I am not going to joke about how I can’t use “the O-word”, or point out my favourite euphemism from Waterstone’s – “Voldesport”
I am not going to complain about the ridiculousness of only being able to use Visa cards to book tickets or buy merchandise.
I am not going to tell you how I was won over by the Opening Ceremony, after having previously been rather pfft, what’s all this with the idyllic Shire?
I am not going to talk in any way about the disturbing buffness of “wickle Tom Daley”, or how sad it is that he only made fourth place, or how annoying it must be to be “the other one” of the pair, or even how we really should stop calling him “ickle wickle baby Tom Daley” by the next Olympics. Updated – I’m also not going to talk about him being bullied on Twitter.
I may briefly mention how watching Beth Tweddle’s gymnastics stuff makes me more tense than seeing Tom Cruise hanging off a tall building by one hand, because it’s real and she is moving very fast and I am afraid she will hurt herself.
But really you’ve heard enough about all of that, certainly enough to last you a few years until the next one comes around.
I am just going to put my telly on and get on with the work that I should be doing (working from home y’see, Boris told me to, so the trains and buses will be nice and empty for the visitors) and occasionally glance up to watch people doing improbable things for no particular reason at all other than because they are very good at it and they want to be recognised as being the best.