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It’s possibly the best chance we have of ever sounding like we know anything at all about sport.  I cut a dash as a racing snake myself, you see, so I’m perfectly entitled to comment.*

And now I have the perfect excuse to claim that I am an avid follower of all 36 Olympic sports. I’m struggling with the football, though, if I’m honest.  It seems more as if they’ve picked the squad from people who were available because they weren’t on holiday / on reality TV / committed to a magazine shoot than from the talent we actually have.  And those that have been picked can’t even be bothered to sing the national anthem, which makes me come over all Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells.

I get all ranty with the beach volleyball too. Why, why, WHY are women in their underwear, when the men can wear shorts and vests? I admit that if I had a figure like the female players do, I would wear that outfit all the time, but come on.  I’d cover it up to go and buy the milk.  It looks hideously uncomfortable, leaping around getting sand in all sorts of places, let alone without it being baggy enough to shake out or even cover one’s backside.   A bit of decorum, please.

I’d draw the line at putting on the empty crisp packet which is the GB tracksuit though. Who on earth thought Next was a good choice to design those? When Stella has done the other outfits? She took to Twitter pretty darn quick to make it clear she’d had nothing to do with the white and gold monstrosities.  I don’t blame her. George Davies must be cringing.

But I’ve fallen into the trap already. I’m whinging Britishly away about the very-minor-in-the-scheme-of-things which have pressed my buttons. And you know what? I actually think it’s all pretty bloody marvellous.

And the opening ceremony was fabulous. I loved every minute of it, and thought it was good value at £27 million. Everywhere you looked, or rather, the BBC cameras looked, something was going on and the attention to detail was mind bendingly awesome.   I do now understand why I have never really ‘got’ opening ceremonies before: I have no idea what overseas visitors and viewers made of it all, it was so quirky and British and bonkersly brilliant.  I had to explain parts of it to some American friends over the weekend, but the moments of sheer genius we loved they also ‘got’: Mr Bean, James Bond and the significance of the cauldron lighting by the youngsters. 

Although we had a slight hiccup over Isambard. They couldn’t understand why Abraham Lincoln was involved.

Good luck with following the 2012 Games, Brazil.  But if I may, just one suggestion? Don’t leech out the joy and national pride by being so petulant on branding. Let your country get behind the games. Oh – and don’t let Paul McCartney sing. Know when to stop.

*This is rubbish. As anyone who has read any of my cheese related posts should know.