People’s Republic of Diarrhoea

I’m watching the opening ceremony of the Olympics, as is my custom. It seems that, this year, to be part of the procession of athletes it helps if you are in fact an old fat man.

Yeah, I know, coaches and officials. Maybe that’s what I should do. I’ll become an old, fat official for an easy-to-officiate obscure Olympic sport, like archery, and then I can take my rightful place in Team GB. I’ve always fancied being waved at by politicians.

Oh my god, Bjork’s on. Miming and dressed as an unkempt duvet. Very Olympic.


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