LORD Sebastian Coe is one of life's winners, whether I'm thrashing Steve Ovett to take the 1500m gold in Moscow, single-handedly bringing the Olympics back to London, or becoming head boy by exposing my rivals as communist sympathisers.
AAAAAAAARGH! Aaaaaargh! HARDER! THANK YOU JESUS! AAAAAARGH! That's better.
Despatches from Poppy Spalding
THIS week finds me in the Antipodean paradise of New Zealand, whose stunning landscapes were the inspiration for JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings Trilogy.
IT'S all kinda sorta boring, innit? You know what it's like - travelling the world, doing concerts, staying in posh hotels, hanging out with famous people who happen to be your mum and dad's friends and eating in expensive restaurants – to be quite honest, I'd rather be blogging or watching people fall over on YouTube.
With Peter Alliss
OOOH dear, he's come up short again. Reminds me of the late, great Snuffy Edwards back in '53. He had just played his approach to the 12th at Carnoustie, when all of a sudden - zap! - he's vaporised by a lightning strike. He was, of course, disqualified for failing to sign his card. I suppose these days they'd have let him off...
By Karen Fenessey
BECAUSE I am so close to God, many people assume I am a prudish bore. But, I hate to break this to you: I am the princess of passion, the queen of copulation and the duchess of penis! Consequently, I think it is deplorable that a man can be put on trial over the outfits he chooses to wear while he is getting down.
I WERE sitting in Star of Bengal with Goughie, Warney and some other bloke who we ain't given nick-name to yet, when mobile goes off. It were chairman of selectors like, who said I'd made provisional England squad of 125. Time for a celebration, so it's lagers all round, and chilli eating competition: first one to collapse with anaphylactic shock's a big poof.
MY BBC producer rang me early. He wants me to come in and say a few words about Andy Murray. "Let's play up the angle that you two have a lot in common, what with the fiery temperament and all". I told him that apart from having two arms and a dick, we've got jack shit in common, and if he wakes me again, I'll take a piss on his shoes.
Despatches from Poppy Spalding
Monday: Sydney, Australia
My first week on the road finds me in Sydney, which is a bit like London, only with more sun and fewer Australians.
MY preparation for Wimbledon hasn’t been ideal. I was forced to pull out of the Sandwich Spread Classic in Margate due to sore eyelids and then, to make matters worse, I bruised my knuckles punching a wall after my brother Jamie beat me at Swingball.
By Mervyn King, Governor of the Bank of England
Dear Chancellor of the Cocking Exchequer,
As if I did not already have enough on my plate clearing up all your other shit, you now expect me to bend over so you can stick it right up me in public, like some tit-knobbing arse jockey, just because a loaf of bread now costs a clitting fiver. Well try publishing this, fuck-button.
Ooo-o-o-o-oooooh ! Your temperature was up a bit
So I just called NHS Direct
They said it’s probably a 24-hour thing
And that you should take a Nurofen and stay--yeee--yayyy in bed
Whoooahhhh! Ooooohhhh ! I also told them I have a gaping wound in my
so-o-o-o-oul, er, as well as a dull pain in my lower b-a-a-ck.