Premium

It’s not the one with the Bullingdon Club, it’s the one with the twat who burned £20 in front of a homeless man.

THERE are sexual experiences which are desirable and attainable, like orgasms, a finger up the arse during climax or getting a blowjob from a ghost.

If they did a glory hole for swiss rolls the line would be out of the door. But they won’t because nothing good ever happens does it.

WAKING in the gutter, my pillow an empty 1.5 litre bottle of Tesco Imperial Vodka, I surmise to my horror I have fallen back in time to the year 1985.

I AM owed a wedding. A proper wedding befitting a princess, which I effectively am, at a proper country house. Because that one last year was f**king shit.

IT’S been top of every popular movie ranking for more than a decade: for good reason, or is it shite? Warning: spoilers for a movie everyone currently living has seen 15 times.

They’re friendlier up north, and Newcastle is truly one of the friendliest places to get your head kicked in for glancing at someone’s girlfriend.

NOBODY wants sex, at least not with the person they share a bed with. It’s a faff, tiring, and engenders powerful emotional connections you could do without.

All my tattoos mean something. For example, this one means I’d been drinking all day in a pub next to a tattoo parlour.

WAKING after 36 hours of dreamless sleep, feeling well rested, I notice a fresh scar on my abdomen and realise I am missing a kidney.