

DON'T be tempted to experiment with a Ouija board this Halloween. You’re already a gullible bastard who believes in horoscopes so there's no need to advertise it.

AS I come to, I realise a cat is in the middle of a bowel movement, excreting directly into my ear canal. I attended a drinks reception at Downing Street last night and must have fallen asleep in Larry’s litter tray.

I THOUGHT only my generation had computer games, in the same way my parents didn’t have streaming or the internet, just wooden spinning tops to entertain them during the war.

INOFFENSIVE, picturesque Durham. Without the fun factor of Newcastle or the ruggedness of Darlington, this medieval site instead thrives on inane wankiness, claiming to have its own shade of purple.