It's almost obligatory for Europeans to buy Toblerone when perusing the airport shops whilst waiting for a flight.

It is a flavour of suit.

I was quoting the godfather of North Norfolk's radio presenting scene, the undisputed chat-meister, and king of sports-casual, the amazing Alan Partridge.

That was Roxanne by The Police or, as they're now known, Sting.
A song there about a prostitute.
Doesn't give her surname.
Must give her a call.
Though the effects of 23 years on the game would not render her pleasurable to mine eye.

I've always loved Scarfe's work - the opening credits sequence "drawing" for Yes, Minister is a personal favourite.

A night off is the way to go.

As ever, Brooker is right.

Creme Egg is dead to me now. Messing with the chocolate is sinful.
Next they'll mess with whatever the weird fondant shit is in the middle, no doubt.

Pizza Fiorentina has an egg in it.
When I used to eat pizza, that was always my go-to.

Volcano Rules:
1. Thou shalt not spew lava on a Wednesday.

Good lord! Farting

A perfect response, given the cloud of smug that emanates from Mrs periscopes' hybrid car.

How much fuck cancerAIDS?

A prince, a doctor, a pilot, a king.
A lawyer, a playboy, a Georgian, a pimp.

That was my thought - and the good thing is that I know it would be my wife's too. No conflict. Really poor television.
But then again, we don't need the money so we'd never be invited onto such a horrible show.

The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover

About £80 at the time

Not always while driving.

You are not alone. Despite possessing almost superhuman unicycle skills, I never was able to skate.

I was once asked by a "dancer" in Budapest whether I was "the gay" - I think mostly because I didn't want to pay 30,000 Forints to buy a brandy and some company.