German authorities are coming to terms with the fact that 100 000 English football fans will be travelling to their country next summer. At least 50 000 of them are expected to be drunk and singing songs about World War II. This, they suspect, could lead to problems.

Hosts of previous football championships have employed differing approaches to cope with the ‘over-excited’ English. There’s the ‘beat em all up’ model, whereby all those sporting England football tops are hit with something heavy. The flaw in this approach is that those intent on trouble don’t actually wear England tops. They wear burberry instead. English police have advised that the beatings could be reserved for men wearing Burberry. Blighty can see no problem with this approach.

Optimists point to the Euro 2004 Championships in Portugal as a sign that an ‘inclusive approach’ towards fans, telling them how nice their tattoos are, works. Only one arrest was made during that tournament. There was a large punch up in Algarve, that’s true, but that was just English men enjoying their holiday in their usual inimitable style and had nothing to do with the footie. The problem with using the Portugal experience as an example is that we didn’t fight two World Wars with them during the last century and they don’t monopolise all the towels and deckchairs in the Med.

Fears of a World Cup final between Germany and England closing the tournament in bloody, chaotic fashion abound. This is a possibility as Germany were giving a virtual bye to the World Cup final in Japan so will definitely given a help in hand on home soil. It’s merely a case of Germany v who. Blighty’s outside tip is Togo.

It’s official, British supermarkets are more interested in what the veg on their shelves looks like than they are in its taste. Thousands of tons of unpretty groceries are chucked away every year because it doesn’t resemble the veg on the cover of magazines and on TV cookery shows. Misshapen peppers are discarded like a pregnant supermodel, knobbly carrots spurned like an impotent lover.

And it’s not only size that matters in the world of British veg. Blemishes are a no-no, as is individuality. Every item should be of identical size and appearance, although a baking potato is allowed to differ from a garden pea… for the time being.

A spokesman for one supermarket, who wants to remain anonymous, has told Blighty that some of their veg is actually made of plastic. ‘Well, it looks so much better on the shelves for our customers to walk past on their way to the readymeals section. We don’t actually sell much of it anyway so who cares what it tastes like?’

Shoppers expressed differing views today. Jeane Roughen from Slagworth said that unattractive veg had no place on the shelves. ‘It’s just not nice seeing ugly great potatoes staring back at you. Some of ‘em look like they’ve come out of the ground! Puts you right off your Bird’s Eye Turkey Platter.’ However, Sarah Spiffing from Chalfont St Posh said that she has been on holiday to Italy and that British veg is very poor by comparison. She blames Tony Blair. ‘It’s all style and no substance,’ she said. ‘Typical of this frightful government!’

So, next time you’re in the supermarket looking for a potato to have with your Bernard Matthews Golden Drummers have a thought for the spotty, disfigured one that was rejected.

You know what it’s like. You’re house hunting. You find a place that meets all your requirements. The right area, good view, ample space, no teenagers living next door. But there’s just something not right. A missing piece of the jigsaw. What you really want is a free pig chucked in! Well, that’s what some house developers in Gloucestershire seem to think. They’re giving away a pig with every purchase.

Apparently these pigs are fully house trained. They flush the loo after themselves and even put down the toilet seat. Not only that, they’re cheap to feed. A bag of swill will see them right, and if you haven’t any handy Bernard Matthews Turkey Twizzlers will do. However, if a pig isn’t quite the pet your kids had in mind, instead of keeping it on a rug in front of the fire you can keep it on a farm. Just pick it up when it’s been turned into bacon and sausages. Remember, a pig isn’t just for a house move, it’s for breakfast.

A couple have already taken the developers up on the offer. Mrs Gloria Trotter says that she’d hardly notice the difference between the pig and her husband, Bert. Although, she expects that it will probably have better manners and won’t smell quite so bad in the morning. The RSPCA aren’t too happy with this porky promotion though. They’re worried that the animals will be mistreated by uncaring owners. As opposed to being chucked in a frying pan and eaten with fried tomatoes.

Of course, as soon as one bright spark has a new idea, there’s another one round the corner ready to take it a step further. A company in Somerset are considering offering a herd of cows with their house sales, although it will be exclusive to their four bedroom homes, and there’s talk in Scotland of giving away a free haggis, if they can catch one. For vegetarians, Bellway have suggested a packet of Linda McCartney sausages and a bag of frozen Quorn pieces.

The news media are often faced with a dilemma when two or more big stories compete for attention. Yesterday, for example, as the real impact of Hurricane Katrina came to light, the tragedy only just being comprehended, around 1000 Iraqis were killed in a bizarre stampede caused by rumour. Which is the bigger story? Which is more deserving of being the lead news item? BBC Five Live had no doubt during their hour long lunchtime news. Michael Owen signing for Newcastle United! They took it live, eventually getting around to the breaking Iraqi news after the footballer and chairman had run out of platitudes and the assembled media had exhausted their inane questions at the press conference.

Ask any Geordie and he would have no doubt of the merit of this lead story. In fact, there was nearly a stampede in Newcastle as fans tripped over themselves to get a glimpse of Owen in a Newcastle shirt. Blighty has a lot of time for Newcastle, and its people, but a bit more decorum wouldn’t go amiss. Maybe a trophy would calm things a little. The last time they won anything the players shorts reached below their knees.

No doubt if they do ever win a trophy it will be big enough to consign news of the 50 mile wide asteroid heading towards earth to the ‘news in brief’ slot.

Fourth Test, Trent Bridge

The fourth test began yesterday in promising fashion for the Australians. It was raining. But hopes that they could be rescued by Pommie weather yet again looked unlikely at the end of day two. Their reply to England’s impressive first innings total of 477 stands at 99 for 5 and the forecast is good for the weekend. It’s enough to break a Wallabee’s heart.

Obviously the Aussies aren’t enjoying this series quite as much as other recent ones, taking the piss out of hapless English no longer seeming appropriate. Jason Gillespie is particularly unhappy as he has lost his place due to poor performances and blames English crowds for his loss in form. They call him names apparently, using the kind of language a shrinking Australian violet isn’t familiar with. Perhaps he should take the boundary as an England fielder next time they play at Melbourne to get more accustomed to it. Blighty is sure that now he’s drawn attention to it the English fans will leave him alone.

In an effort to counteract the prospect of nearly five day’s full play, Australian captain Ponting has adopted a strategy of constant field rearrangement. It’s like a kind of musical chairs only without the chairs… or the music. In fact it’s just plain boring. ‘Get on with it Ponting you clueless Aussie!’

As Blighty is currently reading Simon Singh’s book ‘The Code Book: The Science of Secrecy From Ancient Egypt to Quantum Cryptography’ (no, it’s not a snappy title is it, I prefer The Catcher in the Rye myself) today’s post is in code. No not this bit! The bit below, it might not be quantum cryptography, whatever that is, but it won’t be that easy!

Of course, there might well be a mistake in it before Ms Blighty has a chance to check it out. She’s the maths bod, and studied at the same university as Simon Singh in fact. It’s her book, Blighty is more the arty type.

Anyway, today’s message is:

Mwe jwarhg pd wed! Pc mwea qwl dobd lwapvy wa bah mwe qecd b jopnn jpdo doh wsg iamxdwubsbarm? P gpg yhd pd apyod gpgv’d p? :-/

NB Ms Blighty cracked it in about ten minutes. Cubad bach!

If you’re not walking around your garden bumping into prophet bearing tree trunks this weekend (see below), you could well be stumbling across wrinkled old arses belonging to people like Mr and Mrs Pollard of Malmesbury. They have organised a day for people to wander around their garden without any clothes on. They have notified the local Peeping Toms but interest is minimal.

Mrs Pollard is a former model, but before you get excited Blighty should point out that the emphasis is on the word former. As she is now 53 year old no one will pay her to strip off so she’s doing it for free. She says that it took her a while to get her head around the idea of taking her clothes off but after a couple of minutes she came around.

Mr Pollard reckons that people will see it as a Garden of Eden. It is true that the sight of him wearing nothing but a trowel is enough to rot any fruit. He says that ‘People hide their real identity behind clothes.’ Your wrinkled arse may say a lot about you old chap but Blighty can think of better ways of expressing himself!

A visit to Gap seems in order.

Hallelujah it is a miracle. The face of Jesus Christ has appeared in a hawthorn tree in West Sussex. A couple found him in their garden. Usually they would call in the police to get rid of the intruder but on this occasion they called in a pastor instead, who, being as deluded as them, decreed that it was, indeed, a miracle.

Jesus has previously popped up on a piece of toast and there have been numerous sightings on bedroom walls at night, especially when the wind blows the branches around outside. This is the first recorded sighting of him on a hawthorn tree however. You’d think he’d want to keep away from anything remotely thorn connected really. Quite what he’s supposed to be doing there no one knows. Perhaps all the B&Bs in the area were booked up.

So this is what faith is all about. A few grooves in a tree trunk, looking vaguely like a face, elevated into being the sacred image of our saviour. Sewdutt Maunick, the woman who found Jesus looking at her from out of a tree trunk, says, ‘It’s touched my heart and it’s done something for me.’ It’s your head that is touched dear. Lock her up!

Okay, you say, but apart from sitting around in rain and then buggering off home when the sun comes out, what exactly are these ashes about? Well, the Ashes are a series of games played between England and Australia every two years, alternating between the respective countries. Nowadays the Australians usually win them, but we have the last laugh as the trophy remains at Lords cricket ground in London. We could hardly trust the Aussies with it considering their lineage could we!

The Ashes are thus named because the trophy is an urn. But before you get squeamish let me assure you that it doesn’t contain ashes of an actual corpse! Oh no, they are the ashes of Lancashire opener Percy the Peg’s artificial leg, which was inadvertently bowled off by Aussie fast man Mike the Mongrel in 1888. Percy decided the leg was damaged beyond repair so set fire to it at the end of play. The rest is history.

One of the most famous Ashes series came in 1932 in the so-called Bodyline tour. It was thus called because of the Australian bodies that had to be carried from the field of play after fast bowler Harold Larwood had laid them out. England captain Douglas Jardine preferred the name ‘Leg Theory’, the theory being that if you broke the batter’s leg, or any other major limb, it would impede their ability to bat. The main target was ace Aussie batsman Don Bradman, whose secret weapon was the dazzle from his saintly halo that hit the bowler squarely in the eyes. That’s why the English always wore sunglasses when bowling to him.

Bradman survived the bodyline series, but had his batting figures severely restricted and the English team won the series 4-1, much to the Aussie chagrin, who cried foul. Jardine became the pantomime villain to Bradman’s Snow White and was jeered continually. The fact that he wore a girly neckerchief and Harlequin cap, not typical Aussie attire, made him an easy target. His response was to point out that all Australians were an uneducated unruly mob. Jardine was subsequently unsuccessful in his attempt to join the diplomatic core and spent the rest of his life receiving hatemail from Australia. Ironically, Harold Larwood was to emigrate to Australia after retiring although there are no reports of him committing GBH on any Australians after 1932.

There have been dubious tactics used since that infamous series. During the 1970s Yorkshire playboy Geoff Boycott put the Australia bowlers to sleep by hypnotising them with his bat. And in the 1990s Merv Hughes put the English batsmen off by wearing a comedy mustache. Nowadays cricket is generally played in a spirit of fair play unusual in sport. Balls are still bowled at the body, but bouncers are limited to two an over and the batsmen wear face guards. This makes elbows a far better target.

Third Test, Old Trafford

For anyone not familiar with cricket the one thing you might know is that a game can last five days only for it to end in a draw. What you might not realise, however, is that the rules actually conspire with the weather to encourage this ‘outcome’.

Picture the scene on Saturday evening at Old Trafford. After a frustrating day of watching rain clouds stubbornly linger in the August sky, a break occurs and the sun emerges to encourage the Australia and England players to take the field. Six overs are bowled (an over consists of six balls delivered to the batter), the umpires look at their watches, and then signal the close of play. 20 000 fans are sent home in glorious sunshine, with two and a half hours of daylight left, having waited all day to see some play. The Australians are joyous, they’re getting drubbed, but a day has been lost, drastically reducing the time left for England to finish them off.

What about the next day? you ask. Didn’t they start early? Finish late? Miss out on a tea break perhaps? Surely a result is paramount! No, this is cricket, dear boy. Don’t be so vulgar!

Current standing - England 1 Australia 1 with two tests to go.