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IN last week’s and multiple previous columns I have described Trump as our one true Caesar and the saviour of freedom. That stands, but with a few notes.

YOU’VE curated your dating profile to give an entirely inaccurate impression. These are the entirely accurate conclusions everyone draws in one glance.

Neighbours got an England flag up? Shin up the pole at night, replace it with the flag of Papua New Guinea and enjoy the muddled racist frenzy as they try to work out who did it.

WAKING up with a hangover almost, if not quite, the size of Rotterdam, I vomit in an elegant plume and reflect on my contribution to the betterment of mankind this week. 

I BLOODY loved the 1970s. I was in my prime and we had entertainment like Carry On films and Love Thy Neighbour before the wokerati banned good-natured banter like ‘spear-chucker’.

REGARDED as one of the 20th century’s great composers, Stravinsky is pivotal to modernism and the bloke your dad guesses for all music questions on University Challenge.

Always odd, the obsession medieval artists had with creating memento mori. Was an infant mortality rate of 30 per cent insufficient to remind them of death?

Waking up with my head pounding to a Burundi rhythm, my tongue akin to a sofa left out in the desert for six weeks, I take a moment to reflect on the events of the past seven days.

FIFTEEN-year-old Active J, known in his detached home as Joshua Hudson, has been told that if he doesn’t sell his old clothes they’ll be given to a charity shop.

LEFT-wing social justice politics is so Biden. Edgelord is the new woke. Right-wing extremism is blowing up in Europe and America. I had to get involved.