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WAKING in an empty bathtub, I find the call of nature ringing urgently in my ears and my head throbbing as if it were being hammered by respected craftsman Mr Fred Flintstone.

‘JACK of all trades, master of all trades, that’s me!’ chortles Grant, on his appointment to yet another Cabinet post. I don’t correct his mistake.

Blinding Lights singer The Weeknd plans to close summer by raunching up one Cheshire village’s fruit and veg show to a frankly unacceptable degree.

The place is like a Brexit theme park, complete with wrecked infrastructure, potholes and a vibe optimistically described as ‘past its best’. The once-thriving resort is known to residents as ‘Crapton’.

THE musical world changed when Frank Ocean released Blonde in 2016. But, like that year’s other world-changing events – Brexit and Trump – was it actually shite?

Pilot whales turned out so well they went ahead and commissioned a whole range of whales.

WAKING with a hint of a morning head by an empty petrol can I resorted to imbibing when short of conventional spirituous liquor, I hear a nervous tap on my door.

ASYLUM backlogs at a record high? Isn’t that bad news for Stopping the Boats, the only Rishi Sunak pledge anyone cares about? Or is he far cleverer than anyone thought?

GASTROPUB? As in gastroenteritis? Have these pretentious bastards thought this fucking through?

Scarborough is the classic British seaside town: shit. Buckets, spades, decaying Victorian attractions, hammered tourists and noisy rip-off arcades.