Silly Olympian Thoughts

Do you remember Mrs N? She’s my friend who is also a tennis mum and who ages ago set me this challenge. Now she has set me another challenge – which is to write a paragraph about a picture which was  doing the rounds on Facebook during the Olympics. Take a look:

Break out the champers, Ladies. If your over 50yrs it maybe a long time before you see one this size again.

Impressive.

I can be succinct at times. Not often, I admit. But this is one of them. However, I think Mrs N was imagining more than a one word paragraph so I’ll have another bash.

Actually, I should point out that I’m pretty sure this picture wasn’t photographed during the 2012 Olympics and was probably taken in Sweden (the clue is in Goteberg on his kit) which is the country where they wear funny hats and clogs and talk in strange voices – except for Abba who sing in high pitched harmony but who also, by strange coincidence, wear Lycra. Anyway, this confusion made identifying the athlete more difficult and despite my inserting some descriptions of the athlete into Google I’ve come up with nothing – which is not unusual for a woman I suppose but, as you can imagine, incredibly frustrating. Humph.

You see, what happened was after a few hours  minutes Googling I had a horrible thought: I recalled that the internet police are pretty big on that kind of research and as I have a reputation as a Housewife Extraordinaire to maintain I had to quit. In other words, I stopped researching as I didn’t want to get banged up. Well not by the the internet police anyway.

Hmm. I have a feeling this article may well be the end of my writing career. Although how it can end before its begun I don’t know – it’s a bit like premature ejaculation, I suppose.

Right then, in order to complete this task I shall have to study the photo in depth in order to come up with some ideas.

Hmm, nothing is coming easy to me. I need to focus which is difficult for me as many of you will know I have a tendency to go off on obscure tangents. I need to do something to help me focus. Hmm..let me see. Let’s try this:

I’m definitely focusing now.

Okay, that helped.  Now I’ve got a first thought:

Tom Daley, even in those itsy bitsy swim shorts, is still a boy really isn’t he?

Okay, so I suspect some of you don’t recall Our Tom. He’s the Team GB mascot really – small and cute and he won a bronze medal in the diving. Apparently Cheryl Cole fancies him – she obviously didn’t eye up some of the other talent because let’s face it if there was a choice between a date  between Our Tom or the fella in the picture I know who I’d chose.

Now I know that you ladies, and possibly some gentlemen, across the world (I’m so PC these days it’s untrue – *spits into bucket*) will be saying that’s unfair to Our Tom and how lovely our English gents are opening doors for you, throwing their coats on the pavement so you don’t have to step in puddles and talking in that wonderful aristocratic accent. However, please remember not all Englishmen are like that. Some of them look like this;

The lovely Boris, as always, having a good hair day. It’s hard to believe he became Mayor of London. But, then again, maybe not when you consider Bush Junior became President and Tom Cruise is a big movie star. Life is full of strange quirks. Picture courtesy of someone mad enough to take it – probably on self timer then.

So that was Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London. You may have seen him waving the GB flag at the Olympic closing ceremony. Usually, he’s adjusting his underpants.

To be fair to Our Tom he does seem a lovely young gentlemen and is dashingly handsome as well – but he’s only 18 years old and at that age  a boy has only just learnt to undo and zip up his flies. And some of them can’t even do that properly – well not according to Mr T. And I should know as I’ve seen the evidence.

Tom in 2008 aged 14. He looks even cuter now. They’ll probably make an Action Man of him – or possibly a Steiff bear. I’ll probably get one then and keep it under my duvet at night.  Picture courtesy of Wikipedia.

Okay, so back to the main photo. Well I love the green and red Lycra suit but I’m kinda of wondering if the athlete gets uncomfortable how does he adjust himself discreetly? It’s not like he’s a cricketer with those baggy white trousers where basically you can hold a tea party in them and no one would notice. There just isn’t any room for manoeuvre in that Lycra. Perhaps when he runs he gets friction burns?

I’ve been a bit presumptuous. The athlete may not even be a runner. He might be a triple jumper or more likely – a pole vaulter. I guess it would be handy to carry your own pole around like that. It might even save on excess baggage charges at the airports. Yes, I think he’s more likely to be a pole vaulter; I certainly don’t think he’s a hurdler which could be a little dangerous. Still, I suppose if he clipped the hurdles and crashed to floor and knocked himself out there would be more than enough volunteers to give him the kiss of life.

Okay, so the thoughts are coming faster now but the one that really sticks in my mind is this…

If this is what an anonymous Portuguese athlete looks like fired up before a race – what the hell does Usain Bolt look like when he gets excited?

I think I’m going to pass out just thinking about it.

God, I wish I lived in Jamaica. I wonder if Mr T would fall for the old line about visiting relatives next summer? Probably not. I think he’s noticed I’m white. Still, maybe I haven’t told him about my old uncle, Winston. We were really close back in the days before Mr T. Me and Old Uncle Winnie did fishing, smoking, reminiscing in rocking chairs, playing the banjo – that kind of stuff.  I hear he’s not well and needs to see me before he goes to meet his maker….

So somehow I’ve managed to get onto Usain Bolt who, as well as being a magnificent specimen of manhood, is also a pretty good runner. A bit like me. I can run really fast when I have to – sometimes that’s after I’ve spent too much time “researching” on the internet, at other times it’s when I’ve had extra hot curry but mostly it’s on school sports days – I like to be first in the queue for the barbecue.

I wonder if Usain will run in the next Olympics? I hope so. I’ve just filled out my application form to become one of those officials who stand behind the runners and look after their baskets of clothes. Finally, I think I have found the perfect job for me as those baskets are just like shopping baskets and I know everything there is to know about shopping baskets. If I became an Olympic official I could get to look after Usain’s undies and eye up his arse.

What could be more perfect?

Apart from a trip to Jamaica of course.