Oh no, its Thommo

For those of you fortunate enough never to have heard of him, Derek Thompson is a presenter on Channel 4 racing. He is also one of the most loathsome specimens ever to disgrace that discredited channel. I mention him because he has just wrongly called a race and cost some poor betting-in-running hilman hunter a lump of money. That this charmless, unctuous twerp has a job in broadcasting is an indication of how degraded Medialand has become.

He has been on my extensive death list for many years, and never out of the top 10. But you don't have to accept my word for his vileness. In 1995, Thompson was chief witness in a libel case involving, among others, Kieran Fallon, who, Thompson claims, admitted that he stopped horses winning. The judge found in Fallon's favour and Thompson's side had to pay substantial damages. It takes some doing to be exposed as a slimeball by someone as dim as Fallon. What follows is a verbatim account of Lord Justice Morland's summing up;

" ...you have to be satisfied that his account of the conversation is truthful and accurate and that what [Fallon] said amounted to a confession. I feel bound to say that Mr. Thompson's evidence has to be treated with caution, as it is riddled with inconsistencies. You may legitimately ask why would the plaintiff confide career-threatening information to an audio-journalist of limited acquaintance? Furthermore, Thompson is widely disliked in media circles, and justifiably so, as in all my years on the bench I have never encountered such a revolting piece of human garbage as the repellent creature before me. I'd string you up if I could, lowlife scumbag that you are. You ******* worthless, lying, cheating, thieving, verminous ****. Turd. I spit in your general direction. By Jupiter, I hate you Thompson, you gobshite. I'll clean your clock, you screaming bender, come here......"

His Lordship then leapt from the bench screaming "I'll do time for you Thompson" and dived headlong onto the witness, biting furiously as Thommo squealed like a stuck pig. He was only rescued from the enraged octogenarian's crazed Horlicks-fuelled assault by the intervention of his defence counsel, Sir Tinkleberry Snapdriver, QC, who got in a few sly digs himself.

The episode is recounted in more detail in Sir Tinkleberry's recently published autobiography 'Lying for a living', available from all good bookshops, and most bad ones.

By Jupiter indeed, Your Lordship, he really is.

Super System

The world's worst punter was in top form again this week. He seems to have a real aptitude for error. It is so accurate, so profound, it is almost a gift. In fact, he is definitely onto something, and should find a way of marketing it; Lose any excess pounds with The Harley Method. Proof-fooled by its eponymous inventor, Martin Jeremy Harley, it is certain to relieve you of the stresses and strains that come with having too much moolah.

The Harley method seems to go like this; Plug into your Notfair account and gently sing crummy pop songs to yourself, blithely unaware that anyone in proximity has to endure commentary from the 3.37 at Crayford leaking from your computer. When a race is underway, say things like; 'I fancy this'(er... why?) 'its getting up'(promptly falls down); 'he's had it'(no he hasn't); 'he's got a double handful' (a particulary irritating expression used by racing bores. It should only be used if you are grappling with a particularly agreeable pair of ladies funbags). This method has relieved the world's worst of about 25k this year.

There is another system used by an equally deranged sportstrader. It could be called the Dangerous Dickhead method. Here's last night as an example; While guzzling 8 pints of strong continental lager, trade simultaneously on Man Utd.-Barcelona, dog racing from Hove, horse racing from Towcester and Stratford, play poker, and have a French porno channel on in the background.

'1-0', 'hares running', 'they're off', and 'all-in' pop up simultaneously as the the computer screen goes nuclear with activity(accompanied by screams of 'vite vite'). The hapless herbert swallows his fag, pulls his keks up, and tries to make sense of the appallingly convoluted position he finds himself in. Needless to say, the greedy twerp does his conkers on every event, and it serves him right.

Rugby Yawnion

A few observations while sitting here watching the England-Wales kick n clap. Why is it that despite the referee telling everyone what to do(use it, roll away, leave it, offside) there are still so many penalties conceded, which are then converted into an unmerited 3 points? It is a matter of time before the ref scores a try.

Half the game is wasted on crooked scrums. Who gives a flying witch's fart anyway? The pre-scrum instructions 'paw', 'lie down', 'roll over', 'play dead' are particularly absurd.

Forward passes and knocks-on are ignored in a desperate attempt to get some action going. Could be watching the Supperbowl.

You are not allowed to knock someone over. You must 'use your arms'. Why? Might as well play poofball.

What is a ball-carrier? is it a new position? aren't they supposed to do that? is a footballer a ball-kicker?

Hard yards? roly-poly trundles 3 feet and falls over. Not that hard. Same goes for 'big hits'(tackles)and 'intensity'.(intensely boring).   

It must be the only game where you get a standing ovation for kicking the ball off the pitch. The crowd touches the ball more than the players.

If I keep on piling on the suet I might eventually be fat enough to get a game meself. Such is the dismal standard of athleticism of half the players, I don't think rugby union qualifies as a sport at all.

That's better. Turned over to watch Leeds-Hull KR. Nice to have the iron men of the handling code back on our screens. After laughing at Kenneth Williams look-alike Toby Flood, it is a pleasure to watch Leeds' Robert Burrow, the world's toughest midget.