Does anyone have a match?
And I don’t mean the “Yeah, my bum, your face” variety.
I mean a Swan Vesta, a Lucifer, a chemically treated stick that bursts into flames when you rub it against an abrasive surface such as my bum or your face.
The world’s largest Bryant and May is set to pass through East Yorkshire in a couple of months, on its way to an obscure athletics competition in London
Local councils have ruled that it is too dangerous to take the Olympic torch by car, plane or train – large naked flames are banned on all these modes of transport.
So, in a bid to avoid breaching health and safety regulations, the organisers have arranged a countrywide game of tig and have persuaded a few people to run the length of Britain carrying the flame, followed by a posse of asthmatic muggers trying to quit fags.
Apparently, it is a major honour to be chosen to carry the world’s biggest match on part of the journey.
I don’t know why.
Personally, I think I would feel a bit of a plonker carrying the torch as I know everyone would be staring at my lunchbox.
In any event, what does the torch relay achieve, apart from gaining publicity for the organisers of the games – something they don’t need, as surely everyone in the world already knows that London is hosting the Olympic games this summer.
So, I think the fact the Olympic torch passes through East Yorkshire is at best irrelevant and at worst a blatant taunt. Because even those who are interested in the games cannot get tickets.
I know dozens of people who applied for tickets. Not one of them was successful. Well not for any of the “proper” events.
Let’s face it, most people who enjoy athletics and want to go to the Olympics would choose in an ideal world to be present for one of three pivotal moments – the opening ceremony, the closing ceremony and the final of the 100 metres when Usain Bolt runs 100 metres in under seven seconds while painting a mural and eating some crisps.
Of the people I know who applied for tickets – including those events I have just mentioned – only two were lucky enough to secure tickets at all ... one chap is now looking forward to the three-legged equestrian donkey derby, the other will be watching the women’s weightlifting under 10kg category which takes place at 4am on a Tuesday.
Having said all that, if anyone is interested in seeing the Olympic lighter as it passes through East Yorkshire they will need to make some travel arrangements.
Because it isn’t passing through Driffield.
To be considered as part of the flaming route, someone was supposed to ask the Olympic organisers to include their town or hamlet and no-one from Driffield bothered (well not until after the deadline at any rate).
So, instead, the torch is going through Beeford, where there is a chip shop and a pub (maybe two) and at least one person who needs a light for their roll up at a specific time on a specific day.
On that day, I imagine the route through Beeford will be thronged with locals cheering on someone they don’t know as they carry a smouldering baton in the pouring rain, while imploring: “Has anyone got a light?”
Interesting point actually – if the Olympic torch does become extinguished en route, what happens, do they cancel the games?
Talking of important dates, the internet seems to be the place to go these days when one wants to meet a new partner.
Such websites have no place in my life as I am married and the wife would break both my noses if she caught me chatting to other women online.
In any event, I am old school. If I wanted a new woman, I would pop down the pub. Most single women in Driffield are absolutely desperate, so it would probably take me about 17 minutes before I was on my way home again – rucksack bulging with birds, their bingo wings flapping like Canada geese as they fought over who had the most teeth, most evenly-sized boobs and the smallest thong.
Face to face dating seems a great deal more sensible than scoring via email and webcam. For the price of a Babycham, you can look into each other’s eyes to make sure they are both there, check for missing limbs and smell each other. And, if things don’t work out, you can always take your date back to the pub the following day and leave her there for someone else to have a go.
With the internet, you have no idea who you are talkking to.
One lad I know met a Russian girl on the internet, fell for her and decided to pay for her to come over to Driff. I told him, John it’s a con. You are not in love with the blonde girl whose photo you showed me.
The person sending you emails is a fat Nigerian trucker called Desmond Ubanthu.
John wouldn’t be told and sent the woman £400 for her air fare to England. Surprise, surprise, he never heard from her again.
It’s the old addage ... if it sounds too good to be true then it is. Every time.
Decent dating sites cost money to join. They vet customers and try to match people who will be compatible.
Free dating websites are for dead people. If you are having a dinner party and the conversation starts to flag, switch on the computer and show one of them to your guests. Pretty soon, they will be rolling on the floor and howling with laughter.
Such websites are populated almost entirely by rejects from the Jeremy Kyle show and those who arrived too late at the Hull Royal Infirmary accident and emergency department. Have fun and don’t forget the lip gloss.