Olympic Update 9: Empty Seats, Heavy Hearts

Olympic organisers continued to come under attack concerning the number of empty seats at events today. This has caused Lord Coe a considerable amount of embarrassment, but he has remained defiant, explaining:

“There are tens of thousands of people at this moment within the accredited ‘family’ that are trying to figure out what their day looks like, where they are going to be asked to go to, frankly working out how you divide your time.”

Many believe that, considering the mass tomfoolery surrounding the allocation of overpriced tickets to the public –  in which potential purchasers had to enter a lottery-style system whereby they had to complete a series of mental agility tests, play three cards of bingo and win a church raffle before they would be considered worthy of being allocated tickets to events in which they had only a passing interest – it would have been nice if at least a few of the accredited ‘family’ had bothered to ‘divide their time’ in such a way that it meant that their privileged arses were on their reserved seats occasionally.

The Olympic ‘family’ trying to figure out what their day looks like

Luckily, the British army have once again been on hand to close the gaps, this time as unwilling spectators:

"Is that one of our missiles?"

It appears, however, that Olympic VIPs are not wholly to blame for empty seats; some have been left empty due to Olympic security staff not wanting to let in the Welsh.  Huw Jones, the chief executive of Sport Wales, was allegedly bundled out of the aquatics centre recently, despite there being hundreds of empty seats available. He was reportedly approached by two burly security guards during the men's two width freestyle event, given some old flim-flam about his pass, and then battered to within an inch of his life with a German competitor’s water wings. Mr Jones was said to be “very disappointed” by the situation.  Welsh cyclist Geraint Thomas suffered a similar indignity, saying that he struggled to get tickets at all. “I struggled to get tickets, managed to get them in the third round,” he gibbered, “I’m not sure of the reasons why.” 

It’s because he’s Welsh. Shocking.

Welshaphobia aside, the whole of Wembley stadium was almost left empty for the duration of the games as police mislaid the keys to the venue during last week’s preparations. After searching all of his pockets and even returning home to check the mantelpiece and his trousers that were in the washing basket, the unnamed officer responsible eventually admitted defeat and called out a local locksmith, avoiding disappointment for the dozens of fans eager to watch the women’s football.

While we are assured that everything is being done to fill the empty Olympic seats, including corporate tickets being resold at the last minute, the inescapable fact is that there are huge gaps in the crowds due to many of the events being so mind-numbingly boring.   

Apparently though, for reasons as yet unexplained, it has been standing room only at the beach volleyball.

Olympic Update 8: Cyclists Worse than Hitler

Well, the London Olympic Games 2012 officially started on Friday evening, and so far it has all been progressing swimmingly. The opening ceremony, entitled Isles of Wonder – an apt title as most were left wondering how it could have cost £27 million – was described by one witness as ‘a feast for the senses’, while to another it was a feast of ‘leftie multi-cultural crap’. However, Ant and Dec described it on Twitter as ‘a triumph’, so I suppose that settles it.

Or so you’d think. The final word has to go Egypt’s Al-Ahram, which described the event as:

"Children's voices intertwining from the four corners of her United Kingdom ushered in an exuberant historical pageant of meadows, steel mills and megapixels."

No further description necessary. Oh, except for Kenneth Branagh dressed as Isambard Kingdom Brunel fervently reciting Shakespeare for reasons best known to himself. But that did not spoil the evening for one German dignitary who showed his appreciation by waving enthusiastically as the German team walked out into the parade.   



"Mazel Tov"



Unfortunately though, things were not quite so harmonious outside the Olympic stadium. There were ugly scenes in Stratford during the festivities as some cyclists decided to cycle along public roads despite being told NOT TO by the police. 182 of the barbarous bicycle riding delinquents – some of them wearing dreadlocks and T-shirts with the names of rock bands on the front – were given what they deserve when they attempted to ride in a group in the very area that Danny Boyle was demonstrating what can be done with 27 million quid and Sir Paul McCartney was flapping his jowls about tunelessly. Of the 182 reckless bike mounted anarchists rounded up on Friday evening only four were eventually charged, but all were kept in custody in uncomfortable makeshift holding cells until the morning in a police attempt to convince them to give up their crazy ways and get a car like normal people.

On the last Friday evening of every month since the 1990s two-wheeled psychopaths have met up and ridden around London and other cities in the world in an event called Critical Mass. These regular anarchic events often block the capital’s roads causing drivers of cars to be delayed for up to four minutes. The police attempted in 2008 to ban this civilisation threatening behaviour, but a rogue judge ruled against them, and this is the result.



Two filthy, subversive cyclists mocking the law yesterday



Comical London Mayor Boris Johnson was said to be ruing his previous – albeit unconvincing – ramblings that the best way to access the Olympic sites is by bicycle, not realising at the time that anyone would actually be stupid enough to cycle on London’s roads. He has since retracted his pro-cycling eco-fluff for fear that it will alienate proper people who drive cars and do not cause congestion on the roads. Part of the pro-cycling retraction strategy was to let a bit of air out of Mark Cavendish’s tyres and fill his bike’s frame with lead before his race on Saturday, ensuring that the British public would think that cycling is rubbish again.

Unfortunately, Team GB did get a cycling medal in the women’s road race, but thankfully it was only a silver, so it doesn’t really count.   

Sweet Friday Afternoon: Half-Arsed Weekly News Round-Up

We begin today’s half-arsed round-up with Monday’s news that some lucky punter has parted with £230 in exchange for a 31 year-old piece of toast. The delicious memento was left over from Prince Charles’s breakfast on the day that he married Princess Diana, who is now dead. In a statement the unknown buyer said that he had not known it was royal toast when he bid for it, he had just visited Little Chef earlier that day and by comparison the royal leftovers seemed like a freshly made bargain. The news came as rumours broke that Princess Diana’s wedding day stool is to be put up for auction next month. The Princess’s butler Paul Burrell fished it out of the toilet after he had wiped the royal arse, and has been keeping it in the salad drawer of his fridge ever since.

Prick

Monday also saw reports that London’s pavements have been spontaneously combusting, leaving several people seriously injured. It is thought that the capital’s long-suffering taxi drivers are to blame for the incidents, and they are planning to blow up every inch of London’s walkways, forcing the public to take cabs everywhere.

Since being rejected by Team GB boss Stuart Pearce, David Beckham has been twiddling his thumbs trying to think of ways to entertain himself. This week he was so bored that he drove down to the Westfield shopping centre in Stratford in his grey 2002 Vauxhall Astra, where he proceed to scare the living shit out of a small boy posing for a photograph with his mother. Security was eventually called and Beckham was escorted from the premises after being forced to pay for the upset youngster and his mother to have their picture taken again, having ruined the first one. 

Beckham leaving the scene on Wednesday

Gary Lineker’s son caused outrage this week when he Twittered some sexist remarks about women footballers. ‘These birds trying to play football is makin me lose the will to live,’ he Twatted in exasperation while watching Team GB beat New Zealand on Wednesday. The remark drew countless abusive messages in reply, largely from miserable old cows who had run out of things to nag their husbands about. And were probably on the blob. However, he eloquently retorted

‘Its my twitter, I tweet wat I like and u choose 2 follow me so dont give me agg about wat I write on here or ill hav a dig If u look special.’

Gary Lineker was said to be delighted yesterday with the results of George’s £25,000 a year education.

And finally, Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt’s bell end went off in a passing woman’s face in central London today.

Olympic Update 7: Olympic Doping Welcomed by Coe

The Olympic Games kicked off yesterday with the beginning of the women’s football competition which saw Team GB romp to a 1-0 victory over New Zealand in Cardiff, putting paid to rumours that women’s football is crap. However, it was not all good news for Britain, as an international controversy took place at North Korea’s match against Columbia at Glasgow’s Hampden Park, when South Korea’s national flag was shown alongside North Korea’s players’ faces on the big screen prior to the start of the match. This provoked the North Korean female players to overreact and storm off to natter about reality TV for over an hour before returning to the pitch.

Even more controversially, my Olympic inside source informs me that the the blunder was due to DOPING.  More controversially still, it seems that the doper in question was actually Sir Lord Seb Coe OBE himself. Coe, whose job entails, among other things, putting players faces next to national flags on the big screen for women’s football matches, made the fatal flag foul-up after smoking too much of a performance-enhancing marijuana cigarette before the big match.

Coe giggling uncontrollably before the match yesterday 

In a statement last May, Coe publicly announced that he has no problem with drug cheats in sport. He told the Metro at the time

“I’ve been talking about drugs for over 30 years, I’m a hard liner.”

This caused some confusion, but was later cleared up by Coe in a less inebriated moment when he explained what he’d meant to say was in fact:

“I’ve been taking drugs for over 30 years, I’m a mainliner.”

Good for him. However, as influential as Coe is in the running of the London Olympics, even he could not realise his dream of making this ‘the druggiest Olympics ever’, and stringent tests have been put in place to catch out athletes who enjoy a bit of the old sniff. In the six months leading up to the games over 100 athletes were caught and banned for taking prohibited substances.

Suspicions are aroused when one Moroccan athlete sneezes during a running race

Yesterday there were more sanctions as the drug testing stepped up a gear but, much to Coe’s chagrin, no British competitors were caught, indicating that they are leading drug-free existences.

An indignant American athlete protests his innocence yesterday 

Coe was unavailable for comment earlier today, as he was reportedly ‘sleeping off a heavy one’ after spending much of last night partying with David Cameron and Shaun Ryder. However, for the sake of international relations, it is to be hoped that he regulates his intake of performance-enhancing cannabis cigarettes before refereeing the first round ping pong match between North Korea and South Korea at the beginning of August.

London's Angry Cabbies Are Furious Over Stuff

London’s usually quiet and easy to navigate road system has been disrupted today due to the controversial Olympic Route Network (ORN) coming into operation. The ORN is a network made up of lanes of London’s roads that are closed off to public vehicles, in order that Olympic officials can cruise around between venues picking up women of loose virtue and sufficient quantities of recreational drugs to see them through the tedium that is the Olympic handball event. This, of course, is not the official reason for the ORN; ever since the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, when some competitors missed their events due to traffic jams – and a number of Olympic officials went several hours without cocaine – the International Olympic mafia Committee has insisted that a network be set up in host cities. 

Regent Street before lane closures yesterday

Regent Street one minute after the ORN became operational earlier today

Within the network there are thirty miles of lanes allocated for sole use of the VIPs on London’s cramped streets, and this inevitably provided the city’s cabbies with something else to be angry about. So indignant were London’s knights of the road over the lane closures that immigrants, people who ride bicycles and that twat off the telly – you know the smarmy one with the hair – who annoys them, went virtually unmentioned today. Needless to say, despite everyone else, including those traveling by bicycles and buses, being banned from using the lanes with the threat of a £130 fine, most of London’s black cab drivers insist that they should be allowed to drive in them. They also believe that they should be able to park wherever they want, be issued with a license to kill, and only be stopped by the police to be offered foie gras and a glass of Chateauneuf du Pape.  “I don’t pay the majority of my taxes,” one enraged cabbie told me earlier today, “To be told I can’t do things. I’ve done the knowledge, you know,” he continued before telling me through a bacon sandwich that I look like a poof. One cabbie was so irritated by the whole affair that he actually attempted suicide during a protest.

But I say, cheer up cabbies of London, it could be worse. In Southampton cabbies have to endure their every conversation being recorded by CCTV. The system is due to be scrapped, however, as those operating the CCTV system centrally could only listen to detailed descriptions of where England went wrong in their last match and the evils of the Euro so many times in one day.

Furthermore, cab drivers in Swansea have to put up with people feeding birds in their general vicinity. Colin Bevan, a Swansea Taxi driver becomes enraged when the pesky pests pester his customers. "We get a lot of people who are intimidated by this large frenzied flock of birds," thundered the large frenzied cabbie. “And the birds do their business all over our cabs,” he complained.

This kind of thing is not so frequent in London, but when birds do their business on cabs here it generally takes a bit of elbow grease to get it off. 

"You know, the smarmy one off the telly with the hair. Right twat he is."

Olympic update 6: Olympic Flame Survives Idiots Thus Far

On Monday night, in some kind of post-modern, reality-bending nightmare, the Olympic torch visited happy-go-lucky, feel-good sitcom, EastEnders during a live feed. As viewers gawped on, Perry Fenwick, who plays lovable fuckwit Billy Mitchell, trotted the flame around Albert Square, past such landmarks as the Minute Mart, The Queen Victoria, the Argy Bhagi and the launderette where Patrick Truman’s undercrackers are washed. This, I am sure, was exactly what Prometheus had in mind when he stole fire from Zeus.

Brainless Billy and witless friend accidentally set light to Olympic banner

Although the Olympic flame itself is, among other things, a custom taken from ancient Greece, the first Olympic torch relay was introduced by that much-maligned combustion enthusiast Hitler. But even he could have no conception of the dark forces into whose hands the torch would fall 76 years later. 

The torch is the one in the middle

There have been some deserving bearers of the flame though, including selfless charity fundraiser Ray Oxlade; mother of murdered schoolboy, Steven, and anti-hate crime campaigner Doreen Lawrence; disabled teenager and hospice ambassador Alex Jordan and of course Will i am. But the most deserving of all surly must be the directors and influential clients of the Olympic corporate sponsors. After all, the Olympic mafia organisers did promise the nation that it had tracked down “8,000 truly inspirational people from the UK” to carry the flame, and who could be more influential than the puppet masters of consumerism?

The relay hasn’t all gone to plan though. Last Friday a crazed teenager ran out from the crowd and tried to grab the Olympic torch from the bearer while shouting “Allah is great”. It is still unclear who this ‘Allah’ is that the miscreant is so keen on and why he is apparently so great.

Olympic security had to step in on a previous occasion when a malevolent youngster attempted to maliciously ride his BMX bike on a public road. Thankfully, the youth was wrenched from his bike and thrown forcefully to the ground before he could disrupt proceedings any more than he nearly had done.

Britain’s encroaching teens and Billy Mitchell notwithstanding, the torch has nearly made it to the end of its journey, where it will light the Olympic cauldron in East London on Friday evening. It has even survived a trip on the tube. Thankfully, though, it didn't have to travel on the Bakerloo Line.    

Foul-Mouthed Gentleman Londoner Wins Big Bicycle Race

Tears of joy flowed among the British cycling community this weekend as Londoner Bradley Wiggins became the first British man to win the Tour de France – or Tour of France, to give it the English translation – in its one hundred and nine year history. The sumptuously sideburned supremo romped to victory after spending three weeks pedalling his bicycle faster than the other bicycle riders against whom he was racing. 

Technology has come on leaps and bounds since 1977's Tour de France

But fashion has evidently remained fairly static

 

Wiggo, as he is known to his loyal army of fans (presumably a derivative of the name Wiggins and not a reference to his distinctive, slightly disjointed-looking hair do), not only managed to win Le Tour (The Tour) but won the hearts of French fans and his fellow pedallists when he deliberately slowed the race when disaster struck his rivals during stage 14. This sportsman-like behaviour earned him the moniker ‘Le Gentleman Wiggins’ (The Gentleman Wiggins) among the French.

And The Gentleman’s views on performance enhancing drugs are nothing short of genteel. In a sport in which it is considered positively incompetent to forget to take your pre-race uppers, downers and all-arounders, Wiggo fails to bow to peer pressure, attributing his abstinence to being British.

“There is a different culture in British cycling. Britain is a country where doping is not morally acceptable.”

Elaborating on this point he goes on to say:

“I don't care what people say, the attitude to doping in the UK is different to in Italy or France maybe, where a rider like Richard Virenque can dope, be caught, be banned, come back and be a national hero.”

So there you have it from The Gentleman himself: the British are clean-living, honest winners, while Jonny Foreigner is, as we all suspected, a filthy, cheating, lying, drug-addled devil-worshipper. And greasy. 

However, even the modish paragon of virtue has occasionally behaved in a manner more befitting someone not of British descent, particularly with regards to his use of naughty language. 

"Bum, undergarments and boobies"

 

But what are a few four-letter words when you are as dopeless, honourable, humble, big of heart and strong of leg, as our new national hero?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the future Sir Bradley Wiggo ‘The Gentleman’ Wiggins. A true Londoner through and through (despite being born in Belgium, spending most of his time abroad and now living in Lancashire) of whom all Londoners can be thoroughly proud. 

 

Sweet Friday Afternoon: Half-Arsed Weekly News Round-Up

We start today’s news round-up with the shocking revelation that London’s streets are strewn with doggy-do. But Sutton Council has no intention of taking shit from anybody, and announced at the beginning of the week that it has decided to hit back at acts of canine-produced street defacement – with graffiti. Last month a multi-pound contract was drawn up with enigmatic urban regeneration enthusiast Banksy to daub the borough’s streets with his anti-poo designs. Recent reports, however, have indicated that the pavement based admonishments are having a limited effect due to their being largely obscured by thick layers of excrement.

 

Man's best friend earlier today



But it seems that graffiti is not always viewed favourably by the law. On Tuesday, members of the British Transport Police took a day off from doing whatever it is they do to arrest professional graffitist Darren Cullen. He was just one of four men arrested on suspicion of conspiracy to commit criminal damage, and who were subsequently banned from being within one mile of any of the Olympic venues. I have it on good authority that McDonalds has it written into its sponsorship deal that it must be the sole perpetrator of paint-based vandalism at London 2012.

In more positive news, the Duchess of Cambridge dropped in on the oldest torchbearer to hoist aloft the Olympic flame yesterday. Holding her handkerchief to her nose in an effort to obstruct the smell of piss and biscuits, the emaciated royal listened for over a minute as Diana Gould, 100, told her of her plans to visit Rumbelows to purchase a new radiogram on which to listen to the Olympic action.

Talking of Twitter, this week it was announced that popular musicians, including wild-haired, caterpillar-eyebrowed, warbler Paloma Faith, are to donate their Twitter profiles in an anti-riot campaign. The idea is to encourage young people to write positive messages and upload them onto their favourite stars’ twitter profiles, but an insider at Riot UK informed me, as I chewed thoughtfully on a vitamin C tablet, that they will be using the high profile tweets in order to coordinate this year’s riots should BB Messenger be disabled again. Good thinking. However, in a statement yesterday, Paloma Faith said “Rioting is not cool, okay guys,” before adding, “Look at how quirky I am everyone. Look! Quirky!”

"And don't do no drugs neither"

And finally, some groundbreaking news: plans have been put in place that will spell post delivery changes in East Ham and Plaistow. Apparently a slight operational modification in the way that post will be delivered will mean that residents may get their massively overdue, tampered with and damaged post at different times to usual, if, of course,  at all. The small number of residents who do not read this blog will be informed in due course, as Royal Mail is “writing to every home and business in East Ham and Plaistow about the changes.” Hmm.

Rest assured, London, if there are any further developments on this gripping story I’ll be sure to keep you informed next week. For now though, try to have a good weekend.      

Olympic Update 5: The Human Cost of the Olympic Games

As the G4S staffing hiccup continues to be addressed, an accommodation crisis is unfolding that puts the so-called plight of the London Olympics cleaners firmly in the shade. I can reveal that soldiers drafted in to cover the shortfall in security are being forced to set up camp in Hainault. Many of the troops, who have previously been posted to Afghanistan and Iraq, have never encountered such horrific conditions. “I have never encountered such horrific conditions,” one soldier told me earlier today, wiping a tear from his eye with a picture of his wife and children. A close friend of the army tells me that there is already dissent in the ranks as soldiers are breaking down amid scenes of mass dog walking, church fetes and scout jamborees. Two soldiers went missing while out on patrol this morning, and it is thought that they were confronted by hostile locals. Their camera was found a mile from the camp with just one picture on it: 

 

Terrifying stuff. Thankfully it is not just our troops who are being made to endure appalling living conditions, foreigners are too. Earlier this month, due to some kind of terrible misunderstanding, the Rwandan Olympic team were mistakenly assigned a training camp in Bury St Edmunds, winner of the 2002 Arse End of Nowhere Award. Quite why the hapless athletes were dropped in a minuscule hamlet nearly eight hundred and thirty miles from London is a mystery that may never be solved, since no one in the Olympic mafia Committee is willing to admit liability for the potentially explosive human rights blunder. Needless to say, 27 year-old Rwandan distance runner Robert Kajuga is livid. He has told the Telegraph, in not so many words, that whenever he leaves the camp to go for a run he cannot avoid encountering slack-jawed yokels in dungarees who have never seen anyone from outside of their tiny pocket of Suffolk, never mind bred with them. 

The Mayor of Bury St Edmunds earlier today

 

Speaking of the past horrors of his native Rwanda, Kajuga explained, “In the past we have genocide. Now we have unity.” But the miserable atrocities that he saw in his native land did nothing to prepare him for what he was to encounter in Bury St Edmunds.

“The potatoes. They change the potatoes into, like porridge. Puréed. In our country, we just cook potatoes. We don’t do that.”

We can only hope that Kajuga and his team mates will, given time, learn to live with their ordeal, and we can only pray that the UN don’t find out about it.

In other news, there have been reports that visitors to the capital have been panic-withdrawing cash from ATMs. Queues at London’s cash points are getting longer as visitors are spending unanticipated amounts in our pricey city. This situation will not be helped by the fact that only Visa credit cards will be accepted at the Olympic venues. Altruistic fast food dictatorship McDonalds, however, has said that it will also accept customers’ eternal souls as payment for a Big Mac Meal with large fries.   

London Parklife Under attack

It has been brought to my attention by a police insider that, in addition to the Olympics, there is a new and unanticipated scourge in London: CRIME. And while we London residents have all come to expect the odd bit of charmingly cheeky light-fingery on the streets of London’s East End, as we pop down the market to purchase some apples and pears or take a stroll to the local pub to have our heads kicked in, we are completely unprepared for criminals secreting themselves in our royal parks. It seems, however, that park-based crime has been on the increase for several years; in 2005 916 crimes were reported, and this rose to an incredible 2,373 last year, which is a much larger number. Scotland Yard, whose responsibility it is to police the parks, has attributed the huge increase in crime to ‘more proactive policing and better detection of criminals.’ Okay, but while all this proactive policing and expert detection is undoubtedly producing results, is anything actually being done to lower park crime?

No.

Lackadaisical police officers in Regents Park yesterday

Worryingly though, it appears that the park loving public have had enough, and are beginning to take matters into their own hands. Last night, an audacious criminal posing as stringy, aging, pop slapper, Madonna, 64, attempted to hoodwink thousands of fans by staging a bogus concert in Hyde Park. But when disappointed fans saw through the talentless imposter’s façade there were ugly scenes as many of them decided to express their disgust and boredom by calmly walking out. The phoney songstress then attempted to prevent their escape by wildly brandishing a firearm while baring a large proportion of her breasts, but this did not deter would-be revellers from boarding the number 38 bus home.

"Don't go, I'll sing Vogue"

 

Another daring feat of public park misconduct took place on Saturday night, when a filthy little man wearing a leather jacket jumped up onto the stage in Hyde Park and proceeded bore the shit out of horrified onlookers by droning huskily into a discarded microphone for over three hours. Near the end of the lengthy gravelly nightmare, Sir Paul McCartney, who just happened to be passing by on his return from the late night butcher on Hyde Park Corner, climbed onto the stage and made an unsuccessful attempt to wrestle the miscreant to the ground while singing Twist and Shout. It was only the quick thinking of a bystander, who courageously leapt into the fray and unplugged the microphone, that put an end to the whole grisly mess.    

This Just In: My insider informative source informs me that a top secret operation will be launched next week that will unleash a new squad of highly-trained officers assigned the task of patrolling every nook and cranny of London’s parks, and pushing crime back onto the streets where it belongs.

One of the new park protection officers prepares for action earlier today

 

Yes indeed London, I think we can all sleep a little easier in our beds tonight.

Olympic Update 4: It’s all Under Control, People

With just ten days until the London Olympics is due to begin, we can all relax in the knowledge that everything is under control. Completely under control. A small issue regarding security has come up recently, but this is nothing that can not be resolved with the deployment of 3,500 army personnel; an estimated £50m from G4S’s petty cash tin to pay for them; an immense party of open-armed police officers; a huge amount of finger-pointing, recrimination, side-stepping, evading, the repeated use of the word ‘regret’, and eventual apologising.

Two of London's finest prepare to welcome Olympic visitors

 

Not so much of a problem then, more of a minor glitch. There are bound to be a few wrinkles to iron out of the Olympic tapestry before we hang it on the wall and tell the world to look at (but not touch) it, are there not?  So calm down everyone. We can all take heart from Nick Buckles, G4S’s big chief boss man, who assured MPs that everything is sweet as a nut, despite it being a ‘humiliating shambles’. So sweet is it, in fact, that Mr Buckles has stated his intent to keep the £57m management fee as payment for G4s’s expected delivery of ‘a significant amount of staff’, with any luck. See?

Even David Cameron himself is not at all worried about G4S’s tiny shortfall. One of his spokesmen (he could not personally make a statement earlier as he was too busy being unperturbed by the Olympics security situation, if you can even call it a situation) stated that

"We need to focus on working with G4S to ensure a safe and secure Games. We have confidence we have plans to deliver a secure Olympics."

They have confidence they have plans to ensure the safety of the world’s citizens. Now there’s a solid, definite statement of intent, if ever I heard one. Any remaining fears over safety should simply evaporate like smoke from a home-made bomb. Anyway, we can always rely on the domicile-mounted missiles if all else fails.

Furthermore, we can be completely confident that the vast majority of Olympians will probably get to the Olympic village in good time for their events. One overly fussy American athlete, Kerron Clemet, Twitter-whinged that his bus took four hours to reach the Olympic village in Stratford from Heathrow Airport. A four hour bus journey from the airport does sound a little excessive, but Stratford is a whopping twenty-five miles away from Heathrow, and driving in London has the effect of dog years compared to driving in the rest of the country. Anyway, he got there in the end, didn’t he? This didn’t stop him moaning though: “Not a good first impression of London,” he Twittered sulkily. As he will be spending the majority of his time in Stratford, it could be argued that this first impression of London was a skillfully executed exercise in managing expectations.

Stratford town centre yesterday

 

Still, if London’s road system does prove to be horrendously inadequate in coping with the colossal numbers of people that will be expecting to use it (and it won’t), at least we can rely on the Tube.

Oh, and there is a small human rights issue that a few trouble makers are storming in a teacup about, but I am assured by an Olympic mafia Committee insider that the vast majority of people affected are foreign.

So there you have it, my friends. It’s all under control. 

Racism is the New Black in London

The fire surrounding the John Terry racism case smoulders on despite his court acquittal on Friday. It appears likely that Terry will now face the resurrection of the FA investigation into his alleged racially-aggravated verbal assault (or 'normal verbal exchange' as it is viewed by the jocular Chelsea defender), which was suspended when the Ol’ Bill decided to ‘ave a word. 

The Ol' Bill investigating racism yesterday

 

Unlike the courts, the FA are not bound by the need to prove that someone has done something in order to punish them for it, instead being guided by ‘balance of probabilities’, in common with much of America’s foreign policy. But the courts apparently had their hands tied in the Terry case, despite the fact that he essentially  admitted doing it. The magistrate presiding over his case said that Terry’s defence was "certainly under the cold light of forensic examination, unlikely,” but the chief magistrate could apparently not discount the spurious defence that he used the offensive term sarcastically to counter the obscenity he claims Ferdinand was accusing him of using. From this I think we can conclude that racism, as long as it’s verbalised sarcastically is fine. Try it yourself and see if someone gives you a sarcastic smack round the head.

 

John Terry, being a former England captain, captain of Chelsea and all-round good egg, has unsurprisingly inspired other football players to indulge in spot of casual racism. And why not? On Twitter, Rio Ferdinand, regarding Ashley Cole’s courtroom defence of Terry, last night compared Cole to a choc ice, a term frequently used pejoratively implying that someone is black on the outside and white on the inside. Evidently though this was not what Ferdinand meant – he was merely implying that Cole was being a fake. Or something. Still, if it turns out to be true that Cole is an illegitimate frozen foodstuff he’d be well advised to stay away from Lambeth.

In spite of a knee injury Arsenal’s Emmanuel Frimpong has also decided to leap upon the bandwagon when he referred to a Tottenham fan as a ‘Scum Yid’ during yet another Twitter-based battle of wits. (Yid, for those of you who are unaware is a derogatory term for Jewish people; Scum is a derogatory term for people who are scummy) The outburst was a result of the ‘Scum Yid’ in question tweeting his desire for Frimpong to break his arms and legs. It is disappointing that Frimpong felt the need to resort to racist abuse in order to respond to a mindless jibe, and equally disappointing that his choice of racist insult, while only consisting of two words, was so grammatically clumsy. 

Moreover, it is not just sportsmen that are involving themselves in the recent spate of prejudice against minorities. Shockingly, it has been revealed that even within the Metropolitan Police there are elements of racism. 

The Ol' Bill indulging in racist 'banter' yesterday

 

Astonishingly, a recent report suggests that racism within the Met is rife and on the increase. The number of internal complaints has almost trebled in the last five years. Racist police officers? I’ve heard it all now.

This could cause problems as large numbers of officers are drafted in to police the Olympics. It is to be hoped that during these additional duties they do not come into contact with any foreigners. But if members of the Met do succumb to the temptation to racially abuse visitors I trust that it will be done sarcastically.       

Sweet Friday Afternoon: Half-Arsed Weekly News Round-Up

The John Terry racism trial is due to reach its climax as a verdict is expected to be reached today. Terry is accused of blathering some naughty words at Anton Ferdinand during Chelsea’s match against QPR in October last year. In the spirit of assuming innocence until guilt has been proved, I will refrain from speculating on the likely outcome of the racist defender’s trial. Terry’s defence is that he was ‘sarcastically repeating a slur that Ferdinand mistakenly thought he had used.’ No, me neither. If this watertight defence somehow springs a leak, Terry could face a crippling maximum fine of £2,500, which could see him have to sell his £2.25 million house in Surrey and move his family here. So it’s all to play for.



John Terry arriving at court earlier today



But it hasn’t all been going to plan for hapless Terry. Earlier this week he was asked to repeat evidence that he had been sent off four times in his career. “Can you say, please, four times?” requested his QC.

“Please, please, please, please” obediently responded Terry loudly, causing much mirth around the court. Apparently the footballer appeared confused by the response from the courtroom.

On the subject of oddly behaving footballers, Tomas Rosicky and Lukas Podolski took to the stage to showcase their musical talents this week, hoping to entice Robin Van Persie to join them in an ill-advised Arsenal boy-band. Personally, I don’t see how they can top this collection of heart-throbs from Arsenal’s past:



"Hello ladies"



Slightly less bizarrely, the beginning of the week saw two aspiring chefs set fire to their North London flat during an attempt to heat a tin of spaghetti on a toaster. Fortuitously no one was hurt during the crackpot culinary calamity, but the firefighter in charge, Adam Barnett, was not best pleased with the behavior of the miserable flat mates. In a subsequent statement to an indifferent trainee journalist he said “It’s never a good idea to try and heat a tin on your toaster, as we’ve seen here, it can be really dangerous.”

Thanks Adam.

And finally, some international news. I nearly choked on my vitamin C tablet when I opened up Tuesday’s Metro to a report that a Dutch TV station had accidentally given Angela Merkel a Hitler moustache. It reminded me of the time that Hollywood accidentally gave Tom Cruise a beard:

Olympic Update 3: David Beckham, Chip Protector?

A serious issue has raised its saturated fat-sodden head ahead of the London Olympics: pieces of fried potato. Yes, it appears, as I have always suspected, that you can trust no one to behave in a considerate manner, and McDonalds has decided to take no chances on this front. The often unfairly disparaged, family run multinational has had to suffer the indignity of taking action to ensure that chips are not sold on the Olympic site by anyone other than themselves. And quite right too; they’ve got to make a profit, right? Happily McDonalds had it written into their Olympic sponsorship deal that no other food outlet on the site may be permitted to sell portions of the scrumptious starchy sports snack, with the only exception being chips sold with fish.

  (Some chips earlier today)

It is, however, unclear if other prudent demands made by the people’s fast food giant will be met. These include:

• All visitors to the Olympics whose name is McDonald must change their name by deed poll, at least for the duration of their visit. If they agree to change it permanently McDonalds has agreed a 50% discount on a strawberry milkshake.
• Any visitor that has consumed food from Burger King in the last twenty-four hours must undertake stringent medical tests to prove that they have fully excreted it before entering the complex.
• American visitors will be banned from eating crisps at the site due to their erroneously referring to them as chips. An exception will be made if said Americans are consuming a fish in conjunction with a packet of the crunchy snacks.
• All competitors must publicly eat either a Big Mac or a Quarter Pounder with Cheese before every event in which they compete.

 

(Tom Daley’s technique has evolved since he was purchased by McDonalds last year)

 

Thankfully the government has become involved in what is clearly an important Olympic issue, firstly by closing off part of the Lea Valley towpath that borders the Olympic site. This has understandably caused angry scenes among angry local residents who are angered by this particular issue. Officially the towpath has been closed for ‘unspecified security reasons’, but I am told by an insider that portions of unsanctioned chips were discovered to have been smuggled over the fence from the towpath into the Olympic site earlier this month, provoking those in charge to respond swiftly to the threat.

The second precaution taken by the government has caused even more controversy among the locals. Residents of the elegantly named Fred Wigg Tower in Waltham Forest, North East London, are kicking up a rather unnecessary stink over plans to adorn their building with a few high-velocity surface-to-air missiles.  Defence Secretary Philip Hammond has attempted to placate those living in the tower by saying that the minor weapons of mass destruction lodged meters above their heads are intended to provide "both reassurance and a powerful deterrent" in the tussle against terror. But my reliable source informs me that terror is a mere smokescreen to cover the real reason for the application of military might to civilians’ homes: chips. Yes, the government are hoping that the threat of non-McDonalds chips being dropped into the Olympic site by air will be neutralised by hanging tools of war from its citizens’ dwellings.

Quite right too. As a show of support for the monopolisation of the market of fried potato-based products by struggling small businesses, such as McDonalds, I have written to David Cameron personally to offer him the use of my back garden to store a small armoured vehicle should he so desire.

Could we have stumbled upon one of David Beckham's mystery Olympic Roles? Is Sir Dave himself the brains behind the operation to protect the Olympic chip?

The London Riots: Not Quite a Year On

It’s almost a year since widespread rioting swept through London, as frenzied young consumers made the collective decision to Stick It to the Man by stealing trainers from JD Sports and burning down the local post office from which their grandmothers collected their state pensions. Right on, bruv.

One bargain hunting young revolutionary, Reece Davis-James, a South London dance teacher, has decided to mark the anniversary by returning to the scene of his crime to apparently apologise for his actions, but I suspect this was actually an exercise in sizing up the joint should an opportunity for further five-fingered-discounts rear its socially unrested head. At one point in the short film Davis-James explains how he picked up a box randomly from the Argos store room and walked out with it. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said. Now, I’m no criminal psychologist, but if I had to hazard a guess as to what he was thinking, “That’ll do” would be pretty high up the list.

Tut tut. A dance teacher too; but I can’t say that I’m surprised, as I’ve always thought that Diversity were a suspicious looking bunch. An acquaintance of mine once misguidedly attended one of their shows and later returned home to find that his wallet had been stolen. I have a theory that the little freaky one with the glasses and Fraggle Rock hair had it away during a back flip near the front row and carefully concealed his ill-gotten gains in his wild mane. Be warned street dance fans, if you exist.

 

(Thieving street dancer scum)

Skilfully choreographed  kleptomania aside, it is my opinion that Argos had it coming, and Davis-James was merely redressing the universal balance. Now, hear me out before you accuse me of being an apologist – I think you will arrive at the same conclusion when you learn of the pilfering exploits of the evil laminated catalogue-based purveyor of crap. According to The Haringey Independent 

"A Dad was left fuming after being charged double for his daughter's birthday present by catalogue store Argos.

Shoppers from across the country were hit in the pocket when the shop's system for processing credit and debit card transactions went wrong, meaning customers had to pay twice for their purchases.

Adrian Rolfe, from Princes Risborough, was among them, and paid double for his daughter Lucie-Jo's third birthday present, which his wife bought on Friday from the High Wycombe town centre branch."

Bastards. And that’s not the end of it:

"Mr Rolfe, a father-of-four from Lime Road, who was pushed into his overdraft after paying £40 for Lucie-Jo's £20 doll, says he has been put off shopping at Argos."

Yes, Mr Rolf was pushed into his overdraft to the tune of literally tens of pounds. No wonder he has been put off from returning to the high street den of larceny. Furthermore, the eagle-eyed among you will have spotted from the link that this tragedy took place as recently as October 2008.

Will we never learn? We can only hope that since then Mr Rolf has found somewhere else that he can purchase inflatable paddling pools, electric shavers and poor quality jewellery under one roof. Perhaps we should all take his lead.

So I say Reece Davis-James, for your much maligned services to redressing the balance, I salute you, Sir.