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hen there’s the unfettered joy of checking under the carpet for rogue 20p bits, smelling your finger after a quick rummage down the underpants and making shark fins out of your hair while in the bath.

I saw my reflection in a hexagonal mirror located at the heart of the ride. Only Shrek has looked greener.

In my book, that’s pretty unforgivable, so on December 31st 2011 I’m going to find out where Jools lives and dump on his lawn.

If you want your kid to behave like it’s auditioning for a fish finger advert refer to your dessert as a ‘Wonder Tartlet’, ‘Angel Pie’ or a ‘Sweet Delight’.

I can’t think of anything worse than drinking mead, getting naked with ugly hippies and chanting cobblers for Mother Nature’s pleasure on a cold winter’s day

Toys, most definitely, aren’t Us.

Does the male G-spot exist, and if it does, where can I find it?

o, in a bid to stop the rot I have been practising for a Christmas Day match that will inevitably result in tears, and Will Halliday, this is for you: at 3.30pm on December 25, 2010, you will be beaten… and the tears will be yours.

The DVD cover concludes: ‘… this is a time-traveller’s epic adventure into the joys of life, the sadness of death and a love that endures beyond time’, when it should read: ‘This is excrement, rent The Godfather instead.

Disgusting people celebrate ‘reading while sitting on the bog’ when, let’s face it, it’s wholly repugnant.