Billy Weir

It’s official: Alison Hammond is the human equivalent of dust, for she’s never off the telly.

Take That or East 17? Neither, if I’m being brutally honest, but once upon a time, this was a question that dominated life.

Age is a peculiar thing. No matter how many buckets of Olay (or Oil of Ulay if you’re really old) you dollop on, it is not going to stop the years clicking on.

Move over, the Kardashians and Osbournes, there’s a new family in town. Discovery+ must have thought it had died and gone to heaven when the family in question agreed to play ball with Meet the Rees-Moggs.

You find before you a man filled with a good deal of fear and trepidation of an ever-approaching date in December.

I love a good rant — and all the better if it is a needless and pointless one aimed in the general direction of the television.

We hope and pray that by the time you read this that Santa has returned safely back to the depot and is having a well-earned cuppa.

A very happy New Year to you all and my resolution for 2025 is to be lovely about everything — even Paddy McGuinness.

Spin, and all its pesky derivatives, is a hugely versatile word that does a lot of heavy lifting.

I haven’t been a well person this week, nothing hugely serious but definitely on the edge of man-flu. No need to send flowers or start a Go-Fund Me page, but miserable enough to make a hefty dent in the Ribena bottle.