OLYMPIC FEET (SIZE 3.5 IF YOU MUST KNOW)

If you’re wondering what I’ve been up to, I’m currently awaiting my medal for suffering endless bloody coverage of the infernal Olympic games on every available medium [NB: 3.5 isn’t a medium, it’s a small]: newspapers, radio, TV, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Chatsnap, WhatsApp, WhatsThat, WhatsThis, Postman Pat…on it bloody goes for ever and ever…

 

build-up

hopefuls

teams

tears

training

straining

raining

(excellent preparation; thanks Mother Nature)

impressive infrastructure

storms

flatpack infrastructure

swarms of mozzies

politics

poverty

crime

(crime)

(crime)

opening ceremony…

…opening ceremony…

…opening ceremony…

(ZZZzzz)

empty stadia

bacteria hysteria

rain

rain

rain

(have they relocated Rio to the UK???)

Tom Daley’s performance pants

Tom Daley’s pants performance

petrol stations

bathrooms

fraud

lies

ticket prices

spies

arrests

athletic vests

medals

muggings

muggins

(lost TV remote, couldn’t switch it off)

closing ceremony…

…closing ceremony…

rain

…closing ceremony…

SuperMario

rain

analysis

analysis

analysis

Repeat until 12th Never

Sigh.  Gold, please.

(Sorry, I’m a Jew. We eat potato latkes, wander around deserts and play the violin).

P.S.  If you want legacy, we got legacy: I lived in London during the 2012 Olympics, on the actual route that Bradley Wiggins’ sideburns swooshed past my abode a full five minutes before the rest of him did (is there an Olympic category for Dubious Facial Hair?  Appears to be one for everything else).   The local council committed £17.50 for bunting to be hung from the street lamps, and four years later, a string of prime-colour triangles still hangs forlornly from an upright. If that’s not Olympic legacy, I don’t know what is.

SNORES

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About notniceetoile

I'm a freelance comedy writer, now living in Brighton after a few years in London, having relocated back to the UK in 2011 after a couple of years of adventures on the Cote D'Azur. Check out my blog about life in Nice:- http://drivingoverexpats.blogspot.com/ and my political satire blog:- http://amuzenewz.com/2013/01/28/passport-to-paradise/ Available for weddings (3 to date) and barmitzvahs (0 - I'm a girl, duh).

Posted on August 24, 2016, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Poor you!

    The terrible price that no-one talks about of being a Leading Satirist. Having to stay up to date with the media.

    Actually, I myself saw about an hour of boxing and cycling. In a pub. In Edinburgh (because I’m cultured). Weatherspoon’s (OK, not that cultured.)

    Lovely piece. Poor Tom. In those pants, poor Tom’s a cold.

    • Grateful for the sympathy, and how lovely to be described as a Leading Satirist – been sitting out in the sun a lot (no TVs there), so was aiming for a bronze.

      So sorry to hear of your experience. Wouldn’t they let you into another pub?

      Ah, Tom’s pants. (Surprise result, but there you are). I’ve alerted the RSPCA. (They do cover budgies, don’t they? Which is more than Tom’s pants do, plainly).

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