Sandwiches Corner

The summer’s most interminable transfer saga has taken a shocking new twist just days before the transfer window slams shut until January, with the news that Cristiano Ronaldo is to get his move away from Manchester United after all – although it may not perhaps be the ‘dream’ switch he had hoped for.

Whilst participating in an empty, vacuous photo-opportunity arranged by his handlers in poverty stricken Guatemala in an attempt to convince the Portuguese virtuoso’s merchandise hoovering public that he’s not quite the slavering greed-merchant he so patently is, Ronaldo’s trusted agent and close friend Juan-Pablo Handwash had to break the surprising news that the English champions had decided to cash in on the want-away winger by offloading him to Deportivo Impetigo, regional champions in Guatemala’s premier Leprosy League, played out between 20 neighbouring village teams, and known as one of the world’s toughest and most demanding competitions.

With a colossal fee funded by the national government’s handing over the entire nation’s annual GDP in order to bring a bit of much-needed glamour into their peoples’ lives, the player’s wages will be subsidised by the introduction of a new ‘Stepover Tax’, in which every leg shimmy performed by the starlet will require a local family to give one of their children into slavery, stitching together £45 replica jerseys at an enormous sweatshop churning out Ron-related cobblers to the masses.

Boarding a luxury private jet bound for Rio, Ronaldo’s team of advisors seemed as bemused as anyone at the unexpected turn of events, or at least, they were all smiling very widely. Even whilst being weighed down by innumerable bulging suitcases of cash, they were kind enough to share with Sandwiches Corner the exclusive information that part of the megadeal involved the construction of an enormous 3G base station so that Ronaldo could use his diamond encrusted iPhone to get in touch with former mentor Alex Ferguson for tactical advice, and to plead between sobs for a return to Old Trafford, even when the team are playing away from home. However, in a desperate telegram to our sports correspondent, Ronaldo has claimed there were critical problems with the transmission equipment, as several ‘confidential’ calls to the fiery Scot had returned only the sound of roaring laughter and whisky bottles being knocked over.

How do you improve an elephant? Why, with an extra trunk of course.

Mask, in paper, crayon and glue. © The Artist

It worked for this happy customer - why not you? Call now on 0800-111-EXTRA-TRUNK, and a representative of Sandwiches Corner Pachydermical Cosmetic Surgery will put you on hold to the sounds of Geoff Love and his Orchestra, performing favourite hits from the repertoire of Girls Aloud until the end of time itself. Satisfaction guaranteed.

So Slipknot were wrong after all. Particularly about the cd-buying ones who paid for their solid gold mansions, faberge egg collections and (probably) chocolate golf courses.

In the space of a single week, two events occurred in which those involved had no personal gain to be made form helping me out but did so nonetheless - all the more astonishing when you consider my general demeanour is even often of somebody who’d sooner slice their tongue out with a rusty breadknife than make pleasant how d’ya do’s with random strangers..

First, a very helpful train inspector, upon enduring me bemoaning the impossilibility of getting to a ticket booth to acquire a Photocard (necessary to purchase the more economical travelcard for my 6 trains a day - yes, 6 - journey to and from capitalist wage slavery etc etc) due to the fact that, in a rare instance of rail serendipity, every train service on my journey connects within microseconds of each other, arranged for the person on shift the next morning to identify me (presumably by my charming aura of misery and despair), and provide the necessary sticky bits, numbers etc. so that I might get the bit of card required and thus save me about £100 a month.

She didn’t need to bother, especially as I was moody with it when I asked why she couldn’t just give me cheap ticket, and I felt like a real dick the next day when her similarly helpful colleague told me she’d made the effort to help me out. Truly, I am sometimes an arsehole.

In Tesco, admittedly a venue guaranteed to coax the curmudgeon out of even the sunniest demeanour, a middle-aged tourist couple on holiday shouted at me for maybe 5 minutes at the checkout before my natural reflex to just ignore anyone trying to talk to me in public buckled, and I learnt they were were merely trying to offer me their ‘Clubcard’ points gained from their copious amounts of holiday shopping, as they wouldn’t be able to use them back home.

So, to Ted and Mavis from Sunderland and all other such generous souls, I say ‘Cheers!’, as I down the first of my Clubcard-funded bottles of Tesco own brand vodka on my many trains to work.

(Note to self - Be nice to random stranger tomorrow. Expect apprehension, bewilderment, possible screaming for help).