The Olympic Spirit

And so the long-anticipated, much-heralded London 2012 Olympic Games are almost upon us.

I can’t quite believe the Opening Ceremony is just six days away.  My only hope is that it will not be, well, crap!  I dread the event being a laughing stock.

Don’t get me wrong: I am not writing this to knock.  I love Britain.  Carry On films, Sooty, Shakespeare, cats, Del Boy, gardening, fish and chips on a wet seaside holiday, Royal Weddings, a nice cup of tea (park your clichés here) – all valuable aspects of our culture.  I relish our uniqueness; quirkiness; our self-deprecating sense of humour.

Only in Britain could Alan Carr and Zippy from Rainbow become cultural icons (and I for one am bloody glad they are as they are both brilliant!!).  Only in this country could Eddie “The Eagle” Edwards become a hero while nobody ever knows the name of the guy who won that ski jump event.

Zippy: icon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But self-deprecation won’t wash in a huge bolshy arena like this.  The Americans are so proficient in bigging themselves up, whereas we Brits love to knock.  We celebrate the underdog; the small things in life.  Which is all well and good, but next week the world’s eyes will be upon us (sorry – another cliché alert) and we really need to be showy and brash.

Los Angeles in 1984 gave us spacemen and Lionel Richie; in Sydney in 2000 we were treated to Kylie and drag queens.  Pleeease tell me the best we can do is not David Beckham standing there like a tree, or Boris Johnson flopping a flag around looking like a demented Matt Lucas!!

Despite never being sporty at school (I used to habitually bunk off PE), I have always loved watching the Olympics.  I shall be glued to the TV on Friday night for the Opening Ceremony.  I hope not to be watching it, cringing, through my fingers.

Let the Games begin!

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