I’m writing to tell you that unfortunately I’m so unexcited about the Olympics it’s unreal. My not giving a shit is off the chart, thus the half arsed post/letter to your port quaffing, Phesant gizzard consuming, rotund, posh self. Living in east London too, I’m expecting the worst from this sporting farce but you probably don’t get that down the country club.
The thought of getting the tube makes me break out into a cold sweat and fills me with dread, not because it’s packed full of twenty million people (approx) but because I can’t get away with going a whole tube journey without hearing an announcement featuring your fucking low level posh bumbling about ‘planning my journey’ and ‘not getting caught out’ about one hundred times in a twenty minute tube journey. I GET IT. PLAN. MY. FUCKING. JOURNEY.
Tube aside. Everyone on the road seems to have their temper hanging by a thread from their rear view mirrors. I’ve been knocked off my bike twice in the last month and abuse hurled numerous times.
But aren’t we part of a great proud nation? Shouldn’t I be as excited as everyone else? Am I just a grumpy git? Probably, but keep reading…
I’ve got another thing to say to you here Boris, old chum. It’s a short anecdote as I know you’re very busy organising the champagne buffet at your next polo match.
My Benagli neighbours were singing to their children yesterday in Bengali whilst they were cooking and a nice British guy from the flats above stuck his head over his balcony and shouted
“why don’t you go and sing that in your own country?!”
Like WOW. Yes Boris, you fluffy haired posh tit. We are a great and proud nation. A nation of abused workers, angry tax payers, underpaid labourers and apparently, racists. Your fucking stuttery pontificating is doing nothing but making me fucking furious at this whole thing.
Things that have stopped me losing my mind over it:
Cassette boy gets Boris
The Olmypic lanes get used (Shouts Bazil)
Something lovely and beautiful about having a love affair with London:
My version of the Olympics will be teaching the cat to do this and asking Rob every 30 seconds “is it over yet?”
On the plus side, I’ve got a tan. Shallow aren’t I?
Thanks again Boris, you couldn’t have less of a clue about things but that’s ok. You just keep making light of it.