Post Mortem

Back on me old manor now, safely embedded in Four Oaks. Three nights in the comfort of my own cot and camping a shrinking memory. Time to reflect on London 2012 before my sad old grey matter has mixed and sentimentalised it all to pap. Lucky for you I jotted down some aides memoire before leaving the Big Smoke on Monday and I haven't yet drunk so much red wine that I can't make sense of them.





erection with an identity crisis

Docklands
Saw a lot of the revived and yuppified banlieu in which ExCeL is situated. Love the DLR, particularly the fact that it so resolutely refuses to travel in straight lines. I swear the O2 Arena (rechristened North Greenwich Arena for the duration of the Games on account of O2 not being an Olympic sponsor) was on my left at one point and then on the right a couple of minutes later. The Overgraduate likes the modern Docklands and wouldn't mind a pad there if he had some spare loot. I'd live in the West End for preference but I like a bit of realism mixed in with my dreams. One shouldn't be greedy.

Observative
Best neologism of the Games, uttered by a nervous supervisor who urged us to be observative for wheelchair and other accessibility challenged patrons. I was duly observative and will ever be thus.

Paid Staff
The organisation of the enterprise was largely praiseworthy but the quality of some paid staff was an issue. Not those at supervisory levels who were generally keen and committed but those pressed foot-soldiers who appeared to be part of a woolly social experiment to pitch into work dissolute and uninterested juveniles. Their ineptitude was easily covered by the army of volunteers who treated them with richly deserved disdain. They were not going to spoil our fun. They missed a golden opportunity to win some influential hearts and minds. Last and only whinge, I promise.

Handball
Why have I never had the chance to play this brilliant sport. Love it. If I was thirty years younger ...

Bloody Football Starts Again
Sorry another whinge. The Premier League kicks off on Saturday. Too soon. It will dilute if not wash away the Olympic spirit. I know there's nothing to be done about it but, as I say, too soon.

732000
The number of spectators we welcomed to the ExCeL across the Games. I think I spoke to roughly 700000 of them. Especially the Irish ones.

a friend of this blog

Lasha Shavdatuashvili
Georgian judoka who won 66k gold and probably thought he was safely anonymous when he went for a coffee outside the arena a full week after his competition. He was on my patch and I only know who he is because a crowd of crazed Georgians spotted him and detained him for fully an hour whilst every conceivable combination of photographs was taken. He was lovely and seemed genuinely touched by the mass of swarthy grateful men lining up to kiss him. As a finale he picked up and was photographed with an initially bemused small English boy who will for ever be able to say that he had his picture taken with an authentic gold medallist and national hero. Good on you Lasha.

Patches of Dead Grass
As the end of the Games approached and Games Makers headed home after their stint, patches of yellowed grass appeared on the campsite where once had stood tents. I should have taken a photo of this poignant patchwork.

Ice Creams
The free ones handed out throughout the Games at major commuter stations to passengers. A really nice touch, symptomatic of the small ways that Locog painted the big picture.

and he seems like a nice bloke

Mo Farah
Having learned of his 10000m triumph over a privet hedge in Twickenham, I saw his 5000m gold (or at least the last half lap of it) in the bar of the Docklands Crowne Plaza thanks to a fortuitously timed comfort break in my Friday shift. I then had the pleasure of announcing the news to those arriving at ExCeL for the boxing. Of all the British victories, Farah's are the greatest and his the nicest story of a storied fortnight.

Panem et Circenses
That's bread and circuses to you and me. This one is difficult - have we been distracted from civic desecration by a vast but meaningless pageant? Am I a dupe? I don't believe so but it is perhaps instructive to comment that the only time I can remember this country feeling quite so buoyed was during the Falklands Conflict. We were right then and I believe we were right this time but I do love that I have been brought up to accommodate a scepticism that interrogates these matters. And if that sounds smugly like having my cake and eating it, well you'll just have to humour me for a few more weeks until the roseate tinge has departed my world view.

Plastic Bags
I always like to leave you with some practical advice so here it is - you can't have too many plastic bags when you're camping. I spoil you lot, I really do.