Richard Ord

‘I would go out tonight, but I haven’t got a stitch to wear,’ sang The Smiths. In Britain, this excuse may work but in Sweden that wouldn’t wash… unless it’s laundry day.

​Does Father Christmas do maths? It’s a question that sprung to mind while trying to compute a ‘gutted’ mum’s horror at being fined for taking her kids on an educational trip to Lapland.

​If brains were paper straws, Donald Trump wouldn’t have enough to blow his wig off. ​In one of his many bizarre and disturbing utterances since taking office, President Trump revealed this little known ‘fact’ about paper drinking straws: They can ‘explode’.

​Everyone has a book inside them,’ so the expression goes. Mine may be lodged in my lower intestine.

​What with Elon Musk wielding a chainsaw and AI further digging its digital claws into society, what a joy it was to be able to turn on the TV and enjoy some wholesome family death and destruction instead.

​According to statistics, you are four times more likely to be killed by a Champagne cork than you are a shark.

​Thanks to the relentless march of technology, I have officially become a human Tamagotchi.

​Tarantulas the size of garden sheds emerging from the sewers to exact gory retribution on a lazy public, unwittingly the architects of their own demise.

​Is dumping a litter lout head first into a wheelie bin an overreaction to casual flytipping or the bare minimum these miscreants should expect?

Is there a name for fear of losing the parking space outside your home?