Thanks to @AlsBoy, who tweets the following British pub sign.
See, that’s really all there is to worry about.
The British Question
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Category Archives: Misc
On the Run
7 Aug 2012 17:01
Missing: Seven athletes from Cameroon ‘absconded’ from Olympic village amid asylum fears
Seven athletes from Cameroon have gone missing in Britain after competing in the Olympics, sparking fears they have fled the Games to claim asylum.
The five boxers, swimmer and a footballer have all disappeared from the athletes’ village at the Olympic Park in Stratford, east London.
Some of the missing Athletes
David Ojong, the head of mission for Team Cameroon, confirmed that the group were reported missing earlier this week.
All seven athletes would have had visas allowing them to remain in the UK until November and it is understood that none of the seven have claimed asylum.
David Ojong told Cameroonian media that of 60 athletes and officials living in the village, 28 have gone home, 24 were still in the village and seven have disappeared.
Two of these three athletes are vital to the Cameroon’s medal hopes
The missing athletes include all five of the team’s boxers – Thomas Essomba, who competed in the 49kg category, Christian Donfack Adjoufack in the 80kg, Abdon Mewoli in the 60kg, Blaise Yepmou Mendouo in the plus 91kg and Terv Sheldonomo in the 364kg – who disappeared over the weekend.
The others were Drusille Ngako, 25, a stand-by goalkeeper for Cameroon’s women’s team, and swimmer Paul Ekane Edingue, 21.
Cameroonian athletes are known to have gone missing at previous international sporting events, including the Commonwealth Games. Once they have left the athletes’ village, the absconders are very difficult to find and apprehend.
Occasionally, the bright lights and many attractions of the bars in the Olympic village and beyond are hard to resist, and there have been numerous sightings of one of the missing men throughout the week.
If you see this man, alert the authorities immediately –
and under no circumstances lend him any money.
She’ll Be Right, Mate
This, like many of the things read on this website, is a true story: When I was but a nipper (we’re talking in the days of black & white) the bloke who taught me cricket at school (Graham Walder, if you must know), when asked about the impending Ashes series said: “If England bat first and score 738 for 4 declared, then bowl Australia out for 39 and 41, it has been a bloody great game.”
Mr Walder said those words to me in 1978, at a time when we were actually bloody good at cricket (and thankfully, when the Aussies were bloody awful.) And that, pretty much, was how we were brought up to eye the Aussies: They must be beaten at all costs, and when (or normally if) you have them down, put your foot on their throat and keep pressing.
I’m here to tell you that there were many years in my youth and young adulthood when that wasn’t the case. It was Australia who held the whip hand and the Poms who were complete and utter rubbish. A rabble. A bunch of Galahs, you might say. It was a dark, dark time for those of us who followed the game and who had to painfully acknowledge that the colonials were actually in the ascendency. It hurt.
Things have gone full circle, and it’s now The Motherland who are supreme rulers – winning three of the last four competitions. And don’t we love it ? When Michael Vaughan‘s 2005 side first beat…scratch that… TROUNCED the touring Australians, the much-loved English press wasted no time, missed no opportunity and showed no mercy in their reporting of the hapless Aussies. An English victory hadn’t happened for many a long year and the press (and some bloggers) set about their task with vengeful gusto.
And the sport of laughing at the colonials has spread to the Olympic Games.
If there was a 100m Aussie-Bashing competition, “Team GB” would secure a 1-2-3, taking all medals. It’s difficult to open a paper, browse a news site or turn on a TV Channel without someone squealing with delight at the poor performance of the Guys and Gals in Green and Gold. Led, of course, by The Daily Mail and Seb’s own news outlet, T’BBC, the cries of “What’s Happened to the Aussies?” is louder than a Brit crowd cheering Jess Ennis.
Things get worse. If there’s one country Australians hate losing to it’ll be Britain. Unless its New Zealand. Even the Kiwis are doing better than their Tasman neighbours. At time of writing the All Blacks have 3 golds to the Aussies’ 2. This hasn’t gone down well. When New Zealand reached 10th place in the medals table, official Australian Olympic broadcaster Channel 9 reportedly wiped New Zealand off their top 10 Olympic medal table TV on national television, showing only the top 9.
Jeez, mate.
And it’s not just the British Press – the Aussies own have been having a go.
Why don’t we have papers over here like that ? Oh, right, we do.
In the pool there was not a single Aussie individual Gold medal, just a relay win. In 2008 they’d come home with a tucker bag-full of ’em. Some Aussie journos have suggested their athletes lack conviction. You might say that it would be a first for there to be an Aussie without a conviction, but you would be being cruel and historically incorrect.
The Sydney Daily Telegraph decided to combine both Aussie and Kiwi medal totals , calling the new state ‘Aus Zealand’ which ranked ninth in the medals table, still behind Kazakhstan but above the likes of Belarus and Cuba.
Things will improve for our cousins. They are sure to win gold through hurdler and leading lemon-sucker Sally Pearson (unless, that is her face splits asunder should she break into a smile). Perhaps she’s nervous. Perhaps she just isn’t Michelle Jennecke. We can’t all be, love.
With the British medal total looking to break all records (which, after all is what is supposed to happen when you host the games) other nations are seeking explanations, looking for excuses. Aussie press are moaning about the huge Lottery Fund-led cash insertion to Team GB. Quite right. That’s how we felt when you lot were useless in the 70s and decided to inject wads of cash into all sports and set up academies. We learned what to do from you lot.
The French are insinuating that the wheels on our bikes are somehow illegal, as we hide them away after every cycle race. Well of course we do. If history has taught us anything, it’s not to share our secrets with you lot or the Yanks. Churchill had to pawn our best stuff and secrets to save the nation, without so much as a “Thanks, Bud”. We don’t have to do that any more.
US coaches questioned the validity of a great win by a Chinese 15 year old swimmer, Ye Shiwen, querying how one so young could win so well without the use of stimulants. Oddly when their 15-year-old Katie Ledecky produced the second fastest 800 metres freestyle in history to take gold the silence was…er…golden. It won’t be long before Mo Farah will be accused of something by someone, I’m quite sure.
The wheels (legal wheels) seem to be coming off the British Gold Dispenser as Athletes go crook, runners under-perform or even fail to turn up. But that’s ok. We’ve won lots. You lot have a couple. Go on, help yourself, mate. We don’t want to be greedy. And we’re uncomfortable being so good anyway.
By four years time in Rio it will all be very different. Normal service will resume. You’ll remember how to swim, and we’ll remember how to lose, or at least beat you and apologise for doing so – promising it won’t happen again. But I think we can finally dispense with the tag of Whinging Pom, don’t you ?
No Wukkers.
“Now Vania, What Would You like to Be ?”
“Miss, when I grow up I’d like to be a 400m Hurdler”
“Really ? Do you think that’s wise ? I mean, what with your surname and all…?”
Vania stumbles over … Bulgarian athlete Vania Stambolova misses the first hurdle in the womens’ 400-metre event.
Personally, I can’t wait to watch Vasliy Dunmibakkin in the weightlifting later.
.
Tyson is Homosexual (No, not that one)
The following piece needs no introduction, save that it came from The Washington Post, so you can take it to be true. Not that you need to be told from which country it came. It could only happen in one country.
Christian Site’s Ban on ‘G’ Word Sends Homosexual to Olympics
The American Family Association obviously didn’t foresee the problems that might arise with its strict policy to always replace the word “gay” with “homosexual” on the Web site of its Christian news outlet,OneNewsNow. The group’s automated system for changing the forbidden word wound up publishing a story about a world-class sprinter named “Tyson Homosexual” who qualified this week for the Beijing Olympics.
The problem: Tyson’s real last name is Gay. Therefore, OneNewsNow’s reliable software changed the Associated Press story about Tyson Gay‘s amazing Olympic qualifying trial to read this way:
Tyson Homosexual was a blur in blue, sprinting 100 meters faster than anyone ever has.
His time of 9.68 seconds at the U.S. Olympic trials Sunday doesn’t count as a world record, because it was run with the help of a too-strong tailwind. Here’s what does matter: Homosexual qualified for his first Summer Games team and served notice he’s certainly someone to watch in Beijing.
“It means a lot to me,” the 25-year-old Homosexual said. “I’m glad my body could do it, because now I know I have it in me.”
I cannot add anything to that.
“Oh say can you see,
By the dawn’s early light…”
Big Boys for their Mums
Gold Medallist Jessica Ennis hangs out at Team GB’s holding camp with a couple of discus-throwing friends, Lawrence Okoye and Carl Myerscough.
My eyes are watering just thinking about it.
I Say, Old Chap, Jolly Well Done
Saturday August 4th 2012. The day it all changed for British Sport. Hopefully. Maybe they’ll realise that with the right help and facilities, we Brits can actually win something ? Perhaps they won’t knock it all down once the world’s cameras leave ? Perhaps they’ll think about keeping or even upping the funding of school and youth sports clubs. Perhaps. If we don’t grab this opportunity of the wave of sporting euphoria we will regret it for years and years to come.
Just fantastic footage of Colin Jackson (GB Olympic Silver and world record holder, 110m hurdles), Denise Lewis (GB, Gold, Heptathlon) and US golden god Michael Johnson giving a two-fingered ripple to Mo Farah, a Somalian refugee, now British citizen running for Britain. And isn’t it great to see Brits open up at last ? You never know, we might stop apologising when we win something.
Baron de Coubertin coined the phrase “It’s not the winning but the taking part that counts”. I think, finally the Brits may have put all that to bed.
Fine, have fun, take part, but win. That’s what GB sport seems to be saying this week. Finally “Play Up and Play the Game” seems to have been discarded in the same bin as walking when you know you’ve nicked it, owning-up to handling the ball in the penalty area, or admitting you were off your feet in a ruck. Probably for the best. Probably. For the first time in my life we seem to have a generation of sportsmen (and women) who won’t put up with coming second to his (or her) rival from USA or Australia. It’s all very odd, as Englishmen (or women) [alright, Stan, don’t labour the point] aren’t brought up to want to win games. Maybe it’s all changed ?
And while we’re at it, I have seen a lot of complaints about the French announcements at medal ceremonies. I assume this happens because the Baron was French and therefore etc etc etc…Thank your lucky stars he wasn’t Welsh: “And Fair Play to the Fablass Tidy lass in the third lane, butt”. I’d give back my medal.
But anyway…
The culmination of a sensational day for “Team GB”. Even some of the racists in The Shovel warmed to Mo as one of their own. Not all, of course. We still have more than our fair share of bigoted arseholes in Blighty, you know.
We haven’t changed that much.
The Bank that likes to say Nope
So we set off for Normandy, using the Le Shuttle tickets we’d booked last year but couldn’t use on the basis that I’d stupidly suffered a stroke and there are rules in La Belle France against driving down L’Autoroute when suffering a hemorrhage of a vein or artery whilst driving your motor at 100km per hour or over. Picky froggy bastards.
So off we went, : Drove from Dartford (sparrow’s) – Folkestone; Sat in the train from Folkestone to Calais; then on the marvellous French toll roads for 5-odd hours until we reach our destination. We knew it would be a bit tiring, and agreed to fill up with fuel, coca cola, croque monsieur etc half way down.
We drove (I drove), we paid the tolls (The Incumbent paid the tolls) I drove some more. At about 1:30 I was beginning to feel a tad esurient and suggested we stop at the next filling station. The guv’nor agreed. So we did. It was one of those garages which encourages you to pay (by card) at the pump as opposed to paying at the till inside. Being a New European (remember, this was before the Olympic Games, before we just said: “fuck everybody else, we’re alright on our own, thankyouverymuch”) I tried to get on with la meme-chose-Continental (I have no idea if that actually means anything, I just thought it looked good).
And that’s where it went horribly wrong.
In went my card, in went the petrol nozzle, and in went the gas (unleaded of course). Out came the nozzel and I looked at the LED screen on the pump, which read….
nothing.
“Oh !” thinks me :”Buggeration !”.
In the way of a Greenwich Council worker I pressed a few buttons very hard, several times but the screen was in the language of yer Johnny Foreigner, and here was nothing on the screen in the Queen’s English to tell me if I’d paid or if I hadn’t. Bollox.
(Readers new to The Sharp Single will be placated to know that The Sharp Single’s pet hate is Englishmen who refuse to speak foreign languages. I try, I’m just no bloody good at it).
I had two choices: Assume ( as any good colonialist would) that I had paid (I am BRITISH, after all) and, like Montgomery before me, drive off in the general direction of southern Normandy. This would, of course risk being caught by Le Fuzz (no-one wants that) for not paying at all.
or
Wasting four precious minutes by confirming with the girl behind the till in the shop that I had indeed paid, and could legally leave the forecourt. Again, being British, I chose the belt-and-braces option.
“Bonjour Monsieur” I addressed the young lady. “Parlez-vous Anglais?”
“Non” Elle replyment.
Oh bugger. I continued with my fluency:
“Je pense que jai donnez lui les argent pour le gaz, mais est ce possible pour vous regardez le screen de confirmez”. (That O-level French wasn’t wasted after all.)
“Un moment monsieur”. She then went to find someone who spoke fluent Klingon, who then went to find a consummate bollox speaker. Eventually, someone who claimed to understand me came into the booth.
“Hello Sir. How can I help you ?”
Phew. I explained that I thought that I had paid, but didn’t… well, you know …
She checked the screen, and looked at the records for my pump.
“No Sir, you haven’t paid for your gasoline.”
Cool. Thank Buddah I checked. I handed over my card and she took €80.01 from my account. Phew (again). We continued on our journey.
We had a lovely time, thankyouverymuch. We visited Plastered of Paris (of this Parish) and Mr Horrible‘s (ditto) pad on the coast and it was truly lovely. When you have spent the best part of 18 months cooped up in the Allotment of England you appreciate these sort of things. We had to do it on the cheap as the Tees aren’t selling in the millions that I’d imagined, and the missus is work-shy (yes, I will pay for that).
On my return to Blighty, I immediately checked my bank account: I was stunned (not really) to discover that I was overdrawn. On further investigation I noticed that a petrol station in France had charged me €80.01 TWICE within 6 minutes. I was less than chuffed. I’m sure you can imagine.
No matter. I immediately got onto the phone to my bank NatWest (you know NatWest:- they’re owned by RBS – that lot run by Stephen Hester – look him up – I can’t be arsed any more – who may or may not be in contention for the Biggest Crook of the year 2012 (against Newbold Coe and R.Murdoch).
The girl answered, and after several security questions asked how she could help. This was good ! I thought.
I told her my plight and my worries. Before I could get too involved she interrupted and said she was transferring me to the “Fraud” department. I’d never thought fraud was involved, just a mistake. But, okay ! I’m game. That’ll teach those Frogs a lesson for …erm…Crécy…Agincourt..or something.
“Hello Mr Bealing, how can I help ?” said the man from the Fraud Dept. It was the second time I’d been asked, and you know how patient I am, but I told him anyway.
“…so you see from my statement that €80.01 has been taken out of my account TWICE within minutes. It’s clearly a mistake and I’d like it back. Can you help ?”
“…silence…”
“It’s sixty quid” I added as if it would persuade him to help.
“…silence...”
“hello…?” had he nodded off ? I wondered.
finally
“Ok Mr Bealing, I see your statement. Do you have the receipt ?”
Hong Kong Phewey !! “Yes, actually I do !!!” (I was finally feeling pleased with myself).
“For both transactions?” he added.
“Sorry ?” (I wasn’t finally feeling pleased with myself).
“Have you the receipt for both amounts removed from your account ?” he pressed.
“No but they are on my statement, as you can see, The two un-random amounts of €80.01 removed from my account within minutes of each other. It’s clearly a mistake” I offered.
“Oh!” he almost sounded crestfallen.
“So you only have a receipt for one of the transactions ?”
“…silence...”
“Mr Bealing ?” I think he thought I’d gone.
I composed myself, with al the dignity I could muster: ” So you are asking me if I have a receipt for a transaction which, at the time, I never knew took place ? Is that was you are seriously asking me ?”
“er…yes…”
“Oddly, no I haven’t. I don’t have a bill for something I didn’t know I’d paid for. I feel such a fool” I began chewing the leg of the table.
I think he knew where I was coming from.
“I know you won’t want to hear this, Mr Bealing, but I’m afraid, I’m unable to help you. You need to take it up with the Petrol Station in France”
I’m unsure of what my response was. I know I was livid, my head spinning and I was trying desperately not to take it all out on the young lad on the other end of the line. I do remember asking him :
“Where or when, in this year of RBS fuck-ups, Your system going down and making my direct debits miss deadline, Bankers Criminality and City Fraudsters do you (and I’m not taking out on you, Sonny, just your employers) get off telling me that you cannot help me ???? You and I know that a conversation, in French, with a garage on a French motorway will never take place. But the fact that, so swiftly, your guidelines tell you that you cannot help me – even in the face of blindingly obvious evidence – that an error (not in my favour) has been committed sums up you lot to a tee. If I had the money to pay off my overdraft with you I would and keep my money under the sink. You are all a bunch of cvnts (present company excepted). Go Fvck yourself you robbing bastards.
It was something like that.
“…silence...”
And it’s been silence ever since.
A Dog’s (short) Life
The Sharp Single 