Holding a torch

After much deliberation, I thought I’d go and watch the Olympic Torch journey through my little town. Actually, I didn’t go into Walsall as the convoy passed very near to my son’s school fete and I thought, if I’m parked up – why not? Therefore, ignoring all the crowds and celebrations laid on in the town centre, I made camp along the A34 near the corner of Irvine Road by the 22A bus stop.

Uplifting experience? Yes, you guessed it. This miserable bastard was totally underwhelmed. It’s not my fault. I’m not even remotely interested in the Olympics. As I’ve said before, too many small organisations lost funding because of it and had to fold.

New game – Kick five balls through all five rings and you get to keep the Tower of London.

After waiting an inconvenient five minutes, I heard cheering and thought, Hey, here it comes. No. That was the preamble, namely the obligatory and blatant advertising as buses drove by promoting gut-rotting cola and some company that makes Galaxy phones. Ha … No free advertising here.

Well, the commercial break came and went, carrying it’s smiling teen cheerleaders further down the road and then another five minutes, we had the main spectacular event.

Now when I say spectacular, what I cannot put into this transcript is the immense layers of sarcasm. You see, immediately prior to the passing of the torch, the ecstatic hordes waiting, were not so much lining the road, as encroaching. Still, in the distance, I saw loads of blue flashing lights. The police would sort it – wouldn’t they? However, the solution was not one of controlled health and safety, but an old guy on a pushbike telling everybody to get back on the pavement.

Still, the torch arrived, and I even saw a handover. As it disappeared into the distance, I then heard further clapping as running behind in convoy, were about thirty police officers on foot, joining in the parade. People cheered. Some even jeered, but my main thought was, wouldn’t it have been better for them lot to run in front and move the spilling crowds back and not leave it to some old guy on a bike?

I’m never happy, am I? Seriously, though. Well done to all the officials involved and the people of Walsall for making this a success.

Football’s coming home?

Well, the English team are, yet again – predictably.

Yes, we have the usual hopes, the usual result, and the usual awful penalty misses. Actually, people are slamming England’s poor performance against Italy but they’ve forgotten one thing. Italy were bloody brilliant.

Still, what do the English people expect? Millions of fans glory hunt and share their support between five or six clubs. These clubs, bankrolled by billionaires, are filled with foreign players at the expense of home grown talent so our lads never get a look in. The supporters show passionate loyalty from the comfort of their armchairs and cheer on the same guys who are knocking our national team out of major tournaments on a regular basis. The English vilify our own players yet come September, when the new season starts, they’ll be wetting themselves when the top Euro stars start kicking a ball again on our own turf.

Still, you have to feel sorry for the England lads. It was hard. I mean … kicking a large ball twelve yards into a huge fucking net with only one man in the way. It’s near impossible.

Above we see serial diver, Ashley Young, guilty party for the first miss. Mind you, better than James Milner. He spent the entire tournament crossing the ball to an the invisible man at the other side of the field. A player only he could see.

Anyone for tennis, then?

Andy Murray, apparently plans to spend as much time away from Wimbledon this year in a cunning plan to win the tournament. Funny, I thought that was the usual tactic of us Brits at Wimbledon. We always spend loads of time away from the place. Namely when we’re knocked out in the first week.

Apparently, Murray thinks keeping his distance will make him relax and remove the pressure. No, Andy. The pressure will be off until, as usual, like Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski before you, you get within a shot of actually making the final then bloody bottle it at the last minute when it matters.

There. Gauntlet thrown. Now go and bloody prove me wrong.

What’s that coming over hill, is it a monster?

This has to be the most bizarre and ludicrous thing I have heard in many a year. Children in schools in Louisiana are being taught that God really does exist as dinosaurs still walk the earth. Their proof – The Loch Ness Monster.

Yes, creationist lunatics are getting away with brainwashing folk’s poor unsuspecting offspring by saying Nessie, the massive hoax that Scotland’s tourist industry has lived off for 80 years, is real.

Arrrgghhh! I’ve seen it all now. A mythical creature of fantasy being used to prove another creature of pure fantasy (God) exists.

Teaching kids bullshit like that … It’s not education, it’s child abuse.

What about a winning formula?

Apparently, Formula One chiefs are proposing to stage a Grand Prix through Central London. If plans go ahead, you could soon see Lewis Hamilton, Jensen Button and the rest, all racing through the capital. We are told, roads would be closed, obviously. However, why obviously? Since the advent of congestion charging, nobody can afford to drive through Central London, anyway. You wouldn’t need to close the roads; there’s nothing on them.

That’s about the only mode of transport you see traveling freely through Central London, these days who don’t have to pay congestion charges. Ask them to, and they exterminate you.

Thieves and Looters.

If I cost my company, millions, I’d expect the sack but the likes of Bob Diamond, head of fraudulent bank, Barclays, is adamant he is staying put. I know where I’d like to put him and his ilk of short-selling speculating greedy bastards – on a deserted island. That is after we’d seized back their cars, houses, money and all other ill-gotten gains.

Save our ears.

Apparently, The Voice live tour has been canceled due to lack of interest. The Voice, is yet another banal karaoke style TV talent show, full of generic wannabees singing other peoples songs. They were due to go on tour but poor ticket sales meant the shows had to be called off. Great. Now can we get rid of the TV show too?

Singer Jessie J says scrapping the tour will mean the acts can now “spread their wings” and find their own direction. Yes, Jessie. Straight to oblivion. Actually, I don’t know about finding their own direction … what about finding One Direction. The boy band from The Voice’s rival ITV show, X-Factor, seem to be doing rather well. They could give this lot from The Voice some tips.

But back to that torch …

Well, not the torch, but the day. Boy, was it tiring. That flame event, the fete, shopping in town (twice). No wonder I was knackered. Sitting writing this … do you think it’s safe to say you’ve had a long day when you then spend five minutes trying to locate the source of the steady drip, drip, drip noise you can hear, only to find out after looking, it was just the sound of your own watch ticking?

Cheers.

Nick

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