Premium

WAKING with an unaccountable throbbing of the temples, I recall being invited by the makers of my favourite premium rum to participate in an advertisement for their product.

WHEN everything’s going so well, why interfere? So I’ve spent the week in hiding.

POP legend Sir Elton John headlines Glastonbury and is nearing the end of his farewell tour, but won’t be resting easy in retirement. He outlined his plans.

WHICH dickhead decided barbecues are macho? Standing around outside burning food over fire? Pretend you’re a caveman if you like but you look like a Boy Scout to me.

FACE it, no matter how longingly you stare at the gimp suits in the window of the fetish shop, you’ll never end up at a sex party. You’re just not the type.

There’s no place like home. Except IKEA. That’s quite like it.

WAKING in Hyde Park on a scorching summer afternoon, I realise I am surrounded by not my customary empty rum bottles alone but also my discarded mitre and cassock.

WILL they not stop? Is no humilation enough until Boris is a tramp on the streets going through the bins for supper?

IT’S important to have an opinion. Otherwise how could you properly engage with a listicle ranking every Marvel movie from worst to best?

The high-glitz, high-glamour city of Dubai opens its arms to foreigners of any race, religion and nationality so long as they represent economic value.