In which I manage to ensure that I will never get a US visa, and not be invited to the 2012 Games.

In which Scurra bangs on about topics he has covered before in dull and boring ways. If you wish to read a rehash of his views on patriotism and the bourgeoisie, then read on.

It’s fucking started already. No sooner has Boris been handed the Olympic flag than he starts to glorify Britain and London. I would have stuck it up Moynihan’s arse, given the opportunity. Let me make it clear that I do not begrudge the successes at the recent games of British competitors, even those who competed in sports that I would not watch even if the alternative was to watch “An audience with Cannon and Ball”. It’s just that I don’t see any difference between their achievements and those of competitors from any place else (using the American form there to illustrate my internationalism). I pretty much only watched the running. There has been too much cricket, rugby and soccer on other channels for me to devote much time to it. The outstanding achievements at this year’s games were those of Mr Bolt from Jamaica. Virtually unbelievable. Of course, the British rightly can claim credit for this, having dragged his ancestors in chains across the ocean to conditions that seem more favourable for developing prowess in competitive sprinting. So well done, whatshisbollocks in the five a side carrot tossing, I applaud your gold medal. But “Team GB”? Shove it. “We” did not do well. I was not competing. Neither did I assist in any training or other supporting activity. The £2 that I spent on a lottery ticket in 2001 might have found its way to financing the underwater scrabble team, but that’s about the lot. The nice, cuddly, loving part of me hopes that the next games is a success, for the sake of all of the competitors, but if the price of that is to have to award gold medals to Bozza and his thick mates for synchronised smugness, then I hope all of the buildings collapse, and it rains for the entire fortnight, and for the preceding month. See Bozza in action at dear Raincoaster’s page.

Now, where was I? Yes, that’s right, Greensburg. I have eschewed continued use of American form, and avoided calling it “Greensburg, Kansas” because that is something else that annoys me. “Rome, Italy” for example, not that the average citizen of the world’s foremost superpower has a fucking clue where Italy is. Greensburg is the subject of a series on one of the Discovery channels at the moment. Greensburg was destroyed by a tornado, and the fine citizens have decided to rebuild it to the highest ecological standards. You would have thought that this would be a cause that would warm my heart and renew my faith in the basic goodness of humanity, but, alas, the series so far (and I have only seen the first two programmes) has done nothing but reinforce my prejudices against white middle class culture, and I use that ultimate word advisedly. Firstly, having watched an hour and half or so of footage, I have not seen any black citizens. (I think I did notice one person who looked suspiciously brown.) I don’t know why this is. My bias tends to lead me to believe that apartheid is alive and well in the mid-west. The inhabitants are all, of course, church going and Jesus praising. Ending their council meetings with a prayer and thanking God for his help, they overlook the possibility that if the supreme deity interfered in any way to aid them in their daily lives, then he might have interrupted his game of darts to stop the fucking tornado in the first place. I am sorry to admit that I also harbour a very strong desire to physically harm one of the protagonists in particular. He is a teenage boy who is interviewed at length throughout. I have to resort to American usage again to describe him. He sits with a huge shit eating grin on his face, spouting utter bullshit. As a treehugging pinko liberal I am not proud of my belief that anyone who harms children should be locked away for ever, and neither am I proud of my desire to slap this young man repeatedly around the face. May God forgive me, if he can ever drag himself away from the Kansas godbotherers. I have read what I have written, and can unearth no clues therein to see why these people irritate me so much. I hope that they manage to overcome the enormous difficulties that they face in sticking to excellent principles and manage to construct a green Greensburg, and thereby encourage others to follow suit. If, however, you juxtapose the life and values of these Americans with the lives of those portrayed in dramas such as “The Wire” (and yes, I know it is fiction you silly arse), you will perhaps understand why the phrase “Land of the Free” makes me want to vomit.