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RETURNING to consciousness face-down on the pavement just yards from the front door of Lambeth Palace, golden key in my outstretched hand, I reflect on just what a bender that was.

DAYTIME baker, nighttime lothario, at both ends gentle yet firm with my hands. But when I throw a conquest onto the waterbed, what’s soundtracking our sexual odyssey?

THE polo shirt is an arsehole’s garment suitable only for liars, thieves and those trying to fool the world into thinking they’re wearing a shirt. Wear it like this.

FOR women, having an orgasm is like trying to get a fly out of a window: for all the smacking and shouting you may still be defeated even if the window’s wide fucking open.

A sleepy little city nestled in Tory south-west England, Bristol is famed for its vibrant social life and creative atmosphere. Which roughly translates as ‘people constantly off their faces on a wide variety of drugs’.

Weird how in so many movies a big crystal is the key to unlocking the legendary lost city of Laputa or whatever, while in real life they’re cheap sparkly tat.

THIS time of year sees university towns infested with students, all being ripped off for nasty accommodation and piss-poor education. But not me. I’m thick.

NATURALIST and filmmaker Sir David Attenborough, aged 96, is known for shows including Life on Earth and Frozen Planet II, but not his murder of Tupac Shakur in 1996.

AN entire generation grew up venerating The Stone Roses’ eponymous 1989 album, but is it an all-time classic or psychedelic shite? 

When David Brent was musing on nearby towns in The Office, he said ‘There’s nothing wrong with Maidenhead. Not Maidstone – that is a shithole.’