Have we got the guts?

The significance of Lizzie's latest pose will have to wait as I need to go into training to prepare for my next and probably last chance of getting hold of some Olympic Tickets. Only 40 minutes to go. I didn't apply yesterday as weightlifting and even beach volleyball don't press any of my buttons, and I'm afraid Seb and the LOWLIFE Committee won't be able to recreate yesterday's tension in their football unless they relay a replay of the 1966 World Cup Final on the big screens.

Okay, I will be happy to digest my tasteless words in Golden Hindsight if Psycho is seen punching the air after his team wins the gold medal for Britain. Having been to Boris' London Prepares Series, my inclination is to go for the Track Cycling or the Swimming, as the venues themselves together with the atmosphere created were sensational, unlike Boris' Island where London prepares to empty its guts all over the Thames Estuary merely to help promote Boris' ambition to become the next King of England instead of Charles.

We've actually got a game of cricket for next Saturday. The wonderful John Harley who at a stroke revolutionised fixture finding has arranged for us to play Hartley Country Club 6ths at Eynsford. I'll check the Satnav's proposed route to DA4 0HA as that Ford of theirs must be a raging torrent by now with all this drought. Must go as it's Olympic Ticket picking time. Visa at the ready.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

What an experience Seb. It was like being in an immigration type queue at Boris' Heathrow Airport trying to buy budget airline tickets to replace your cancelled two week holiday only to find that when you get to the desk a jobsworth directs you to the back of another queue which you join only to find the same thing happens again and then again and again.

With your interest and perseverence only being maintained by virgin sirens in red uniforms as you finally get to the front of the queue a fortnight later, the person at the desk you reach tells you that the only tickets available are £950 pounds each, with Stansted as the last remaining destination.

I don't want to, couldn't anyway because of the hosepipe ban and indeed wouldn't because of my nature throw cold water onto your Olympic Torch itinerary Seb, but if I were you I wouldn't get the LOWLIFE Committee to get involved in the organisation, as things are bound to go belly up and the torch like me will not get to light up the Olympic Park at all.

I fear that the one legacy of London 2012 that will remain in my mind, Boris and Seb, is the fact that my daughter and her partner have been asked to get out of their flat near Victoria Park E35, despite being the tenants to die for, by the landlord so that 'His mother can stay for the Olympics'.

If you believe that you will believe the rest of the promises about London 2012 being for the ordinary person. Where did I go wrong? Perhaps I should apply for some of those parenting vouchers from Boots to find out.

Gutted? Of course I am. Over the top? Sorry Sirs, we don't do that for the likes of you any more, and it's not a matter of not having the guts to do it.