Brilliant. Brilliant. Brilliant

I said I was going to rave about a television series and here I go. Not exactly of the moment but I have only just properly caught up with Twenty Twelve which finds rich comedy in Olympic pomposity but manages to retain optimism and affection. People have justly gone on about Jessica Hynes as the oh so believable PR monster Siobhan Sharpe but the real plaudits should go to Hugh Bonneville and Olivia Colman for the finest and best under-played screen romance since, well since I don't know when. This is top grade acting and writing. And very, very British, just like the Games themselves turned out in fact. And top marks to Seb Coe for allowing himself to be in it - an act which showed huge confidence in the ultimate delivery of the project.

on the naughty step pro tem

On the Olympics I have to utter a word of reproach I'm afraid about a much loved organ, The Spectator. I have been dutifully catching up on my back issues since getting back from my stint in London and, oh dear, what a lot of sour nonsense you chose to publish in anticipation of the Games. Charles Moore in particular -acute, stylish, elegant but wrong, wrong, wrong. Just saying, because you know me, I'm a stickler for balance. Mind you I'm still catching up so maybe I will soon reach your redemption.   

We Do Not Need To Talk About Kevin

not remotely a wanker

Because all we need to say is that Andrew Strauss is a gent - see it summed up nicely by that other advert for English decency, Jonathan Agnew at Strauss Tribute

... Are Not Brilliant (An Occasional Series On Random Antipathy But With Some Reasons To Be Cheerful Artfully Chucked In))

I'm sorry to return to this pitiful whelp but really is there any excuse for John Bercow? Judge for yourself as he ventures a wholly unconvincing attempt at humility -  Bercow self-aggrandises

a big fan of my band
Strange Bedfellows

I have libertarian tendencies but there really is something more than a tad distasteful about the self-proclaimed champion of freedom of expression cowering, sorry sheltering, in the diplomatic citadel of that defender of all that is good and right, er, Ecuador. Sheltering moreover from that oppressor regime, er, Sweden, which Scandinavian banana republic seeks to bring him to book for being a bit too liberal in the way he availed himself of sex. Congratulations then to Julian Assange who joins the much maligned Saddam Hussein in attracting the sympathy of that other hugely clever and reprehensible character, George Galloway. Misery truly does acquaint a man with strange bedfellows. Strange Bedfellows, by the way will be the name of the jazz/fusion combo I will found when I learn to play the drums. Nice. I will wear the only wrist watch for a drummer, the Omega Incabloc Oyster Acutron 72. A little cultural reference there for all you Pete Atkin fans. You are not alone.

no offence Thommo
 but you just annoy me

I feel a bit of a heel about this last one because apparently he's not been well but shit here goes anyway: Derek "Thommo" Thompson. Am I the only one who squirms every time his gurning presence blights the laudably intelligent Channel 4 racing coverage? I know, I know, I'm becoming peevish in my old age, but what else is there left?

Ooh that's weird - I've got the old iTunes on shuffle and it's just started up with a Christmas song, in fact a perfectly good one, but you just can't listen to that stuff in August. It's wrong. I've shifted to the next track, The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore by the Walker Brothers. Better. Which has now given way to track 2 side 1 of The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, which if you don't know (and you really should) is Fly On A Windshield. Followed now by the theme tune from For A Few Dollars More. I know, eclectic! A fitting menu for a dilettante - which is one for 10cc fans who might be paying attention.

Finally, not a whinge but in fact a taster for a blog to follow. Here is a line from a television series I came to late but about which I am going henceforth to rave - "he's on our graduate fast-track scheme, but he's doing it at his own pace." If you don't know what it is you'll have to wait until next time dear reader because Lily Allen is now singing Cheryl Tweedy and that must mean it is time for bed.

... Are Brilliant Mark XI

brilliant

The Dyson Airblade. How much are they? I want one in my bathroom.

I was reminded of this wonder of design when visiting the highly commendable toilets at the also brilliant Conwy Castle, wherein you find not altogether subtle signage commenting on the role of the English in subjugating the Welsh. Mind you we did build quite staggering  castles and  thus made a gift of a tourist industry so we can't be all bad.



brilliant

Next ... it's on BBC1 at this very minute which is a great good fortune at the end of a good day ... Pirates of the Caribbean, or most particularly the wondrous Johnny Depp therein. Brilliant also in Blow and Public Enemies, the latter also starring the almost equally watchable Christian Bale.



brilliant

Telford's Menai Suspension Bridge. Best viewed of course from the larger Britannia Bridge we use to cross to our happy island. Which remains brilliant.

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. 

We Need To Talk About Kevin

Winner of the Pietersen
knob-alike comp

Pietersen that is. He has managed to get himself thrown out of the England cricket team despite scoring a brilliant century in the last test and despite the current final test being possibly the most important since England won the Ashes down under. Which leads one to conclude that he really must be an unbearable prick to have achieved such exclusion. Professional sportsmen like winning and will put up with much to achieve it and I judge that England coach Andy Flower is among the hardest of hard cases - this was not done on a whim. Plus we have the conclusive evidence that Pietersen's banishment is just - even archer prick Piers Morgan has denounced the decision and , I'm sorry, no power on earth will persuade me to share a conclusion with him.

Yes We Can

I will be leaving in a few minutes for my final shift on this the final day of the Games. This will be my last post from my perch in the corner of the coffee lounge at the Twickenham Nuffield, to whom thanks for hot showers, free towels, reviving americanos, sockets to recharge my bits of technology and not least for reviving my interest in swimming.

This is not the opportunity for a full analysis of the point/success/excess/highlights of the Games (not enough time) but I will just say this - even if you disapprove of the whole shebang you would have to concede that we (the British) have made a bloody good fist of it.

I was there

The Olympic Stadium on Friday and Olympic Park as a whole were beyond expectation. I think Mum was as blown away as me. To top it all we can say we have seen a world record broken in an Olympic final - the American quartet obligingly expunging the twenty-seven year old mark of the East German chemically enhanced sprinters. Another disgraceful chapter in sport's history closed.