WAKING up with a hangover so severe the multicoloured emanations from my brain are causing an aurora borealis in my bedroom, I look back at my important contribution to current affairs this week.

I had been asked to present a Songs Of Praise special, touching on any topic I chose. With viewing figures topping 20 million regularly, owing, I understand, to my lively and idiosyncratic presentational style, I am allowed this sort of latitude.

And so I sat down with the camera and spoke as follows: ‘My dearest brethren. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage. Nigel Farage…’ This went on for 50 minutes.

The effect on my mass audience was startling. A flood of complaints, gen

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