The Great Yorkshire Slug more like. The town is bastard gridlocked with coaches, cars, pick-ups and all manner of stationary modes of transport. All queueing up in the rain to get into the showground, even though the Farmer's Guardian are reporting on twitter that the car parks were already full at 9.30am. It looks like this year's event has been organised with the customary lack of panache and forethought by Harrogate Bastard Council. I vomit on Harrogate Bastard Council and their constant roadworks, and queues and rival bus companies running competing with each other on the same routes, under the same timetables, carrying two people each in from Wetherby every morning. Kiss my winnet-encrusted arse Harrogate Bastard Council. You are this week's clear winner of a polished pooh on a plinth.

You can always rely on a "Sweaty Sock" to let you down can't you? Much the same as the England football team. Mind you, at least the England football team do get to the finals of major tournaments. Finals, not the final, that would be just too bizarre. The thing that bamboozled me a bit about Murray was that he did everything totally the wrong way round. Winning the first set, going close in the second, then rapidly capitulating after he slipped on a carelessly discarded banana skin. If he'd actually read the Jock Sportsmanship Manual he'd have discovered that it reads like this: 1) get miles behind right from the start, losing 5-0 to Honduras is a good beginning. 2) sneak a streaky 1-1 draw against someone like the Faroe Islands or Lichtenstein with a flukey deflection in injury time. 3) Now you need to beat Brazil 15-0 to get through. Against all the odds you are 14-0 up with 15 minutes to go. You then have a hotly disputed clear penalty disallowed, as the ref w