Finally, after months of appeals, the filth have let me go. That’s right, the rozzers collared me after the France/England game for urinating on a Citroen. Now, I know for a fact that the French aren’t averse to a bit of public golden shower action and I’m sure they’d have let me go had I been pissing all over a Volkswagon or a Toyota. But because I’d chosen this particular 2CV, I was toast.
I tried to reason with them in my fluent Frenglish but, as I’m sure you can imagine, whatever a refreshed Englishman says it inevitably doesn’t wash with the froggy fuzz. I was carted off to spend the night at monsieur Sarkozy’s pleasure. I was only supposed to be held overnight but due to a monstrous clerical mix-up the cunt waffle pigs thought I was an Algerian pimp called Gillaume. I was, quite simply, boned.
After four months of waking up to the sight, sound, and smell of a Togolese transvestite crack dealer squeezing one out into the toilet hole next to my bed I was free. And now I’m back in Blighty ready to take on the world again.
Obviously I missed the second England Australia match. The greatest England performance since the world cup final 2003 [salutes dramatically]. But I’m not fussed. We’ve won down under against the old enemy and the confidence is back. Bring on the Autumn.
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