Spurs sign striker, the end of the world begins

When I gazed up at the rapidly darkening clouds I realised something strange was happening. What had been a sunny early evening in north London suddenly took upon a dark and ominous turn. Shuffling, lobotomised figures emerged from the side streets, mumbling incoherently while dragging their spasticated limbs forth to the local bookmakers.

Small fires broke out sporadically in the local high street as if conjured maliciously by sinister and evil magicks. I looked down wide-eyed and noticed the rubber soles of my Nike trainers were burning and stamped furiously to extinguish the tiny flames. A hideous, banshee-like wail sliced through the air causing a mid-pavement collision between Bugaboo prams. Two babies shot out like pop tarts and appeared to high five in mid-flight before landing effortlessly in the opposite buggy.

From the newly-formed shadows, a shrivelled woman in an Arsenal shirt grabbed my hand in one snake-like motion and started babbling in tongues. “Are you all right, lady?” I enquired, foolishly engaging the demented woman with misguided post-Olympic spirit.

“Manubuyorcomintatottinhemshittyounort,” she garbled before scuttling off on all-fours backwards in the direction of the Emirates Stadium. What was this devilry?

Ignoring the strong aroma of brimstone (possibly a new Starbucks coffee flavouring), I stepped over a large crack that had formed in the pavement and found myself drawn to the flickering window of the local television store.

Two TVs, in particular, caught my eye. Each featured a yellow news ticker racing across the screen at breakneck speed. One switched to Sky Sports News said: ‘Adebayor signs for Spurs’. The other fixed on BBC News stated, ‘Rapture begins in north London…’

Aware of a looming presence standing alongside me, I turned sheepishly and looked up into the crazed yellow eyes of a large winged demon with rubbery, lobster red skin and curling ram-like horns on either side of his bulbous head.

“What’s happened?” said the winged satanic beast, pausing briefly to barbecue a passing Chelsea fan with a flaming burst of his fiery breath.

“Levy’s signed a striker,” I gasped, slightly distracted by the hellish legions slowly congregating around us to gaze blankly at the two televisions. The look of sheer bewilderment on their faces was a sight to behold.

“Ah, so that’s why it’s the end of the f***ing world!” laughed the demon. “Change of plan, my demonic brothers. I think we’ll head back to hell for another nine months. I want to see how this season ends.”