Sunday, July 11


The remote control for the bedroom telly is wonky. At 4 a.m. I could get the picture for Germany v Uruguay but without sound. It was too cold to get out of bed and turn up the volume, so I struggled through the first half vuvuzelaless. Then I fell asleep again.

I awoke for the last half-minute, and braved the cold to turn up the commentary. The guy was saying it had been one of the best matches.

So today I went to buy a new remote, ready for the final.

My brother Beef McClochendichter wants Spain to win. For me the choice is easy. A country that gave the world dope cafes and Hirsi Ali. Or a country that gave us bull-torture and the last home of European fascism. The last time I saw Holland play was in 1982, brilliant they were. I know nothing about football but I know what I like.


  1. Come on the Splifferoos! Go, Cloggie! Go! On the other hand, they don't have any saints in Holland. Come on, the dwarf kafflicks! Hotboy

  2. Surely the Cloggies practically invented Saint Nicholas?

  3. I believe Paul the psychic octopus already has enough miracles for Canonisation.