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Hello ladies and gentlemen and welcome to Athletic Omens with me Andrew Dawson.

I hope today finds you well rested and without any imminent need for surgery.

Imagine if you will that you are relaxing on the banks of the beautiful river Y in

herifiture, the sun shining through the leaves of the old oak tree that you are laid against.

The only sounds of the occasional fluttering of a mallard's wings and the gentle lapping of the

water against the bank. Then suddenly you see a fisherman approaching, a very old short fat bloke

breathing heavily and limping. His massive nose dripping mucus onto his dirty green combat jacket.

He stands beside you and casts his line into the water. You notice a large brown wet stain on

the seat of his tracksuit bottom. There's an itch that's with his arthritic fingers.

Ladies and gentlemen please welcome my co-host Mr. Bob Mortimer.

A Barbie Barbie should have brought a party, a Robert Robert,

pants full of tougher yogurt. I'll miss them not an air. Could you be any older?

Fat shot another, the pound land James Corden.

Wow welcome a long bob to this episode of a fletticomence.

I think that fisherman was me. Was it? I'd prefer not to say it.

I would want you to fall out with me. Nice to say you haven't lost any weight then, never mind.

And you know you can always see me top off. Well have you got very withered legs?

...