The Shape Of A Mr Whippy.

Hang on… we’re just calling the men in white coats. Our esteemed columnist needs his injection and that nice coat with the sleeves round the back. “Hello? Yes, ambulance again please, and hurry…”

Oh, the folly of the rich and famous. Imagine if our lot got on a Morrissey I-can-write-a-novel kick… we stare off into the distance all wistful, like, and imagine such things…

Peering down the corridors of power, our intrepid correspondent is the one with his ear pressed up against that door at the end. On the other side, someone is shouting about The Prodigy…

Blah blah blah, part-time columnist blah blah filing copy late blah blah rattling on about something or other blah blah haven’t really read it blah blah is it any good this month?