Good evening, and first, an appeal for witnesses.
Were you, or anyone you know, in the vicinity of Piccadilly Circus the week before Christmas? If you were, you may have seen a thrusting City type in his mid-thirties, the worse for wear after an office party, running for a taxi. Witnesses may have noticed this young man, a successful executive at a large Swiss bank, made a final lunge for the cab just as it was about to draw away into the maelstrom of London’s traffic on a busy winter’s evening.
His head spinning from a mix of industrial-grade vodka-based punch and cooking lager, and legs going in opposite directions, he went down like Ruud van Nistelrooy in front of the referee at Old Trafford. Instead of getting Patrick Vieira sent off, all he got was a broken arm, leaving him unable to perform such routine tasks as drive his car, tie his laces or wipe his arse* without the aid of a third party. A tragic, tragic accident indeed.
So, if you were witness to this unfortunate mishap, please get in contact with this office immediately and tell us how funny it was. You could win a cash reward**. We're not in the business of laughing at those less fortunate than ourselves, but in this instance we'll make an exception.
Keep ‘em peeled.
* No change there, then.
**Or perhaps not. What do you think I am, some kind of charity?