doris is going for gold in the pie and mash eating contest, though i have warned that even lycra has a stretch limit (doesn't it?).
kev the chauffeur thinks he's in with a chance in the roll your own fag event.
i've got a bad leg but still think i can beat paula radcliffe in the marathon.  i did ask if she'd like to forget beijing and team up with me for the three legged race, but she declined.

meanwhile, our track and field contestants are limbering up with a pub fight tonight.
flossie is taking stimulants in an attempt to regain her crown as margarita and curry champion.

i'm practising for the opening ceremony.
i have to fire a raw sausage into a barbecue from 25 paces to light the eternal flame.
but i have a contingency plan which involves the use of kev the chauffeur's zippo and a gallon of paraffin.

you might want to pop round to watch the fun and stay on for the first event:  the dope test, in which we ask tough questions of the island's village idiots and invite the winner to walk off the cliff backwards.

now i must go.
i have to polish my medals.