The Archbishop of Canterbury on... Bono's arsehole poem

Fuck me till the Saints rise from the tombs and tell me to keep the fucking noise down, what boss-eyed, windy, misty-bollocked fucking verbiage is this?

'I only went to the execution to be polite,' he says, coming back from Saudi with piss all

‘The beheadings threw me off,’ he said. ‘I only went along to be polite. You know what they’re like about hospitality. And, well, I couldn’t eat my partridge on the plane home.’

Take in a Ukranian refugee? No thanks. Instead, I shall open my home to the cancelled

Anyone taking in a Ukranian family – they’re as genuine as Sylvanian Families, and five times the price – is a fool who deserves everything they get.

Let's move to a semi-rural shithole packed with Hackney hipsters! This week: Stroud

Once a quiet, semi-rural shithole, Stroud has lately been elevated to a shithole packed with quirky Londoners convinced they’re doing it a favour by moving there and adding a whole new strata of twat.

Mash Blind Date: 'I do not remember agreeing to be part of some fucked-up experiment to see if opposites attract'

DO opposites attract? We sent environmental activist Chartreuse the Eco-Clown on a date with right-wing Brexit and Boris voter Gilly to find out.

Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Drake’s a Scorpio. Your pathetic little life could not be more diametrically opposed to his life of mansions and girls and success. And you still believe in this astrological bollocks?

The Archbishop of Canterbury on… the Chelsea FC shitstorm

I rolled round the fucking chancel of Westminster Abbey in a pool of my own piss when I heard this. Chelsea! Oh, my fucking scrotum!

The text arrived as Zelensky was speaking. 'Yeah. You fucked the wrong comedy national leader'

Watching BBC Parliament, I had two thoughts: first, where’s my vibrator? Second, Big Dog is going to go fucking spare.

Let’s move to a railway junction of deprivation! This week: Crewe

You’ve probably changed trains here once. Maybe, if there was an hour or more’s delay, you wandered out to find a street of Cash Converters and obviously violent pubs and concluded it was rough near the station. No. It’s all like that.

How to cook the perfect poached egg, with Colin the emotionally unstable chef

AS A chef, I’m frequently asked is how to poach the perfect egg. If that’s your biggest problem in life go fuck yourself with a rusty saw, because some of us dream of being that fucking lucky.