The kiss of death…..

Well there you go, the coup de grace has just been well and truly delivered to the London 2012 Olympic bid by an own goal to end all own goals.

And it was all going so well wasn't it? So ‘professional’, so ‘we’re coming up on the rails and we’re gonna pip Paris at the tape’ …….. but now we’re not are we? The cockneys will probably limp in somewhere behind Moscow, Bootle and Wigan…..

We’ve handed twenty-twelve on a platter with a side salad of golden laurel leaves to our French neighbours…. It’s entente cordial with ‘le knobs on’ as the French are obviously going to waltz away with the big prize now that our cock up masters par excellence, once again do their worse......

What disaster could have befallen our bid? Not enough money? …. Someone pocketing a few million quid ‘biscuit money’ expenses? ….. Bid leader, Lord Seb’ Coe found in flagrante with Anne Widdecombe in a broom cupboard? ….. No, none of those, it’s much, much worse than that.

Some divvi in the Government has just appointed one ‘John Prescott’ as the man, the man charged with ensuring all the London Olympic venues are built, on time, on spec, and on budget……

"Eh up, Coe, yer southern ponce, merk way for t’maestro…. This ‘ere ‘Twenty 12’malarky is now a New Labour prorject so shift yer posh arse, change t’name on the doower, put t’kettle on and go and get us a sack o’ pies & a side skip o' mushy peas, you great gormless posh twat"……

If you listen very carefully, you can hear Jonny Frenchman laughing his head off as he cycles down the Champs Elysee with his stripey jumper and pungent string of onions in tow….