Diary of an Olympics doubter
July 6, 2005. OMG. London has won the bid to
host the 2012 Olympic Games. Disaster! No other country has such a
penchant for self-humiliation when it comes to the big stage. Note
to self. Book overseas holiday in July, 2012, and pretend to be
March 2, 2012. Informal discussion breaks out
following Institute of Directors executive committee meeting. All
telling each other what Olympic tickets they had managed to get. I
despair. I predict disaster. Trains on strike or stopped because of
the wrong sort of sun. Terrorism, God forbid. Bruce reprimands me.
“Show a bit of faith,” he says. “It will be the best Olympics
ever.” Yeah right.
May 4, 2012. Sweet joy fused with despair.
Boris Wif Waf has been re-elected Mayor of London. Lots of laughs
guaranteed but is this really the face of London that we want the
world to see when it descends upon our grimy capital in two months
July 27, 2012. The matrix signs on the M20 are
telling me to avoid London during the Olympics and black cab
drivers are all up in arms about not being able to use Olympic
lanes. Make a mental note not to visit London during the
“Humiliation Games”. Games opening ceremony tonight. Yawn.
July 28, 2012. Mesmerised. Arise Sir Danny
Boyle. What a spectacle! McCartney disappoints; only downer on an
upbeat night. Despair turning to cautious optimism. If the opening
ceremony is anything to go by, maybe – just maybe – we might pull
off a pretty half decent Olympic Games. No real hopes of medals
August 4, 2012. Rule Britannia. Four gold
medals in track and field. Great to see the Union Flag reclaimed
from BNP. Belly laughs as GB’s overpaid, underperforming
footballers’ crash out to the mighty South Korea (aka North Korea
August 7, 2012. Break my own rule and agree to
a meeting in Pall Mall during Olympic festival. High speed train
fills at Stratford with Olympic spectators returning to central
London. Lovely atmosphere. Southeastern have it all sorted at St
Pancras and passengers guided with ease by railway staff on Happy
Go Lucky Pills. Why can’t it always be like this? Eerily quiet in
West End, but smiling soldiers and purple and pink volunteers
August 11, 2012. Sixty five medals, 29 of them
gold. Talk of Yorkshire being more successful in these games than
Australia. Alex Salmond must have despaired seeing Sir Chris Hoy
drapped in Union flag. Loving beating the Germans and French.
Whatever happened to the Russians? When I was a boy that Anna Bolic
Steroid lady seem to win everything.
August 12, 2012. Closing ceremony. Spice Girls
on Zimmer frames! Who could ask for more? Roger Daltrey pulled it
off. My Generation worked, unlike Hey Jude three weeks ago. Cringed
at all the back slapping and didn’t we do well stuff in Seb’s
speech. Nobody likes a show-off. What now for him? The Duke of
Stratford? His Holiness?
August 13, 2012. Phone Bruce. “You were right.
I was wrong” says I. He chuckles. “Told you we were the best in the
world” he says.