Yeah, alright, so I managed to weasel my way out of the Café Boy DeBoy in Paris full of lycra clad, er, um, men and jump a cab to the airport when guess who rings, yep, the Bish. “Sandy, get to Rome and find out what happened to our swimmers” “But Bish I wanna come home and swimming makes cycling look interesting” “Just do it. Get back to me fast and then head to bloody Eggbaskekton to find out what Ricky is doing with our boys, haven’t won a test yet and I have $50 riding on it with your old mate Pastor Sauce.” Jesus Christ, a Trotters or two would go down well at the moment.
Flying to Rome I’m seated next to some bloke called the Dalai Lama, Geez, slumming it or what. I tell him I’m off to Rome and while there I’ll drop in and see my old mate, John Paul at the Vat. This joker tells me John Paul died and that I should keep abreast of current events. A breast, breasts, yeah I like a good pair, [Stop it, cut, HOO here, Sandy, now enough of that or I’ll have to give you a spanking, a really good spanking, [[Stop it, cut, Emmjay here, just keep Sandy on track HOO, I want to know about the swimmers] Bloody hell, okay then Emm]
I head to Foro Italico for an interview with Liberty Trickerty, the famous Aussie swimmer. “Tell me Lib, what went wrong?” “Well Father” she says “ All the other teams had superior swim wear, you know the suits and my suit just wasn’t good enough”, hmmm I think, so its what suits is it “ See Father my contract with my current sponsor runs out next month and I have a new sponsor on the horizon” “Now who might that be?” I enquire, “Well Father it’s Honda”. Taken by surprise I choke on my short black, Lib smacks me on the back, I’m aghast, “Honda” I finally say “But they make cars and engines”, “Exactly Father, very fast engines” gloats Lib “I’ve signed up for the BC100, I’m gunna win big, make lots of money”. Well stone the crows, I’m short for words, my mind is racing “The BC100?”, “Yes Father the Body Cavity 100cc Honda two stroke, fuel injected, electronic ignition, marine engine, good to 100 metres below, beautiful, hey Father. The only thing is, you know in swimming when you do the roll at the end of each lap it lets out this big noise, like a giant fart but I have a medical certificate from my GP, Dr Julius Strangepork stating I have uncontrollable flatulence”
“But Libby, dear, where do you actually put it?” “Oh Father, you’re a man of the world, can’t you think of any body cavities?” she grins knowingly [Stop, cut, HOO here, Sandy, enough, I’ll get into trouble with Emmjay] “Well I can imagine my dear” I mutter, salivating at the very thought, “Don’t worry Father, I’ll hide it under my suit and I steer it with my butt cheeks” [Stop, cut, HOO here, Sandy don’t even go there[[ Emm here, I’m with HOO]] “Bless you my child, I’ll say a special prayer for you to Gordon”