It's getting to me. Inch by centimetre it's creeping over me. I fought it and fought it but still, inexorably, it is engulfing me. I am still struggling but only just . . . so please help. Oh, hell, I give up. I'll just spend the next nine days watching the Olympics like everyone else. A man has only so much disdain for all those 'hearties' and 'heartiettes' running, jumping, throwing things, pedaling and paddling, it is all so . . . damn silly! And yet . . . and yet . . . it's getting to me. That little Brit girlie will be granted the right to bear my babies if she wins the Heptathlon! And those two handsome lasses in their rowboat were simply splendid. I'm not quite so keen on the swimmers because they are in danger of showing up my own, ahem, swimming prowess. (By the way, have I mentioned I go swimming six mornings a week? Alright, alright, no need to be like that!) Anyway, suffice to say that they cover 800 metres in the time it takes me to reach the other end of the pool - at which point I usually have to ask one of the elderly ladies to help me out! However, there is one sport to which I am utterly resistant - judo. Not just because that nasty little thug, Putin, was in the crowd watching but because for the observer it is utterly tedious. Two opponents, pull, push, tug, kick, twist, turn, grapple and absolutely nothing happens. Then, one of them stumbles and falls and the other falls on top and they both wriggle around until the game is stopped and the commentator declares "Nippon Number One", or "All Blitiss Officers Will Work" or "Tora, Tora Tora", or something equally incomprehensible. It's a pity because I remember years ago taking 'SoD' (Son of Duff) to judo lessons every weekend and because they were learning I could see the skill in it. Unfortunately, at this level they are all as good as each other and every move is countered. Even so, alas, I think next week I will surrender to this particular bit of bread and circus tossed to me by my Dear Leader, not least because all the other TV channels have surrendered and are running nothing but repeats of repeats.
Apart from a tiny bit of swimming that my wife demanded I watch with her, I've seen nothing. My daughter is at the rowing today, being soaked.
Posted by: dearieme | Saturday, 04 August 2012 at 12:12
With sincere respect to your daughter, DM, she deserves it!
Posted by: David Duff | Saturday, 04 August 2012 at 13:17
Still, she presumably witnessed a British gold. All we've heard so far is (i) drookit daughter (ii) she somehow blagged her way into the grandstand.
Posted by: dearieme | Saturday, 04 August 2012 at 14:36
(i) "drookit" - I learn something new every day on this blog
(ii) I expect it was G4S security in charge.
Posted by: David Duff | Saturday, 04 August 2012 at 14:48
I think you're right about the judo - while juniors actually execute the moves, at top level it's more like chess, as each nascent attack is blocked before it gets properly started.
I suppose in its ultimate expression the players would just stand and stare at each other, twitching occasionally; perhaps we ought to be grateful for the amount of action we did get to see, however incomprehensible.
Posted by: macheath | Saturday, 04 August 2012 at 19:07
My wife called me into the sitting room to watch the 10,000 metres. "We" won a gold, but I gather that is customary. At least today.
Posted by: dearieme | Saturday, 04 August 2012 at 22:04
What the hell is drookit?
Posted by: Andra | Sunday, 05 August 2012 at 01:08
OK, I've been calling around.
Obviously you've been bewitched and an intervention is called for, or so I am informed.
I am waiting to hear back from the Scientology people as to whom I should contact to have the spell taken off.
Brad Pitt's ex(or soon to be) wife seems to know all about it.
Just settle down, have a cup of tea and close your eyes.
Help is on the way!
Julia Gillard (our charming lady prime minister) has offered to come and read soothing poems to you but I don't think that's the answer. Her voice may just drive you right over the edge, on which you seem to tottering already.
The saxophone player has suggested strong drink, which sounds like a good plan. Give it a try. Can't hurt, anyway.
Posted by: Andra | Sunday, 05 August 2012 at 06:08
Thanks, Mac, that sums it up exactly.
I know, DM, us winning gold is almost boring!
'Soaked', Andra, and I think DM, who is given to the ancient Scottish tongue, is trying to tell us that his daughter inadvertantly won gold in the Miss Wet T-shirt competition.
Also, Andra, you are absolutely right about 'that woman's' voice, it could cut hardened steel. By the by, I think the sax-man and I would get along rather well!
Posted by: David Duff | Sunday, 05 August 2012 at 09:39