I have been gracefully coming to terms with the absolutely shocking selection for the Lions. How have I not been selected? What sort of sheep-addled Kiwi halfwit would possibly think about taking a touring side to Australia without the facility for DOMINATION? Particularly one based on bloody Wales who lost, lest we forget, 8 on the bounce against the shackle draggers. Anyway, I wasn’t overly worried, as there’s an England tour to Argentina on the cards. I hear they’re making noises about the Falklands again, so I’m surely absolutely necessary, as what’s the point of going to war and not taking your biggest GUNS?
So, I’ve been mostly relaxed about things. I even managed to squeeze in a few special appearances on the likes of Question of Sport (spreading WORLD CLASS BANTER™ to a worldwide audience) and promote HADES my new totally legal and tested on international sportsmen (well, me) supplement. You want to be ripped to hell? Well get HADES, for GUNS that would make Satan shit his thermal underwear. The only slight downside is that you have to administer it rectally, but these are the sacrifices that simply have to be made.
Anyway, I’m relaxing in the hot tub when I get a phone call from my agent. It appears, inexplicably, that the fucking PE teacher has omitted me from the England squad. I took this with my usual grace and sanguinity (HE’S DONE FUCKING WHAT?) but really, this is a most unexpected turn up for the books.
Still, what most don’t know is that I’m actually, er, injured. No I wasn’t dropped or even “rested” like Toby Jug Ears, but I am in fact nursing a serious injury that would prevent me from being my usual DOMINANT self.
What happened, you see, was that I was in the weight room when I received the news that I was going to be on the BBC. I jumped and ran to call my mum, but unfortunately, I had forgotten to unshackle myself from the machine. My strength is such that I made it a few steps before pulling the entire apparatus and most of the building down on top of myself.
For most people, this would be a bit of a problem, but I was holding the entire wall up with one hand, while manfully untangling myself from the equipment. During this epic battle between HASK and machine, I managed to stub my right toe. What nobody knows is that this is one of only two parts of my body that isn’t massively developed. I am unfortunate and do not have toes of steel.
So, I saw the physio, and he suggested I take the summer off to recuperate, or at least until my bruised toe is fixed. You can’t rush these sort of injuries, and I’m risking serious long term damage by making a comeback a bit early. I thought it would be better safe than sorry and put in a call to the PE teacher to tell him that I wouldn’t be available. I need not tell you that he was simply inconsolable at this news, and cried like a little girl.
It took me a few hours to calm him down, and he did take my assurance that it wasn’t him but me that was to blame.
I feel terrible about leaving the guys in the lurch like this, but really, it’s for the good of my career and I have a number of crucial sponsors’ events that I simply cannot miss. I’m not willing to risk both my health and THE BIG BRAND when I have a severely bruised tootsie.
Those rumours you may have heard about me crying at night? Utterly fabricated. Sure, occasionally the pain from my injured paw may overcome me, but I never do more than weep a single manly tear. Anything else is an outright falsification.
So, good luck England, and bring me back a side of beef.
PS- as a wise man once said when it comes to England, there are still many more days of failure ahead, whole seasons of failure, things will go terribly wrong, you will have huge disappointments, but you have to prepare for that, you have to expect it and be resolute and follow your own path.
So have no doubt that I’ll return. I’ll be back like a bad kebab the morning after a piss up. You just see if I don’t.