Wolfie

That's interesting. Chartered surveyor 'types' need excellent English skills for report-writing and communicating legal data, as well as compromise – two traits you appear to lack. Are you or are you not a chartered surveyor?

Yeah? I seldom see those types of skinny denim roll-up shorts being worn by an older generation. Moreover, elderly men (or those of an age you claim to be) lose pretty much all leg-hair over the years. Not so in the photo. And, while being no hand expert, that soft finger looks as though it's seen more young Asian fanny than hard building site-graft to grow a successful construction business. Also, most would agree it's a little odd for an old-school macho tradesman to be so in touch with other men's fashion. It begs the question: is this you, or is it your son, or even your partner?

Most blue tracksuit bottoms are fairly dark in colour. Is this because skidmarks are less noticeable when you shit yourself after taking protein supplements?

The only people reciting 'it's coming home' will be your neighbours when you roll in at 5am.

Over half a million miles on the clock, wow. And they say dogs take after their owners.

19 years? It's obviously old, ugly, slow, needs continual maintenance to keep it roadworthy, doesn't have all the wondrous electronic gadgetry which often makes driving a pleasure, probably scrapes through its MOT by the skin of its teeth each year, is getting disproportionally expensive to insure because of its age, and, being French, is typically built like a tin of Tesco Value beans. It hardly strikes me as being a bird-puller, either, but I suppose your intelligence and charm helps to eliminate this particular criticism. You're right. There's a lot to be said.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKwbldHLSls&t=64s

Apart from Neil. Even with 30-degree rays consistently beaming down on the body of a Wetherspoon's BBQ-hogging whale, greased with Poundland's factor 2 coconut oil, his pale frame can still be identified from deep space satellite.

Have you been to the UK, Pansy baby? Indeed, have you been anywhere which could be compared to it? It's only you seem a little one-dimensional regarding Ireland's status – and its relationship with not just the UK but the rest of the world. Travel is a great antidote to feeling depressed about one's own country. You seem depressed, hence my asking.

I draw the line at prawn cocktail.

I had reached the season five finale, which now means I know Shane will reappear in a different guise further down the line. Thanks. Lauren Cohan's coming around later to sit on my face.

Relax, Colin. Seriously, I'm just interested: under which capacity did you really know David Bowie? I mean, very few could write a hugely successful biography about such a renowned star without being something of a 'star' themself. Were you pals?

Such is my loss of touch with the latest clothing, which sadly comes with age, I had to look up Bates Zero Mass boots. Are you anticipating a zombie apocalypse?

What a stupid and pointless retort. As a riled and bitter Irish Anglophobe, you keep arguing for the sake of arguing, trying in vain to annoy those of a predominantly British website. It's little wonder you're both poor and single, occasionally striking lucky with some hapless bag whose ability to ovulate disappeared around the same time Ireland last qualified for a World Cup finals. Time and again you attempt to scold the UK, most recently by creating an utterly shit, jealousy-borne nomination to ridicule England's recent football achievements. Kill yourself.

Making contact with 1978 is quite a feat. If you can tap into the past, is there any chance you may be able to prevent your parents from conceiving?

Ooh, jealous! Peile's ag teacht abhaile. P.S. fuck off.

In the extremely rare event I hear of any gays seeking images of naked footballers, I'll put them directly in touch with you, as you seem to have a keen eye for the subject.

There's never been a better time to berate this fat little wanker as England's better-than-expected participation in the World Cup continues. If ever there was a gilt-edged example of a proper cast-iron cunt, it's this smelly Latin toad. Words cannot describe just how much I loathe the cheating fuckface. Not only has he never been consumed by the guilt most would feel as a result of infamously knocking another team out via way of handball, he claimed just the other day 'Columbia were robbed by England' – on a night very obviously staged by a bunch of deceiving dago hoodwinks. Unsurprisingly, he was filmed celebrating Columbia's goals swathed in a Columbia shirt. He's the nuclear cunt who never, ever stops giving. It seems he's still bitter from the RAF missile lodged up his arse since the 1982 Falklands War. Football has moved on. Standards of physicality, fitness, creativity, skill et al. have reached new levels since his cunty days. Could the 1986 version have saved Argentina in this World Cup? No. VAR would have minced his cheating little testicles. Nowadays, the nasty piece of shit looks as though he's hovering near the gates of Hell. This, therefore, will hopefully be his last World Cup – meaning my surviving memory of him will be an ailing, fat, ugly alcoholic cokehead deeply upset by his team's premature departure. If only I couldn't stop laughing at the size of his pre-cocaine days nugget. Adiós, El Cunty.

In its defence, Ireland being shit at football means the country can give its economy a much-needed boost by focusing on the international allure of Gaelic football.

Yep. He said Columbia's goalposts were wider than the circumference of your swinging horsecock.

Why bother saying 'have a like'? The blue icon with your name on it is sufficient. Idiot.

It was actually 37.5 Celsius that particular day, only Neil had made his way down to the Kentish coast for a spot of sunbathing. Much of the sun's rays reflected off his huge, pale, wallowing physique and XXXL England shorts, casting an extra degree of heat back into the thermometer's Stevenson box.

At last! Pansy's got an avatar. He's got all the charisma of a plastic cup, so it seems quite apt.

'Britain remains over 92% white'. Where precisely did you source this statistic, Decs, especially as approximately 13-14 percent of the UK demographic is currently estimated to comprise Asian, black, Eastern European and other mixed races? The US's population was accelerated in the late 19th century by a mixture of people from around the globe, which sadly included black slaves by the millions – while the British Isles has been predominantly white since the Middle Ages. Based on time-cultural assimilation, there is a huge difference. The last 20 years has seen elements of Enoch Powell's ‘Rivers of Blood’ forecast unfold the way he predicted. Would gang culture, knife crime, gun crime, acid attacks, hate crimes against the LBGT community, Asian teenage grooming and home-grown Islamic terrorism et al. be as effectual if it wasn't for foreign influence? It's as though some parts of his speech very much echo the current situation, particularly in London. Today's undemonstrative politicians are far more dangerous. Fast-forward to 2018 and the most confusing thing for me is Amber Rudd threatens to deport mostly West Indian immigrants who’ve appreciated making their lives in the UK (and who have worked and paid into our system for generations), yet our immigration conditions continue to allow an alarming amount of Muslims in – many of whom persist in trying to influence a belief system totally alien to a modern, free-thinking Western society. And then our government appoints Sajid Javid as Home Secretary to obviously help ease racial tensions at a time when Islamic-borne terrorism is becoming more widespread, even though he’s clearly not the best person for the job. Can anyone honestly say they’d heard of him before? Each time a British Islamist blows up a Tube station or nightclub, our government infers the British people – predominantly white to the degree of around 85% – is supposed to embrace foreign culture and spread its love. It's bordering unbelievable, and this is what Powell had to some extent envisaged.

I have a hunch you'll be joining a very long queue, which includes me. Her appealing imperfections would be forgiven in return for a personal 'reading' of the World Cup news, daily, naked, reverse cowgirl, having served me an ice-cold bottle of Dom Pérignon.