my life as a artist
i ran em all
Monday 18th August 2008 10:53 PM
Although I think drug-use in sport is generally deplorable, this weekend I was delighted to see the Jamaican sprinter, Usain Bolt, take time out from the 100 metres final at the Olympics, to roll himself a small joint during the last twenty metres. Although technically illegal, I saw it as an injection of rare humanity into the increasingly boring buttocks of the Olympian beast-machine, and anyway, in my opinion, the laws on marijuana should be relaxed, and if it's decent stuff, really relaxed.
Meanwhile, in his hermetically sealed, space-age, one-piece swimsuit, Michael Phelps roars like a muscle-filled, fibre-glass walrus, the inevitability of his victory a fact as inescapable as one of his farts. There's a dramatic conflict going on here, between the flatulence produced by his diet, and the swimsuits reluctance to allow it egress, that I'm hoping to explore in my latest film, called 'Escape to Victory', starring Michael Caine as stomach acid and Sylvester Stallone as a twenty-five egg omelette.
The real story of the week for me was Alf Tupper's sensational gold medal win in the 1500 metres. Alf's been funding his Olympic stay by working nights at a local engineering company, as a welder, and on the way to the stadium he fell asleep on the Beijing underground and missed his stop. He had to run half a mile to the stadium, stopping only to eat double fish and chips, and by the time he got there the race had already started. Having no time to change, he joined the race in his heavy, hob-nailed working boots, and despite the class-prejudiced taunts of Lord Coe and his pals, won the race in a world record time.
Alf Tupper, a nineteen year-old welder, lives with his Aunt Meg in Greystone, and because the house is one-up-one-down, sleeps on a mattress on the kitchen floor. Out of his weekly wage of twenty-five shillings he gives her twenty-two and six and keeps half-a-crown for himself. Meanwhile, Frank Lampard earns two million, eight hundred thousand shillings a week and probably has his own bedroom as well. Bloomin' toffs!
Comments
I've just been enjoying a backlog of blog (since I've been offline even more than Rory) and its great to be back! Altho I confess to egotistical disappointment in your earlier references to Iceland that you called me Alf or Harry or something -
Posted by Hippy in the Horn , on Tuesday 26th August 2008, 5:23 PM
And that game where you have to poke your finger through a damp beer mat.
Posted by Steve , on Saturday 23rd August 2008, 7:51 AM
I'm looking forward to 2012 when it's rumoured that darts, dominoes and cheese rolling will be included in the disciplines.
Posted by John (aka Jono aka Jonault) , on Friday 22nd August 2008, 8:12 PM
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