The last gasp show: I went to bed about half past ten last night unable to take any more of the so-called tribute to British music. It all seemed to be summed up by the somewhat sad, raddled, over-weight, over-age and over here figure of George Michael. If he's amongst the best that British pop-music talent has to offer then it confirms my belief that the whole industry is following HMV down the toilet. Perhaps it cheered up later but the first few songs were dirge-like, tuneless and seemingly endless. The fact that they saw fit to air a recording of John Lennon moaning the words of the soppiest lyric ever written, Imagine, indicated to me that the organisers were scraping the barrel. Pity because I rather enjoyed the opening show.
A suggestion to improve the games: First, no more sports which require the services of 'judges' to decide the outcome. I exclude fighting games in which judges decide if a hit or a throw has taken place, but no more equivalents of "9.5 for artistic interpretation" and all that sort of thing. Of course, I realise that means excluding gymnastics which I consider to be a true test of courage and skill but it's a price worth paying if we never see synchronised yawning diving or swimming ever again. Second, get rid of handball! I thought basketball was the most boring game ever invented but handball takes takes tedium to torture levels. Gitmo detainees should be forced to watch handball for the remainder of their prison terms.
Personality athlete of the games: For a change I will join the crowd and pick Mo Farah, winner of both the 10k and 5k races, and the new face of New Britannia!
He is Somali by birth and spent the first eight years of his life in Djibouti. I suppose, if fate had twisted the cards differently, he could have ended up crewing a pirate ship off the Somali coast! Instead he came to join his British-born father in London. Sent to his local state school with poor English he struggled but his athletic talents were spotted by his PE teacher, Alan Watkinson, who took him under his wing and encouraged his early efforts. (Let's give that man a Knighthood!) The rest, as they say, is history.
Another suggestion to improve the games: I should charge for all this free advice! In future, beach volleyball should be confined to the Brazilian ladies only. At my first viewing, which featured ladies from 'Godwotaland' playing against the ladies of 'Getmeouttahere', I was, I confess, mildly excited but as time went on it was apparent that in this world there are ladies from Brazil and, er, the rest. They just have the knack, those Brazilian gels, of filling their bikinis to the very brim and one watches with sustained excitement for the first sign of, shall we say, spillage!
(Yes, it may seem sad to you but an old man must take his pleasures where he finds them - and I bet it cheered up your Monday morning, too!)
The biggest winner of the games: No need to name him, really, but for my foreign readers please meet Mr. Boris 'Bonker' Johnson. Currently he is the Mayor of London but shortly he will be taking over the leadership of the Tory party from 'Dim Dave'. I have no idea whether he will be a
good leader but it will be a laugh finding out! Apart from any other consideration, it will be a hoot watching sundry po-faced foreign leaders coming to London and trying to make out if Boris is prime minister or court jester whilst simultaneously trying to keep an eye on their wives and/or daughters.
Final thought: Thank God, the 'footie' season starts next Sunday. More lunacy, I know, but at least it's lunacy I'm familiar with.