Here's a true story - well, a mate said it happened to a mate of a mate, so it must be true. New Years Eve, Trafalgar Square, and this mate of a mate of a mate is getting on extremely well with an equally pissed-out-of-her-skull bird. They've been snoging like two trout after the same bit of bread for ages, and he offers her the chance of a shag on one of the concrete benches. And she's well up for it. She gets her knickers off, pulls hr skirt up, and wahey, Missus.

After ten minutes of thrusting away, she leans into his ear and says; "Are you gonna get it in, or what?" It turns out that his aim is all wrong, and he's been humping between her arse and the banch.

Which is when he noticed his cock was cut to ribbons and caked in blood and pigeon shit.

So he turns to her, looks at his cock, looks back at her and says "I can use a johnny - if you've got one..."

Part 10:

SHITTING HELL FIRE

June 15th 2002

That intro might not say much about the World Cup, but it's a roundabout way of saying I don't mind telling you that, after watching England beat Denmark 3-0 today, I got so scared and weirded out that I went straight home to bed. If I had stayed out, I would have been typing this entry sometime in August, after coming out of hospital after a full compliment of organ transplants.

As I rolled out of an extremely crappy pub in which I saw the game alone (as me mates wussed out on me, due to weddings, barbeques and all that puffishness), the Nish-head was all of a spin; On Friday, we will play either Belgium or Brazil to get into the semi-final. If we win that game, we will meet Japan. Or Turkey. Or Sweden. Or Senegal.

The bottom line is, England will never have a better chance of getting into the World Cup Final in my lifetime.

Fucking hell.

I might be getting ahead of meself here, but look at it. Brazil? Yeah, we should be scared of them, but they've played nothing but shitty teams and they look well dodgy at the back and they're due a pasting. Belgium? They won't beat Brazil - and even if they do, they'll be shagged out. As for the Semis, well - Senegal have been tasty and we couldn't beat Sweden and Japan are one of the hosts and Tunisia are...are...

Fuck it. If England beat Brazil and don't make it to the final, I'll shove a marker pen up me arse and write out the complete works of Shakespeare. And this is a very terrifying thought (not the marker pen bit) - because I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do when England win World Cups. And neither does anyone else I know.

Let's be honest here - England are on for winning the World Cup. Look at the evidence - four games played, one goal conceded. Even when we've played arse (second half, Sweden, Nigeria, second half today) we've still got a result. And yes, there's been a hefty slab of luck, but all World Cup winners need it every now and again. The fact of the matter is, England are playing like the Germany of old. That's a new experience for us, who rather like being the plucky moral victors who can't quite make it to the final and don't mind sitting at home with a few cans on while the last two teams fight it out.

What would it be like if England won? On one hand, it would be like VE Day. On the other hand, would we be able to cope with spontaneous celebration? I doubt it. Trafalgar Square would probably break, there'd be the inevitable mass rioting beloved of Lakers fans that never happens over here - cos we never win anything - and cock-related injuries like the one mentioned above. Either that, or it'll be as piss-boring as teh Jubilee was.

I mean, check this - England in the most important game for years, and where am I? In a really mingy pub with the Living Dead, where the landlord played Vindaloo (fucking awful novelty football song which tries to be ironic, which makes it even worse) before, during and after the game. Not a single incident of mentalist behaviour. The only bit of emotive language coming from text messages from mates, all of whom appeared to have taken in the game from pups where everyone was having an orgy. Even when England scored their first goal, people were standing up, shyly looking from side to side, and then having a bit of a shout. Absolutely disgusting behaviour. By half time, it was all over. Surely it's not meant to be this easy?

Ah, sod it. Typical of me to worry about future hassles when I should be basking in the glory of another stay of execution in the World Cup. Anyway, got to go to bed as I have to troll across London to watch the Ireland game in a proper Irish pub. At least I hope it is, it had better not be one of them fake-ass Craic-houses...