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Chelsea bus requests transfer

CHELSEA’S team bus has demanded a transfer after being left out of the team facing Manchester City last weekend.

Most experts expected the luxury 55-seater to start Sunday’s top of the table clash at the Etihad Stadium, having proved central to Chelsea’s matches against Arsenal, Manchester United, and Bayern Munich.

But Chelsea boss José Mourinho sprung a surprise by fielding a team of eleven relatively small but agile humans, leaving the bus “distraught” and considering its future.

The bus’s agent said: “It has always done everything asked of it, from parallel parking on a wet Tuesday night in Hull, to blocking the goalmouth like a vast force field of gears, metal and wipe-down leather seats.

“Parked buses have been the basic ingredient of every Mourinho team, and for him to leave it in the car park for the full ninety minutes is an appalling insult to a faithful servant.”

Dismayed Chelsea fan Tom Logan said: “If our team isn’t going to base its tactics and identity on the fundamental immobility of a ten-tonne vehicle, then I just don’t know what the world’s coming to.”

“Next thing one of our strikers will score an actual goal in an actual game of football.”

The bus is expected to seek a move to Stoke City, where for once it won’t be the largest, least mobile thing on the pitch.

An open letter from Royal Mail

OVER the last few months, we’ve watched the popularity of open letters grow and grow.

From Sinead O’Connor to Roger Waters, it seems everyone wants supposedly one-on-one communications to be read by absolutely everybody then discussed at length in the newspapers.

Why, this very morning there’s a wonderfully entertaining open letter in The Times from Eleanor Shaw of Harrogate to her husband detailing exactly when, where and why she’s been having it off with the au pair.

But I’m afraid there is a big problem with this new craze for open letters: we don’t make any money from them.

If you’re pissed off with someone, send them a letter personally and get a chain of correspondence going. Maybe get some other family members or legal representatives mailing them poisonous notes, or send them a creepy dead animal via our excellent Parcelforce service.

“Not my problem,” you might be thinking. “After all, hasn’t Royal Mail been privatised?”

Well yes, of course we have. But don’t think for one second that our hand won’t be straight in the taxpayer’s pocket if our profits fall.

And you don’t want to make us angry. You know where the phrase ‘going postal’ comes from? Do you want to see Postman Pat with a shotgun in one hand and a ‘Sorry, you are fucking dead’ card in the other?

It’s time for you to re-acquaint yourselves with a little thing called an envelope. Write a letter, pop it in, put a stamp on while moaning about how much they cost these days and we’ll get it to the recipient the next day, or month or whenever.

Remember, we get up earlier than you and we know where you live.

Yours, Royal Mail.

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