Now I find myself in a genuine predicament. I really cannot choose between suicide and arson.
Almost everything that everyone else says is not worth the air with which it is spoken, obviously.
No sour grapes on my part when I say that the gatekeepers to literary stardom in this country would be incapable of judging who is the most cunning between Joey Essex and the Duchess of Sussex.
There is a me in team. And there's only I in truth.
I’ll lose my audience if I give them much more of the poor me. -You don’t want to sound like Meghan Markle, do you? Look how nauseating all that is.
He was hard to dislike Savage, for the spare Yo-Yo bars he always carried with him.
Over time, we may add more groundlings, so that the celebrity bottom feeder is forced to face an authentic slice of their real audience.
She’d been sat between us at dinner and had this sort of flaky skin, most of which stayed on the seat when she got up.
In a world which celebrates marriage at first sight, and the televised sharing of STDs between teenagers, this sounds like Kenneth Clarke's Civilisation to me.
This is the great beauty of the law: it does not do a great deal for compensating the wrongs done to innocent victims, but it’s an absolute boon to each and every rotten egg for its manifold spoiling tactics.