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.