Madonna’s son in dick-print joggers and a billy goat stole.

I’ve started using my Globe-trotter again and I feel like Phileas Fogg. It’s actually a bit of a pain to wheel around, but on the Eurostar I presented as a wealthy, eccentric, Englishman.

I don’t officially eat meat, but things tend to slip when I’m hungover and I deliveroo chicken and give myself a gastric snafu. The sober pescatarian in me died when I discovered the bacon hot cross bun. I want to perform a musical number while I guzzle it, red sauce stalactiting my fingers.

Madonna’s son in dick-print joggers and a billy goat stole.

I’m wondering if a Chairman Mao tee is problematic? I don’t want to have a political debate, I just want to look cute in the park while I nurse a Smirnoff Ice and a Boots meal deal.

Never been a nails guy until today. Ferrero Rocher, you will always be famous.