Goon antics

While it buckets down in London, the Goons keep themselves amused by lighting bits of toilet paper sticking out of their bums. While it looks as though 500,000 English people in the Cotswolds region may soon be deprived of electricity and are stockpiling tins of baked beans and long-life milk in anticipation of the next wave of floods, there the Goons are … singeing their butt-hairs and taking drunken photos.

I should have known that there was no point in worrying about the wayward London tribe I left six months ago. Yesterday, out of concern (after having watched 40mins of Sky News footage of waist-deep Thames water engulfing cars, trains and cats) I emailed the little blighters. Are you all OK? Are you all putting around the city in inflatable life-rafts?

Responses varied from sarcasm to abuse. Mostly, the replies I got blatantly ignored my question and fired off details of the past weekend – who lunged at who, who lost their wallets, etc.

I gave up. As long as the smut and booze reports keep coming, I know none of my mates have drowned.

Reports of the Goon Golf Day, the Ride Her Cup (yes, they had T-shirts made, and yes, one of them played the full 18 holes in a Spiderman outfit) have begun to trickle in. I will believe it when I see the visual evidence on facebook.

And while it continues to pour on Mud Island, the Middle East is as dry as the bottom of the last keg at a beerfest. I cannot lie, it is McSteamy. Being outdoors in heat like this should be a crime. We are sweating, to coin a phrase I read somewhere recently, “like a Premiership footballer at a spelling competition”.