Saturday: MPs are going to allow part animal-part human embryos to be created. This worries me, sailing far to close to the world of the Thundercats. Now I'm all for watching Lion-O, Tygra, Panthro and co (can't imagine how they thought of the names) on the TV, but when they might be chasing Mumm-ra through the bread aisle in Morrisons, I don't think it's a good idea. Showers.

Sunday: One of legions of readers asked what I was doing in Old Redding late at night a few weeks ago. It was innocent guv, I swear. After revelations of alien life forms in the sky above Stanmore, I was seeing if I could spot my very own spacecraft. No such luck I'm afraid, just a few shifty-looking people but no aliens as far as I could tell. Breezy.

Next week: So, Mayor Boris has banned alcohol on public transport and scrapped the Londoner free newspaper. Now, us poor bus passengers have no newspapers to hide behind when the strange bloke in the corner comes over to talk to you. There's only so much you can say when a haggard man is dribbling on your shoulder and stroking your face. It's all your fault Mr Johnson. Dry.