WAKING with a hangover so intense that for a few hours I grow an extra head that keeps tediously vowing to never drink again, I take on copious liquids and reflect on the past week.

The highlight was undoubtedly the annual ‘Swear Off’ between the Church of England and the atheist community, this year represented by Mr Stephen Fry and, naturally, myself.

We settled down at a table facing one another at the neutral venue of the Dorchester, surrounded by an audience and observed by a panel of judges, all expert British swearologists. We tossed a coin and Mr Fry elected to go first.

‘Prickwamblers!’ he enunciated, jowls wobbling with self-satisfaction.

‘Cunt,’ I retorted.

‘Botty ploppingtons!’ he came back. ‘Cunt,’ I said.

‘Muffmunchiness and farty woof woofs!’ he came back. ‘Cunt,’ I ta

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