ROB'S BLOG
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The fact that I've actually gone to the trouble of writing the following email and sending it to the Metro, has made me realise that, in the words of the band James, "I've become the kind of man I've always hated."

It was in response to a photo they published of some sort of Alaskan simpleton proudly displaying the bloodsoaked corpse of a salmon shark though, so, you know, that's alright then. Rabidly rant away, why don't I? I'm just off to buy the Daily Mail and vote BNP.

Here's the email:

Just wanted to congratulate the Metro on its pioneering journalism with regard to the piece in today's issue regarding Alaskan fisherman and salmon sharks. How refreshing it is to see the Metro venturing where other papers fear to tread and gleefully publishing photographs of butchered animals. What a pity the salmon shark is not one of the many species of sharks that are on the endangered list. Perhaps the Metro could endeavour to rectify this in the future, maybe with some shots of a blood-soaked tiger corpse being paraded by a gormless hillbilly or even better, the decapitated head of a white rhino.

It's good to see that, in the face of competition, the Metro is making an effort to produce articles of a similar substandard quality to that of the other free papers, rather than just letting the challenge pass it by. And how thankful we all are that the Metro has followed suit in other ways as well. Instead of being able to pick up a copy of the Metro at will in the morning, we are now able to run the gauntlet of underpaid employees aggressively thrusting the paper into our faces, ensuring that the tired fug with which we have awoken is shaken from us and replaced with the urge to punch someone in the face. The main objective of such distribution being, of course, to see how quickly the world's trees can be placed in enormous plastic London Underground rubbish bags, and in what volume.

In fact, instead of paper, why don't you start publishing the Metro on whale skin?

Lots of love etc.

OK, I admit, it was a great white. Probably. Possibly. But if it was, it didn't have a Cornish accent. Maybe it was the last Yangtze river dolphin, on the run having had enough of watching friends and family get eaten.

Either way, I'd like to point my index fingers at the British tabloids and propose a toast to them in my best Eric Cartman voice: "Ha ha ha ha haaaa haaaaa, ha ha ha ha haaaa haaaaa..."

With any luck, I won't be the only one that fears for the sharks at the moment. Not just generally, what with the majority of shark species being on the brink of extinction, but specifically with the arrival of August, the traditional month of no news, and the appalling "coverage" afforded to these, the bestest of all sea creatures, by the tabloid press.

It all started with the Sun getting its ink-stained hands on film of what was most probably a basking shark off the coast of Cornwall, and then screaming at the top of its filthy lungs about "killers of the deep".

Amongst all the egregiousness (there's a good chance I just made that word up, but I'm sure you'll agree it fits nicely), there were two things that particularly stuck out for me in that "story". Firstly, a Sun "reporter" was sent down to the site for a dive. I wish this had been in order to have him killed, but the chances were sadly too remote for this to be a likely motive. He went out with two instructors, apparently, armed with a spear gun. Shame on the instructors, obviously, but since the great white is somewhat thick skinned (it has to be with all that bad PR) and also listed as an endangered species, this action is akin to going white rhino hunting with a sharpened pencil.

Secondly though, and what would be hilarious if it wasn't so depressing, there was an insert in the "story" about the world's "most dangerous sharks". These were: the great white, the tiger, the bullshark, the sandtiger and the grey nurse shark. Yes, the sandtiger and the grey nurse shark. As far as I'm aware, the grey nurse is the Australian name for the sandtiger, but even if they were different species, there's never been a recorded attack on a human being by one, so the question is begged: most dangerous sharks for what? If they meant fish, I fear the story may have misled its readership a tad.

After that, and defying all celestial probability, the Star predictably stumbled into the shadow of the Sun. "Killer Shark Seen in Med" it pathetically lisped. Twice. I couldn't get past the first page on either occasion as it would have entailed actually touching the paper and risking catching gay, but it appears they sent their own journalist down there. Not to go into the water though. This particular "intrepid" explorer observed the creature from a boat. Very brave. As if there was any chance of a nation's dreams coming true and the thing then leaping out of the water and biting his head off. In any case, I doubt that was a great white either.

The worrying thing, of course, is that tw*ts (if you've never heard of Vic Hislop, count yourself lucky) will now feel obliged to go out and massacre anything with a dorsal fin. And on a more obscure note, bear in mind that the summer of 2001 was, as Peter Benchley pointed out, known in America as the "Summer of the Shark" by virtue of there being considerably the same amount of shark attacks as any other year combined with a record dearth of news coverage. Something happened in September of that year, though, which proved itself newsworthy enough to take the nation's mind off sharks. I forget what it was now.

Alright, I'm not suggesting here for a moment that sharks are about to start flying planes into buildings, they hardly ever do that, but I am suggesting that if they could be taught to eat tabloid journalists we would be killing two birds with one stone. Well, one tw*t at least.

Had a quick look at the start of the Tour de France on Saturday. Fantastic turnout from all involved, but I must say they did fail to reproduce the true London cycling experience. Where were all the buses and taxis doing their best to ram the cyclists off the road? And why did none of them stop at traffic lights (OK, maybe that is accurate, then)?

I also wonder how they would fare breathing in the 25 cigarettes worth of pollution that is obligatory for any bike journey across the city. If I sound bitter it's because I've just quit smoking 25 real cigarettes a day and am so tightly wound, I wonder whether I'm actually an experiment in US military technology.

Looks like everyone's thoughts will once more turn to Glastonbury this weekend, asking the perennial question: will it be a mudfest? Of course, it's impossible to care, particularly when the real question is: Glastonbury or Ibiza?

But remember, you've only got one nuclear missile.

I know, I know: it's too tough a call to make. But it does shed light on Mr Blair's own decision to invest millions of pounds on Trident.

It was Diving Leisure London's monthly club night yesterday, and it appears that several of LDM's staff who were in attendance have been stricken with a mysterious illness. Symptoms include headaches, nausea, general malaise and an inability to communicate with words containing more than one syllable.

Since Ed is "working from home" today, it once again remains the province of the Brixton B@stard to look after the blog. Unfortunately, said b@stard needs to close his eyes and drool into the keyboard now...

Ed's away in Spain at the moment, doubtless frightening fish underwater and devouring them on land, so it remains the province of The Brixton B@stard to illegally send this site live in his absence and entirely without his approval.

Checking the Grauniad website, it appears the biggest issues of the day are the dilemma of all England fans - do we really want to beat Brazil (as if...) and more importantly Estonia at the expense of Steve McClaren maintaining a hold of the reigns? - and the US seem predictably reluctant to do anything about climate change. Who'da thunk Dubya would be so passionate about diving he wants to see the whole world covered in water?

London news seems to have nothing to do with London and everything to do with Russia and the extradition of the chap accused of killing Litvinenko. I say we start a new cold war. We begin by not talking to them, and when they ask us what the problem is we say "nothing". And if they ask us how we are, we say "fine", before slamming a door or something. At some point, Russia, out of pure frustration, will switch over to the football and start getting drunk, at which point we know: WE'VE WON! I wonder if the same approach will work with Brazil...