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AWAKING after a late evening with a delegation of Belgian Trappist monks, experts in brewing, I realise the bed I repose in is my own and summon a junior cleric.

ONCE again, a plane sat on the tarmac at Heathrow, awaiting clearance. Once again, a passenger was desperate not to fly. But it was me and we had to.

Check out the station car park, the most expensive in the country – and rightly so, since the only reason to live here is to leave.

WHEN I’m in my trailer between takes on Cruella or Last Christmas, I settle my nerves and concentrate my mind by painting a Chaos Lord in Terminator Armour Space Marine.

SHE’S the literary sensation of the century, but are her books understatedly fascinating or remorselessly banal? The latter.

‘Mary Magdalene wasn’t really Jesus’s girlfriend. They were more like f**k buddies,’ you explain, to your Sunday School class.

WAKING up in a Hell’s Angel clubhouse, my head thumping like the timpani section in Wagner’s Die Walküre, I taste petrol on my lips.

INNATE, incorruptible moral authority. Already in the orbit of Downing Street. Independent from the office of prime minister. Opportunity, meet Carrie.

WILL drinking heavily to dispel their social anxiety lead to love for Hannah and Alex? Or to a three-day hangover and memory gaps?

EVERY week, we ask a celebrity to imagine how they would live life as Paul Chuckle, aged 74, of Rotherham. Top Gun star Tom Cruise has a go.