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WAKING with a head that feels like the site of bear defecation, my tongue the size of a pillow and my eyes awash with blood but otherwise chipper, I reflect on last week’s carol service.

MY first full year as prime minister couldn’t have gone better. We are poised and ready for the great poll turnaround of 2024. ‘I have another perspective,’ says my wife.

WAGWAN, festive fam? Peng tidings to you an’ your crew. Christmas been nang for man.

WAKING with a familiar, dreaded sensation around my hindquarters, I realise that owing to an excess of spirituous liquor I have once again befouled myself.

AS a Hindu, I don’t know a lot about Christmas. And my idea to do a show where I learn the true meaning of it was called ‘the biggest vote-loser since Suez.’

MY son's invited me out for a Christmas dinner with the family. Mostly guilt; they're having the ex round on the day itself, and the two of us can’t be in the same postcode.

WATCHING The Snowman is an annual Christmas tradition for anyone with nothing better to do. But is the whimsical tale about a boy running away with a stranger problematic?

EVERY Christmas, Norway gifts Britain a 20-metre tall spruce in thanks for our air during World War Two, in a tradition the country is unable to stop without looking a dick.

If the driver of the bus you are on is behaving in a rude and aggressive fashion, demand he stop. He represents you all and you can’t have your name attached to this.

WAKING with a clear head, feeling fully hydrated, the elevated state of the bedclothes alerts me that I am in possession of a massive and particularly rigid erection.