Premium
WAKING up with a hangover so intense that liquid traces of my brain have dribbled through my eardrums onto my pillowcase, I sit up, check my ‘emails' and am surprised to find a message from Laura Kuenssberg.
I LOVE a good chippie tea, me. Been going to Roland's Happy Plaice for years now. He's a Northerner, but I try not to hold that against him. The further towards Scotland you go the better they get at deep-frying shit.
I’M leafing through. And leafing through. And looking for the bit of his memoir where the flowers of romance blossom between a roguish politician and his gorge PR.
You’ve got tickets to an immersive David Hockney experience. A swimming pool.
WAKING with a hangover strong enough to function as a wifi signal, I take a sip of water and reflect on the week’s events, in particular an unfortunate slip of the tongue during a speech.
WAGWAN? Peng birthday to man, peng birthday to man, peng birthday Active J, peng birthday to man, innit.
THE Labour party has confirmed the nanny state is to take over every aspect of your life, down to and including your self-abuse.
LIKE most of my generation I have what, four, five jobs? No, six. Actually counting the dealing seven. Each a more precarious side hustle than the last.
Prepare for your first black tie dinner by snacking on other smaller and differently coloured ties first.
WITH Morrissey having somewhat huffily ceded rights to the name 'The Smiths', I felt it could be a first rate way of spreading the Good Word if I were to appear at a concert with the new iteration of the beat group.