On the crest of a slump

Sometimes its very, very difficult being an elite athlete.

You see, because I am one of the leading lights in the sport, I have to ration my time very precisely so that all my sporting priorities are placed very firmly where they should be - and this sometimes causes me some difficulties when people say to me 'Hey Ron, why the big silence?'.

And without being patronising, the fact of the matter is that if I spent all day writing replies to fan letters, jotting down my thoughts on this, that and the bally other, sorting out begging letters (though I don't send many these days) then I'd have very little time left for the proper things in life. I mean sometimes its a heck of a job for Ernie and I to try and slip away for a hard earned tube - sometimes we can only get a couple of hours a day.

So the next time you start whingeing and having a go at me for not doing my Internet thing - just remember that, OK? And if that appears heartless and cruel well then you'll just have to deal with it won't you?

You may by now sense that your man here isn't in the best frames of mind - and you know what? You're dead right. Why? I'll flippin' tell you why.

I have given my all for this great country of ours. I've made sacrifices - some of them have cost me money too, I can tell you; I've shed blood, sweat and other body fluids for Queen, Country and Cameron; I've worn my vest and underpants with pride; and you know what? In most cases I've done it without demanding anything back in return (apart from a few exes for me and Ernie and the van).

I've travelled the globe competing on behalf of this great country of ours - sometimes I've even embraced the Welsh in my quest to see Great Britain reach the peak of sporting number one-ness. And if I'd have known now what I knew then, you know what? I might not have bothered. Remember - when I first started running it was just so I could hear that heavy breathing stuff again. I had no great ambitions for myself in this sport other than maybe to appear at an Olympic Games. My mind often drifts. And sometimes it drifts back to those days all those years ago when I first started puinding the pavements. There was nothing like getting up at 5 in the morning, doing a quick six miler and then jumping into an ice bath. Indeed, there is still nothing like it. That's why I've never done it.

But what have all these achievements and sacrifices got me? Nowt is the short answer. Well nowt but a kick in the teeth with a size 10 Timpson.

Because today I have just received my Olympic notifications. Not,as you would expect, my number, safety pins, baggage label, van parking instructions etc Nope - I've received ... an invitation to apply for tickets!!

Let me just run that by you again so that it sinks in.

After all these years of toil and sweat ... they have sent me an invitation to apply for tickets. That is tickets - to buy. Tickets ... to watch. I am shattered, I don't mind confiding in you. And do you know what? I don't even know if I have the mental thingy to go on.

To add insult to perjury, they're not even VIP tickets. Plus - and here's the rub. They are expecting me to pay!! What planet do these people live on?? Do they send a letter to Ces Fibreglass asking him if he wants to buy a ticket to watch Manchester United win the Premiership? Do they send a letter to Bobby Davro asking him if he wants to buy a ticket to watch Britain's Got Talent? I don't think so, do you? So, what's going on your Lord Coeship?

(Just an observation by the way, I don't understand why they're selling Olympic tickets anyway - they might as well just give them to blokes from Liverpool and save a lot of messing about - they always end up with them anyway).

Well you're hearing this here now first - and this includes you Lord Coe. If you think that this kiddie here is going to buy tickets to watch a bunch of second rate athletes, who can't hold a candle to me, puff and pant their way round and round a running track - then think again. And another thing Coe-ey - you have exactly one week (well, OK a week and a bit because its a bank holiday) to get my number and pins in an envelope and round here to Ron Towers. Pronto you understand?

And you know what happens if I don't get them?

You can stick your Olympics up your Oxo Tower mate - and I'll go to a country that does want me. Yes, I mean exactly that. If Jack Charlton can pretend to be another country person - like an Irish man then so can I. So, from May 1st - I will become a proud member of Burkino Faso's Olympic Marathon Squad.

Ernie - get the paint ready. the van might need a makeover.

Keep on tapering

Ron.