Once again – and with soul-crushing predictability – the great London borough of Dalston has been passed-over by Her Majesty and whichever cringing royalist lickspittle hands out the gongs at this time of year. Which is, if we may be permitted to say, bloody typical.
However, despite the absence of any richly deserved ‘services to journalism’ baubles heading in this direction – again! – it appears every single sportsperson in the country has been honoured, presumably for their ability to wear shorts without falling over. Or services to the steroid industry. Or for getting a free flight to Rio and a new tracksuit. Which is chuffing marvellous. Well done them.
Nonetheless, as the nation’s foremost publication of record the Mercury will, once more, put aside personal rancour at any egregious slight we may have suffered, to honour the less publicised sporting recipients of this year’s awards:
Joey Barton has been made a Companion of Honour for services to the gambling industry, probably, while Olympic hero Ryan Lochte has been knighted for his tireless work as both a creator of world-class fiction and a major supporter of British toilet manufacturers. Despite – inconveniently for the purposes of this joke – being American.
In all likelihood Sam Allardyce has been made a dame for his selfless work as president of the Sam Allardyce Pension Benevolent Fund, a charity he founded himself, while Gary bloody Lineker has been honoured for services to crisps. And Twitter. And sodding underwear, knowing him.
In conclusion: we was robbed. Again.