It’s not fair

This has nothing to do with training for the Trailwalker – I am just writing today because I am cross. And not in a good way.

I didn’t get any Olympics tickets. Not one. I applied for a whole range of obscure sports that usually play to empty rooms and I have not got one single miserable ticket. It’s not fair. If I had known about that website in Germany selling tickets weeks ago, I could have bought some. If I was a civil servant I could have just allocated myself some between moaning about my index linked final salary pension and ambling to catch the 5.00pm train home. If I was on the Olympic committee, not only would I have prime finish line seats for the 100 meters, but I’d probably have a holiday home in Tanzania and a custom built yacht staffed by impossibly athletic blondes. Not that I would want that, obviously.

At least I have the pleasure of paying for the damn things with my taxes over the next 50 years and putting up with the much overdue but shambolic re-vamping of London’s creaking infrastructure in anticipation of coachloads of foreign dignitaries, hangers on and assorted scots and northerners crowding up my city to watch my Olympics with tickets that I should have had. It’s not fair.

And whilst I am on the subject of unfairness and crooked or incompetent committee men, what the hell is going on at Fifa? If it’s as corrupt as it seems to be, yet again we are being made fools of, taken advantage of as a bunch of cheats take our money and give us one solitary vote for a bid that was, by all accounts, the only one that made sense. And another thing. Twickenham and the RFU – we finally have a plan which sees Clive back in charge where he belongs and some wretched idiot goes and screws it up. Why? Is rugby going the way of football, where the lunatics take over and enrich a handful of celebrity-shagging louts whilst impoverishing the rest of the sport? All it needs is a bit of money and some catastrophically incompetent management and it has both of those.

And another thing. No I don’t want speed humps down my road. Not a single person has ever been knocked over on the road – it is a road to nowhere, a loop that gets you back where you started. I certainly don’t want speed lozenges or cycle-friendly humps even if I knew what they were. What I would like you to spend some of the remnants of my taxes on, Lambeth, once you have paid your chief exec £270,000 a year and blown £500k on that bloody awful communist propaganda newsletter, is to repair the roads. They don’t need lumps of useless tarmac to slow cars down, they need some of the mariana-sized trenches filled in so that whole families are not lost when they inadvertently try to drive down the road.

Mind you, I am not as cross as Paul, who still hasn’t got his Sky TV and Broadband he ordered a month ago and is now trying to book cinema tickets online. He’s stuck in automated call-handling hell and his bald head is now the colour of a ripe tomato. ‘I mean…why is life so difficult!!!’