Not the Adam Devlin blog part 6



Well well well Britain, who’d of thunk it?, the ‘feel-good factor’ is here and mercifully thats not the name of Simon Cowell’s latest Saturday night offering. Far from it in fact, our Saturday evenings are now spent watching likeable talented people on television, running jumping and throwing stuff, but most importantly winning … and then crying for a bit but let’s face it it’s mainly the winning that interests us, of course we haven’t the faintest clue what we’re staring at but boy it feels good to win! F**k you world! The Empire strikes back, only this time on high-performance bicycles.
Firstly (if you ignore the bit before this) I should say that I myself wrote of team GB in several of my Limpic blogs, so I’m happy to now showcase my chosen sport of backtracking, indeed if backtracking were an Olympic sport, I reckon I’d give that Nick Clegg a run for his money.

But be honest Britain, how many of you truly expected East London to have turned into one massive f**king gold magnet in the manner that it has? That’s the not the way we do things here, our gloomy disposition is an essential facet of our Britishness … let’s face it, we’re a pretty downtrodden bunch right now, it’s been winter here for nearly 4 years, the only thing that’s outlasted it is our ongoing recession, we have an empty bo**ck for a prime minister (2 empty bo**cks if you count the other one), our football team sucks, all our films have got Jason Statham in them, and our finest musicians continue be humiliated at the Eurovisions. Why does the world hate us so much? … poor dental hygiene?, John Inverdale?, dubious foreign policy driven by greed and self interest? Who knows? … Certainly not me, you can bank on that.

But ladies and gentleman, all that has changed. Britain now finds itself in the grip of frenzied national pride, and all because our sports day thing has gone a f**king storm, “best games ever” the critics have raved, dancing horses followed by women trying to kick each others heads off, brilliant! and our athletes have kicked some serious foreign arse along the way. Who knew we were so damn good? … not me, that’s a given. Are you sure these people are British?, we pondered, they don’t seem very British, all that swagger and success … What the f**k is going on here? Where’s all our gallant tear-soaked losers begging our forgiveness? Where’s Ron Pickering telling us “that’s a massive throw for a plucky Brit, it’s a personal best and a new British record! He’s now clinched that joint 27th place in this Olympic final”? Have we all wandered into a twilight-zone twixt dreams and reality, where up is now down, black is white and Andy Murray rinses Roger Federer in 3 straight sets?

Yes we have. That’s exactly what’s happened, climaxing last weekend when firstly our cyclists and rowers proceeded to not just beat their opposition, but humiliate them so cruelly that LOCOG had to provide counselling to the visiting athletes. “how come you f**kin’ Limeys are so good at boats and bikes and s**t?”my American friend asked me, if he’d tried using our quintessentially British transport system he’d know the answer to that question. Then as night fell on the city we witnessed the culmination of what critics imaginatively called ‘Super Saturday’ , Team GB threatened to send the planet hurtling off it’s axis when Britain’s whitest man jumped longest and Britain’s blackest man fan fastest, the perfect bookends to Jessica Ennis … Britain’s most Cappuccino coloured sports minx who merely added to the multi-racial gold rush. So there’s one in the eye of Britain’s village idiot Nick Griffin (apparently it was his good eye too). Griffin called it “a black night for decent racists”.

Be honest Britian, at that moment, when Mo Farrah crossed that line and we’d all gone gold-blind, we would have been happy to end it all right there. Seriously, if the 4-minute warning had sounded, if some unforeseen meteor was headed for our planet we wouldn’t have given tuppence. While the outside world would have cowered, sobbing, with it’s head between it’s knees … we’d have been stood on the white cliffs of Dover, beating our naked chests, singing ‘Jerusalem’ with Sir Steve Redgrave.
How we’ll all feel a month from now when we have to go back to watching Ashley Cole for our thrills is anyone’s guess, certainly not mine, but I’m ready to slip back into old ways, it’s a bit odd all this pride and happiness going around, people smiling on the tube, people saying “have a great day”, “have a safe trip” etc etc … It’s like the Stepford Wives out there, a month ago if someone smiled at you on a tube train you’d have wrestled them to the ground, now you’re expected to smile back. And if you think Britain’s all cried out, think again, after this it’s the Paralympics, where largely due to our endless supply of war-amputees, Britain’s team is the envy of the world. You’re all gonna drown in rivers of tears but not me, I’ve taken precautions, I’ll be the only Britainer left to fully exploit the lifting of the hose-pipe ban.


Before the hilarious photos, a complaint. This is blog No. 6 because there are 5 others before this one, you can click on them at the bottom of this page in the archives thingy. I’m pointing this out because I can see on my traffic stats that even though (miraculously) more of you are reading this, you’re not reading my previous blogs, no wonder it doesn’t make sense! You wouldn’t watch ‘Police Academy 6’ without having seen the previous 5 would you? Of course you wouldn’t, no one would. Ok, funny pictures …





Britain …


Not any more, now it’s GOLD




GOLD!   Here’s Math … hang on a second …


That’s better … Here’s Mathew Priest from Dodgy, captain of team GB’s squad of drummers. Priest successfully defended his gold in the ‘unnessacary use of  the crash-cymbal’ division. A true British hero.


now blub all you like Britain, you won’t drown me.