There Be Dragons

i demand that We get the World Cup. It would be Ace, Better in fact, it would be a Total Fucking Shambles. i'm not English, you understand, i'm Welsh. i do know that this is the Tippety-Toppety End of Professional Sport, yes- nothing else would distract David Beckham from his Real Job of flogging Manscara to the Japanese in order to try and win over Sepp Blatter with his Collection of Comedy Tattoos. And i do realise that the Welsh never qualify- not a Disadvantage, look how the Jolly Maltese love Eurovision. You're imagining the Cream of the Soccer Elite swanking their Shiny Ladies afore a Hello-Courting Series of London Landmarks, aren't you? Dull, ITV-Titillating Corporate Tedium.   Especially compared to my proposal, which is to hold the Whole Shebang on Welshpool Show Ground, up past Morrisons, take a right, park up on the top of the field . Catering:  Spar, mainly bagettes; drinks later in the Angel (unless it's shut down again, as during the entire chart career of Nik Kershaw );plastic glasses only; last one into Moltos, formerly Images, has to drink the Bitter . Sporting Village: tough, spread between Hidden Valley Caravan Park and Lee Bock's mum's settee probably. Wags will have to bunk down at the Royal Oak, where there are at least Soap Dispensers in the Ladies, and, occasionally, Soap. Sponsorship split between Mike the Gas and Dick the Milk (Wayne Rooney only- oh YOU wouldn't have resisted). If the Poppettes need Freebies, there's always that maroon lingerie display that's been startling passers-by from the display window of Janeeva for the last 18 months. If we can make the Booze Tent a Drive-Thru,  i'm pretty sure we can bring off an opening ceremony of Agricultural Implements and Vehicles unmatchable elsewhere in Powys.  O go on, it'll be a laugh- remember how much all that Pro-Plus and Redbull cost you during the last World Cup. Lembit isn't coming, no.  I promise on His Life. Excellent,  I'll book the Bouncy Castle. See you there.