What next for Wiggins?

Bradley Wiggins has made history by becoming the first Brit to win the Tour de France. As his team manager David Brailsford pointed out, it's a feat no one can ever achieve again. There can only be one 'first ever'.

The importance of Brailsford's guidance to Wiggins history-making trajectory is widely acknowledged. What has the cycling guru got in store next for Wiggins? The clue may lie in a recent property deal in the rural Indian countryside where Team Sky have quietly purchased training facilities. They lie in the middle of a dry, flat landscape. No decent roads or mountains nearby. Not the right location for a cycling stable. The perfect site for a kabaddi training centre. Brailsford's thinking seems clear: Wiggins can never be the first Brit to win the Tour again, but he and the Sky Team can be the first British team to win the Kabaddi World Cup.

Kabaddi is a Tamil word, apparently loosely meaning 'holding hands'. Two teams of seven face each other in what looks like a miniature tennis court with the net removed. The aim of the game is to 'raid' your opponents' side of the court, touching as many of the opposition as possible without being caught. You shout 'kabaddi' all the time while you are doing this. If a player is caught then they are out of the game.

Wiggins is clearly a supreme athlete and should have every chance of becoming the preeminent figure of the Kabaddi world. He's got the entire Asian subcontinent to take on, but once you've managed to cycle all the way round France with a hundred and fifty madmen on your tail and not get caught, it should be doable.

Terry and Ferdinand to go on tour

Everyone had been expecting a court case today at John Terry's court case into whether or not he is a racist. Instead they were treated to a preview of an original two man show he and Anton have been working on.

Terry read out the opening lines of the play in court today to a rapt audience. 'Anton starts by saying to me 'Are you calling me a black cunt?' and then I says to him, sarcastically, 'You're a black cunt.'

An explosive opening. Without doubt the first lines of a surrealist masterpiece, there's no way it could be mistaken for a defence statement. The themes seem clear. By beginning the conversation with a question that seemingly picks up in the middle of a conversation that has never happened, the pair are making a daring assault on the primacy of cause and effect. That second sentence turns the groundless question into a stonewall fact. It becomes impossible to say who actually called Anton a 'black cunt', a telling comment on how the self may, or may not be, constructed through others. The play continues in this vein. Throughout, the provocative double-act force the viewer to question their understanding of the English language as they hurl abuse at each other in a dialogue that ignores all grammatical norms.

Critics have been quick to hail it as the most challenging piece of surreal theatre to emerge for a century. Terry's life as a mindless football thug is now being reinterpreted as perhaps the definitive statement on the role of the artist in the twenty-first century.

Once this opening run at the Old Bailey is complete the tour will be heading around the country. Get ready to have your grasp of reality completely undermined by this anarchic pair of thinkers.

Future netspeak: cybrid communication?

Trying to research a word, ridonkulous, online yesterday and I found myself diving deeper and deeper into Google, then clicking through from one page to another for hours and hours before I reached a link to a Youtube video. It had had no hits.

The video was by an incredibly beautiful lady with a high-pitched, strangely modulating Russian accent. She was explaining what the 'ridonkulous' meant and where it had come from. There was something unsettling about what I was watching. The woman seemed unreal, ethereal. Her electric blue eyes were like monitors, there were sudden jumps of an inch or two in her movements as she spoke. The language she was using was strange to me.

I have no record of the link, I'll come to why, but what she said was something along these lines:

Dear pupils,

So, you want to know what the ex-logos ridonkulous means? That's easy, login. This was an early twenty-first century blended word that meant something truly ridiculous. It came from mixing 'ridiculous' with 'donkey'. That's a ridiculous blend to make as there's no logic behind it I know, that is why it was so fitting you see? Some people have wrongly attributed the word to early cyberpukes, but in-fact it probably came from slow time TV culture.

So that's it, 'ridonkulous', I hope this has lubricated your understanding pupils. Goodbye.'

And then she disappeared. Right in front of my eyes while I was watching. She disappeared into the colours of lightening but at a speed more like a thunderclap so that bits of her hung around for half a second more than others before she had completely vanished. My browser then crashed and when I restarted it the web history had completely and utterly gone.

I've tried for hours to retrace my steps and find the video again but I can't. I know it's foolish, but I have this firm belief that she was from the future, that the video had, somehow, been sent from the future. The internet's a weird place. A lot of it's beamed through satellites and couple that with the possibilities of quantum computing and who knows. Maybe an anomaly like this could happen where a superadvanced computer somehow sends information back through time along the datastream.

After watching this being who oozed sensuality, probably to keep the attention of future male learners (it's the way we're heading), I was filled with a burning desire to know one thing: is that really how people will speak in the future? I thought it would be more exciting.

Murray sounds death knell for humanity

The end of the world is now more likely than not thanks to Andy Murray, British tennis ace. That was this evening's shock announcement from the Royal Society of Bibliomancers. While the rest of the country was on cloud nine, they were driving furiously towards their mountain cave bolthole, leaving nothing but this ominous press release:

"We, the Royal Society of Bibliomancers, appointed in the year 1012 to foretell of the coming of the end to the people of the land of Britain, believe that the end is nigh. We know you will probably not regard this press release with the seriousness they would have in the eleventh century but if anything that supports our claim. This is the first time in a thousand years the Bibliomancers have had a press release to make. We don't shit about, this is it.

Borne out of the studying of ancient mystical lore and an application of lost numerological equations to certain texts, the Bibliomancers have long held in their possession this prediction of the end of the world.

'Ye end finalle ande complete, shalle falle on thee lyk ane thunderclappe quhen these three thyngs shall passe: that which gives the universe masse shall be found, ane monthis rayne shalt falle in a day, ane Briton shalt wyn Wimbledon.'

It seems fairly black and white to us, you couldn't make this stuff up. The moment of eschatological verification is upon us. You have to admit it makes sense. It's been a portentous week to say the least. Interestingly, the ancient Bibliomancers also uncovered that the dinosaurs extinction was similarly presaged. A dinosaur from the ancient supercontinet of Gondwana won Wimbledon for the first time since the beginning of time. Two days later a giant meteorite, some say shaped as a tennis ball, landed.

Your call really, but we're off to the hills."

After the linguists accuracy earlier in the week over the God particle debate, it seems unwise to ignore the Bibliomancers at the end of it.

Conservatives Bring Back Billy Bunter Britain

Michael Gove today announced an inquiry into the state of school meals, or as he likes to call them 'tuck'. It forms part of the Conservative government's manifesto pledge to 'bring back the language of Billy Bunter Britain'.

The Conservatives have long held that the major problem with Britain was that people no longer say 'rotter', 'blimey', 'not on' and the like. Their plan to rectify this has been in place for years and is surprisingly subtle. Rather than using the language themselves, and being accused of elitism, they would set about establishing personae that warranted no other language to describe them.

Before their general election victory the talisman of this drive was obviously Boris Johnson. Using the public platform of London mayor he acted as a man who could only be described using some almost defunct words from the heyday of the English chaps. He was at one moment a 'blabbering idiot', at the next a 'nincompoop', a 'berk on a bicycle', then a 'mumbling buffoon' and 'complete and utter shambles'.

Since gaining power the momentum behind this subliminal vocabulary shift has increased. David Cameron has done his best to act a 'toff' on all occasions, marking himself out also as a 'sniveling creep' with his texts to Rebecca Brookes. He has made his cabinet ministers act as warped versions of prep school 'fags'. In the original version, a senior boy's 'fag' would notoriously often have to go and sit on and the (then outdoors) lavatory seats until they were warm enough for his genteel buttocks. Cameron's take on this has been to turn his cabinet ministers into reverse 'fags', making them sit in all the political hot seats, only stepping in himself once things have cooled down. However, Cameron has sadly strayed too far into the line of also being aptly described as an 'all round douchebag' and a 'bit of a cunt' for his efforts to be deemed a complete success.

The most valuable contribution to the cause has come from Michael Gove. Not important enough to be called a cunt yet not worthy of being called anything much else in common parlance, he has forced people to turn to old school, prep school, vocabulary. His face screams, 'I am a twerp', his voice proclaims proudly 'I'm a wally'. When he ordered up thousands of Bibles for schools then was scolded by Cameron for wasting public money and forced to leave them in a warehouse in India, the only word for it was 'fanny'. He consistently epitomizes the phrase 'sticking your oar in'. Today's otherwise inexplicable gesture of focusing on school dinners amongst all else that is wrong with the country can only be a valiant attempt to get the word 'tuck' back in the public discourse. We take our hats off to you Michael, you are a true linguistic revivalist and a complete and utter 'tucker'.

Stonehenge launches fashion week

Every fashion reporter knows that only one thing is certain in their fast paced world: fashions return. This summer it's the turn of the druids to show us how it's done with the launch of the first ever Stonehenge Fashion Week. Left out in the cold for over a millenium, these men from the dark ages have given us a timely reminder that a flowing beard and a bleeding ram's skull can still give real summer chic to any costume.

Innovative from the start, the Stonehenge Fashion Week dispensed with the catwalk format and heroine cheeked models. Instead Britain's remaining druids displayed their summer wardrobes in a gorsedd ceremony [traditional ceremony of bards and druids held before a festival (see photo above)].

What stood out were the bold, vibrant tones and simple use of fabrics. One gnarled old man wore a particularly fetching tartan brat [short skirt or kilt] that wonderfully complemented his frostbitten blue feet. A noticeable trend was the lighthearted use of sheep shit stains and minor fabric burns from sitting too close to fires. Leine [long shirts] with multi-coloured bars were also prominent while the stereotypical white flowing robe was largely ignored.

Perhaps the highlight of the week was the impressive closing feast. Bulls hide was everywhere to be seen and longswords were also definitely 'in'. If you don't own one already, you're going to need to soon and it's only a matter of time before they appear on the high street. Regal red cloaks abounded, as did tantalizing ensembles of feathered headdresses and six-coloured cloaks. The long curved 'horn of plenty' presented to the best dressed bard of the week made a fantastic accessory, something a little different on the beach from the usual flip flops and aviators.

Shamanistic is going to be hot this summer. If you want to know how to pull it off there's no one better to advise you than Finn McCool "Clothes", whose collection was one of the best in show. 'You should choose you vestments to suit the spirit and nature of your actions. Green blends into nature, red is the colour of blood and sacrifice, the Sun is gold and the Moon is Silver. Ask yourself whether you're going to be focusing on nature or on blood sacrifices that day and dress accordingly.'

God 'particle' discovered at CERN

Scientists at CERN announced today that they had found the Higgs-Boson particle, otherwise known as the 'God particle'. The discovery heralds a major breakthrough in particle physics. It proves another part of the Standard Model to be correct and lays bare, forever, another of the universes deepest secrets. Yet when they found it, the Higgs-Boson was not quite what they had been expecting.

'We were looking for a scatter pattern of subatomic matter that would prove the presence of the Higgs-Boson, we didn't expect to detect the actually particle itself since we had believed that would be impossible.' Said Dorky Pimplekopf, one of the team leaders at CERN. 'So none of us could quite believe it when we saw, or rather heard, the Higgs-Boson itself. It was a very small voice saying '-ness'. It turns out that we were looking for the wrong type of 'particle' all along. What actually underlies and gives weight to all matter is a very small, a subatomic, grammatical particle of the English language: '-ness'.'

When asked what the voice, presumably that of God's written into the very being of the universe, sounded like Dorky answered, 'It's hard to explain. You must understand that our microphones are incredibly sensitive and it is a sound quieter that anything any man, or creature, could ever hear. It was not a man's voice, or a woman's, or a child's. The only thing it reminded me of was when I was a boy and was playing one day at trying to reverse the Schrondinger equation. I had found a small black box and had rammed it down my pet cat's throat, in the hope the box would come out yellow. The sound the cat made as it died was reminiscent of the voice of God I heard today.'

For centuries' the scientific explanation of the world has been moving further away from normal language into the realm of pure mathematics. Now they found themselves confronted with a word, or a piece of a word. The irony has not been lost on linguists around the world. The world Dictionary Editors Union released a statement saying they were not surprised these arrogant scientific bastards had wasted billions of pounds to discover something they had known for years, 'that the answers to life's great problems lie in language and not at the bottom of a Swiss pit.'

Early speculation as to what the discovery means have been rife. With the scientists baffled by a finding that does not compute, interpretation has been sought from linguists. They suggest that it makes a lot of sense that the particle '-ness' would give ultimate mass to all existence. After all, when it is affixed to a word it gives you the essence of that word. The essence of good is goodness and by extension the essence of table might be seen as 'tableness' and life as 'lifeness'.

The linguists have suggested that the next step to understanding the universe, now the God particle has been found, is to work out what the 'God inflection' is. Then we could finally solve the problem of time and relativity by working out whether the universe exists in the past, present, future or, as many suspect, some awful sort of past-continuous.