Earl Spencer’s been on one this week careering into car-crash interviews that would make Henri Paul raise an eyebrow – if his one remaining one wasn’t still in orbit circling Mars.

Twenty-nine years on from his pulpit pop at the Royal Family, Earl the Pearl has re-savaged the King with all the oof of Frank Spencer.

Although how Frank he’s been is a matter of contention.

By 2055, he’ll probably have regressed to sliding a passive-aggressive Post-It under the wiper of the Aston.

He can’t let it go, but his TV appearances certainly garnered a giggle. His voice seemed to be controlled by a teenage tranny ventriloquist, which for me consolidated their status as TV appearances.

The play within a play, so to speak.

Anyway, huge congrats to Paul Burrell who rose from the anals of history (sic) and came out swinging. He’s finally off the bottom rung, if not the bottom

At least this time, the butler didn’t do it, but give him enough rope, and he’ll…probably not complain.

Next up, a Physics experiment for the ages when Piers Morgan cracks on with a defamation demolition derby, and we finally get to see what happens when two shitbags collide at maximum velocity.

Something to Di for.