Premium

I REMEMBER Charlotte Owen, or do I? Interchangeable Home Counties blonde? Now mysteriously a peer for life aged 30 or possibly 29? ‘Explain,’ I say.

I’m on the seagull diet. Every time I ‘see’ a ‘gull’ I smash my face into the chips you’re holding.

WAKING up in Lambeth prison, my customary Friday berth, I slake the thirst I have built up by drinking a bucket of my own urine in one draught.

I WAS expounding for the third time on Britain’s readiness to become the world’s AI hub when Biden says, ‘Oh, I get what’s going on here. You’re a goddamned robot!’

Letting Scotland call itself a country is like letting your daughter be a goth: regrettable,  indulgent, a bit pathetic but ultimately doesn’t do anyone any lasting harm.

YOU get one, then an upgrade, then a quick-and-easy handbag-sized one for dates, and suddenly you’ve got a whole battalion of sex toys doing the grunt work for you.

FAST & Furious star Vin Diesel has more hit movies than he has facial expressions, but only if you count all the F&F films separately. Otherwise it’s fewer.

Get real, if there were people riding round cities with big green cubes on their backs in a videogame you’d totally smash them for energy.

WAKING in my bedchamber with an unaccountable headache, I sweep away the empty bottles with a shattering swish of the duvet and attend immediately to my correspondence.

‘AS lockdown fell across the country, the atmosphere in Downing Street was febrile, fertile and charged with lust,’ I read. ‘Good, eh?’ says Boris.