Nice one, Sam. You're right about Tiger, I reckon. And you will all be overjoyed to hear I have rejigged my own set of prophecies. I was going to kill off Boris but fivefootone (bless her) found him funny so he stays in.
Forward Thinking
Winter – polar bears are stalking through the streets of Aberdeen.
Scottish Terror blames the English, firebombs Windsor, shoots the Queen.
Her Britannic Majesty restored, our second Good Queen Bess
Leads invading English armies to the walls of Inverness.
Spring – the Caledonian chancer, Brown with all his pirate crew,
Rogues and fools and tarts and gangsters, staggers to his Waterloo.
Rampant UKIP sweeps the country, vows to ban all minarets,
Then to halve the hellish tax on petrol, booze and cigarettes.
Summer – and the doughty English, in their raincoats and galoshes,
Vote to shun the Evil Empire of the Frenchies and the Boches.
At the Oval, an XI of our skilled and stalwart sons
Whacks the Pakistani tourists, wins by seven hundred runs.
Autumn – see our caped crusader, Boris Johnson on his bike,
Rescue four and twenty virgins from a London Spud-U-Like.
Then this Mighty London Mayor, connoisseur of wit and drama,
Flogs the Twenty-Twelve Olympics off to President Obama.
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Threaded Mode
