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Greggs have released a seasonal Ennui Bake capturing the feeling of late winter in Britain. It has a grey, cold filling and lasts for days and days and days. £1.99.

WAKING in a basket below a large, white balloon floating high in the stratosphere, I am dimly aware of the roar of incoming Sidewinder missiles.

RELATIONS between Downing Street and Bute House have always been cordial, except when the phone rings late at night. ‘Is that the useless wee bastard?’ Nicola asks.

I'VE never liked Italy. Opera, fussy paintings and footballers rolling around on the floor like they've been shot.

ME and the Nazis go way back: the Wolfenstein games, the Nazi zombies in Call of Duty and Dead Snow, and of course as a point of comparison on the internet.

BROADCASTER, writer and misogynistic fantasist Jeremy Clarkson has travelled the world spreading ignorance, but which nationalities is he perfectly okay with?

What if the selling-roses-in-nightclubs-man was Eros all along, and buying one would have led you straight to the love of your life? And you told him ‘fuck off’?

WAKING in a police cell, cassock stained and mitre askew, reeking of baby oil, poppers and papaya-scented lube, I piece together events.

‘CRACK the Pouilly-Fumé if you want,’ my wife said. ‘I get it, you’re excited. Finally a world leader even shorter than you are.’

CHILDREN are ostensibly the point of sex while being expert and dedicated boner-killers. Your once-adventurous fucking is halted at every turn by their constant, invasive presence.