Olympian Pomp & Circumstance: stop giggling!

As I scurried round the kitchen this morning with the little 'Memsahib' thumping imperiously on the floor above to hurry me along, I half-watched the Olympic ceremony of lighting the torch.  I didn't know whether to laugh or throw up!  Sundry Greek 'youfs' and 'youfettes' stood around looking very solemn but uncertain in their phony ancient Greek costumes like so many extras from an old Cecil B. de Mille film having a tea break.  The setting didn't help, looking a bit like the scrofulous end of our village recreation park.  A travesty of a ritual then took place, ending with a young girl pulling a dove from its cage and then, after a suitably dramatic pause, releasing it into the sky.  I fell to my knees in my kitchen and prayed that it, in turn, would release a suitably large dollop of shit over the stuffed shirts arrayed below it.  I don't know if it happened, one can but hope.  Also, I heard a story on the radio that the Olympic flame was to be lit by means of the sun's rays but that there was considerable doubt as to whether or not the sun would actually shine, er, despite all this global warming!  Another prayer was dispatched, this time to Zeus in case the first one was lost in the post!  Of course, no ceremony these days is complete without its very own demonstrators, and exactly on cue they rushed some Chink cove in a suit giving a speech and waved their flags for about 2.5 seconds before the Greek police fell off the end of their fags and intervened.  Made my day!  Needless to say, the chief honcho of this Olympic racket, oops, sorry, movement issued a statement saying how sorry he was that Tibetan protesters had interfered with his ridiculous piece of Olympic kitsch.  Naturally, not a word of sorrow for the plight of the Tibetans currently being shot, imprisoned or 're-educated' by the smirking, smiling Chinks who are hosting this festival of drug cheats.  Personally, and you all know that I am at heart a kindly man, I hope everyone who takes part in this farrago, or goes to see it, ends up with galloping emphysema from the foul, disgusting pollution that is such a suitable backdrop for these, er, 'games'.

Comments

[dearieme]

The big celebratory event this weekend was that we, for the first time, had Zebra sausages. The waggish butcher had even made them striped. Olympics - bah humbug.

[David Duff]

Zebra sausages! Hmmn! How was it for you?

[dearieme]

A bit like Kangaroo.

[David Duff]

I'm none the wiser but it's all reminding me of a very pale steak I once had as a young man passing through Belgium and which turned out to be horse. Alas, I am an entrenched conservative trencherman!