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Thursday

Now we are fighting with Ecuador.  They are probably just jealous that they did not win any medals.  Why are we becoming involved for a skinnier version of Boris Johnson whose name is half donkey/ half angel?  Maybe the London Mayor could hire an Ecuadorian costume- you know, white knickerbockers, poncho and a fake plait- and could zoom out of the front door as a decoy while Assange is enticed out of the rear exit, straight into an illegal tackle by Sven-Goran Eriksson and the Swedish Secret Police.

Cracks are showing in David.  Not Cameron.  Well, in Cameron too. Michelangelo’s statue is showing its age, apparently.  Maybe he should cover up a bit.  He’s not exactly a juvenile Tom Daley, though even he had to tone up for the Olympics.  A little pair of stone Speedos over the Florentine loins would cover a multitude of sins.

It’s A-level Results day and so the local papers will be full of screaming, teary girls giving each other group hugs.  Today is the date responsible for the content of so many nauseating round robins in the festive season.

Mothers will be haunting doormats for envelopes and shouting upstairs to their unrousable sons who are still coiled up under their duvets, as if victims of Inclusion Body Syndrome, that mysterious reptile affliction which causes snakes to tie themselves in knots, roll up and stargaze.  Little do the mums know that their sons already had their results on their mobiles hours before and have promptly gone back to sleep, ignoring UCAS and university entry.  Let mum do it.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

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