The Archbishop of Canterbury on... the Glastonbury Festival of the Performing Arseholes

WAKING with an unaccountable throbbing of the temples, I recall being invited by the makers of my favourite premium rum to participate in an advertisement for their product. 

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'I'm in an undisclosed location,' I whisper. 'You're in the pool shed,' says Akshata, outside the door

From the diary of Rishi Sunak, Britain’s least tangible prime minister

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