I write this in a haze of mental devastation. Yesterday, I read a sinister and potential sanity-threatening article in the Telegraph Online, that might prove more problematic to my quest than black holes appearing at the LHC in Switzerland.

Former topless model turned media deity ‘Jordan’ AKA Katie Price AKA whatever you care to call her for the purposes of this discussion, has announced her desire to represent the UK in the 2012 Olympics.

Needless to say I feel like those Dutch lads who sailed straight past Australia a couple of days before Captain Cook found it.

What is so galling about this situation, it not that I now have direct competition for the honour of biggest nomark to get to the Olympics, but it’s the resources on hand to achieve said dream.

I currently have a massive overdraft and a fat belly on which to lay siege to the Olympic ideal.

Mrs Price has myriad weapons at her disposal, and that’s not including the two UMD’s strapped to her sternum. She’s a multimillionairess, with full time trainers, an army of advisers and a long standing deal with ITV – a richer entity than I.

What this has brought home is just how hard my fat ass is going to have to work to achieve all this.

The one bonus of it all, is that she’s doing jumpy jumpy on horses, which means that the horse is doing most of the work and if she gets to the Olympics I’m sure it will feel like a hollow victory, whereas if I walk out in front of the 90,000 or so in the Olympic stadium, I will do so knowing that I have slain Medusa, Hercules, Achilles, Cyclops and Goliath (and no, their not my nicknames for Jordan).