Give one man the task of defining Britishness in three hours to the rest of the world, and asking him to do so in a fashion that won't leave everybody thinking, 'yeah yeah yeah, but it was shit compared to Beijing', and you've given him a hell of a bloody job.
Danny Boyle is to be hugely congratulated, and probably honoured in time, for the show he put together. We couldn't do the type of thing Beijing did - we're not that sort of country, we're not that sort of people, and we certainly can't throw the kind of money and resources at it that they did. He'd made it clear this was to be a celebration of British culture, particularly music, and an inclusive ceremony, which it certainly was.
There were moments, of course, that must have entirely baffled the rest of the world - indeed, the first thing I did when I came back from the friends' house where I'd watched it was check out some of the reaction from the Washington Post, the New York Times etc. They freely admitted that, even with their crib notes, some of the sections, particularly during the history of music bit, left them baffled as to what the hell was going on. But in anything that British, that was inevitable - giant-headed punks on bouncy metal legs moshing to the Sex Pistols - you don't get that in Atlanta or Beijing.
There were moments of great beauty - if there's been a more splendid torch lighting at one of these ceremonies, I can't remember it. There was some excellent comedy - I can't stand Mr Bean, but his little moment during Chariots of Fire was genuinely funny.
Surely, though, surely, most notable was the moment that left me at least gaping in shock. It's her. No, it's not her, it's a look-alike. "Good evening, Mr Bond." Fuck a duck - it's the bloody Queen! In a Bond film! An unbelievable moment, and I can't be the only person who wondered who first pitched that to her, and how. Fair play to her for agreeing to do it.
In the end, though you could never expect us to compete with the Chinese for spectacle, I thought Boyle recognised that and realised it had to be different. The only thing which went noticeably wrong was McCartney's apparent inability to hear his own monitor and ballsing up the first few bars of Hey Jude. I suspect Boyle would have taken that if he'd been offered it at the start. Ultimately he, and all the volunteers and performers, did us proud on this most British of evenings.
Similarly British was the bump with which we've come back to Earth on the opening day of the Games, of course, with the cyclists who did Britain so proudly in the Tour de France unable to dominate the road race with just four men and no other countries prepared to work at the front of the peloton, and Cavendish's medal hopes disappearing once again. A great shame for him, and we finish the first post-ceremony day of actual sport without a medal*.
*That's medal, the noun. It's not a verb - I repeat, NOT a verb. Don't even get me started on that...
Well said.
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