Those who know me will immediately recognise how pleasing I find this story from the Beeb today. I complain fairly frequently about our complicity in the Americanisation of our language, and my workmates take great delight in trying to get a rise out of me by using American words and American pronunciations at every possible opportunity.
It's an old joke that the UK and US are two nations divided by a common language, but for a long time it's felt that the weight of change was very, very heavily in America's favour, an inevitable consequence of the widespread British consumption of US mass media. So it's nice to know there are a few little counter-jabs scoring in our favour at the moment.
Number one target should be the execrable word 'tuxedo'. If we can get them calling those 'dinner jackets' then we really will have landed one right on their linguistic solar plexus, and perhaps have done something to hold back its apparently unstoppable infiltration of our spoken and, worse, written language. I'm not holding my breath though.
Thursday, 27 September 2012
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
Time and a place
I've just been through Piccadilly Circus on a bus, on the way to work. At all the exits to the tube there, and on the street junctions, were groups of young lads and lasses dressed in Santa Claus outfits, handing out flyers.
Now, speaking as a lover of Christmas, I find this irritating and slightly depressing. Can we not be allowed to live our lives chronologically correctly, as the occasions actually fall? Christmas in September, Easter in February, school uniforms being plugged the moment the summer holidays start (how I hated that as as kid...) There are weeks between, for example, November 5th and Christmas, during which time thoughts can more reasonably be turned toward it, I think. At least by then it's dark and cold, as it's supposed to be at Christmas. This morning was pleasant and sunny - the Piccadilly Circus girls, for example, were wearing those 'sexy' Santa short skirts and stockings, which I could not see them being so cheerful in come December.
But since we're busy moving everything forward in the calendar, why stop there? Let's all go to the beach in January, and demand birthday presents 9 weeks in advance. Why not turn up for meetings days before you're supposed to? Can we please be allowed to enjoy the last few rays of the sun before we start putting twinkly lights up?
Now, speaking as a lover of Christmas, I find this irritating and slightly depressing. Can we not be allowed to live our lives chronologically correctly, as the occasions actually fall? Christmas in September, Easter in February, school uniforms being plugged the moment the summer holidays start (how I hated that as as kid...) There are weeks between, for example, November 5th and Christmas, during which time thoughts can more reasonably be turned toward it, I think. At least by then it's dark and cold, as it's supposed to be at Christmas. This morning was pleasant and sunny - the Piccadilly Circus girls, for example, were wearing those 'sexy' Santa short skirts and stockings, which I could not see them being so cheerful in come December.
But since we're busy moving everything forward in the calendar, why stop there? Let's all go to the beach in January, and demand birthday presents 9 weeks in advance. Why not turn up for meetings days before you're supposed to? Can we please be allowed to enjoy the last few rays of the sun before we start putting twinkly lights up?
Wednesday, 12 September 2012
Justice for the 96
Back in November of last year I wrote this piece, on the successful efforts of countless thousands of people in applying sufficient pressure on the Government to fully disclose documents relating to the Hillsborough disaster.
Those documents would not ordinarily be released for another 7 years, and their content shows that there are plenty of people with good reason to wish they hadn't been. Many of the families, and many within the football supporting community as a whole, have suspected all along that there was a cover up of the facts of the case. But just how shocking some of the revelations are has led to the Prime Minister standing in a packed and silent House of Commons to offer a formal apology for what he called the 'double injustice' of the original disaster and subsequent smearing and blame of the Liverpool fans.
Some of the main points raised by the independent review, but never published before today, include:
- New evidence about how the authorities failed, including documents which show a delay from the emergency services when people were being crushed (evidently up to 41 lives could have been saved if the emergency services had acted differently)
- Shortcomings in the response by the ambulance service and other emergency services in addition to failings by police
- Rescue attempts were held back by failures of leadership and co-ordination
- Victims' families were correct in their belief that some of the authorities attempted to create a "completely unjust" account of events that sought to blame the fans
- "Despicable untruths" about the behaviour of fans were part of police efforts "to develop and publicise a version of events that focused on allegations of drunkenness, ticketlessness and violence"
- Police officers carried out police national computer checks on those who had died in an attempt "to impugn the reputations of the deceased"
- 116 police statements amended or shortened to remove negative comments about South Yorkshire police's handling of the incident
These quoted from the BBC's website.
23 years of campaigning for the truth are finally over, but this must not be the end. The findings of the original public enquiry must be quashed, and the people who have lied, the people who have covered up, and the people who have blamed the fans must be punished. The police's part in this must be revealed to the full glare of public scrutiny, and those responsible both for exacerbating the disaster and then smearing the victims in the aftermath must be punished.
I particularly want to see Kelvin MacKenzie sued for what he did. "The Truth", screamed his despicable rag, The Sun, while the victims still lay in the morgues. Liverpool fans caused the crush. Liverpool fans robbed the dead. Liverpool fans spat at, abused and urinated on police officers. It must be true, right? Football fans - tribal, snarling, atavistic scum, right? The Sun said it was their fault, and millions believed them. All now proven, as has been said all along by those who were there, to be utter lies. His former paper's forthcoming apology will cut little ice in Liverpool, where sales of The Sun have never recovered after what they did, and never will.
I want to hear Thatcher apologise for basically demonising football fans for years afterwards, choosing to believe the lies of a police officer over what eye witnesses were saying, and for her government's refusal to properly and impartially investigate what happened.
There is no sense of celebration, of course. The families and friends of the victims have vindication but not yet the full justice they crave. But they will. As I said back in November, the truth will out in the end. Tireless work by campaigners, notably among them Andy Burnham MP, who deserves great credit for his determination on this matter, is finally going to get justice for the 96.
It's not just footballers who should learn an Olympic lesson
We've all seen the pictures of the Chancellor being booed heartily by the crowd in the Olympic Stadium when he took part in a medal ceremony. The reaction of most people seemed to be amusement and it is, in fairness, always slightly funny to see a politician getting the bird when they stick their head above the parapet.
But the Tories should be careful to heed what was a pretty emphatic warning. The sound did not come across as a few malcontents - it seemed as though the entire stadium, 82,000 people, were joining in lustily. That is a significant and representative sample of the electorate they have to face at the next general election, letting a deeply unpopular Chancellor know what they think of him. Not that I believe it was an entirely party political thing - witness the reception Cameron and Boris Johnson, Tories both, received at the parade of Olympians outside Buckingham Palace on Monday 10th.
Rather, this was, I believe, a firm statement of the distaste people feel for a man who's making savage cuts to budgets across the public sector, across services that affect everybody, and ignoring the howls of protest that he's doing so too quickly and too deeply. The reshuffle (or rearrangement of the Titanic's deck chairs) they just undertook left Osborne bizarrely unaffected. He seems absolutely bomb-proof, of all the possible candidates Cameron could have moved. I don't know if this represents blind faith in their dogmatic approach to spending policy, blind faith in Osborne himself or simple, stubborn stupidity.
Whichever it is, the Tories may find out to their cost just how heartfelt those boos were, how indicative of the strength of feeling against the Chancellor, if they do not heed them.
But the Tories should be careful to heed what was a pretty emphatic warning. The sound did not come across as a few malcontents - it seemed as though the entire stadium, 82,000 people, were joining in lustily. That is a significant and representative sample of the electorate they have to face at the next general election, letting a deeply unpopular Chancellor know what they think of him. Not that I believe it was an entirely party political thing - witness the reception Cameron and Boris Johnson, Tories both, received at the parade of Olympians outside Buckingham Palace on Monday 10th.
Rather, this was, I believe, a firm statement of the distaste people feel for a man who's making savage cuts to budgets across the public sector, across services that affect everybody, and ignoring the howls of protest that he's doing so too quickly and too deeply. The reshuffle (or rearrangement of the Titanic's deck chairs) they just undertook left Osborne bizarrely unaffected. He seems absolutely bomb-proof, of all the possible candidates Cameron could have moved. I don't know if this represents blind faith in their dogmatic approach to spending policy, blind faith in Osborne himself or simple, stubborn stupidity.
Whichever it is, the Tories may find out to their cost just how heartfelt those boos were, how indicative of the strength of feeling against the Chancellor, if they do not heed them.
Monday, 3 September 2012
Humbling experience at the Paralympics
Sunday was spent at the Paralympics, in the Olympic Park, on a day pass secured by a mate. They've worked things a bit more informally for these games than they did at the Olympics - £10 gets you into the Park, and you can then watch any sport at which there are seats available. This does not, regrettably, get you into the really popular events like the velodrome or the athletics, but it still represents bloody good value. I'm pleased to report that the Park was absolutely swarming with people - the British have clearly embraced the Paralympics just as they did the Olympics.
If any of what follows is patronising to the people about whom I'm writing, I humbly apologise, I certainly do not mean it to. I was particularly keen to see wheelchair basketball - it looked brilliant on the trailers and I hadn't got into the basketball arena when I'd been to the Olympics before. It did not, needless to say, disappoint. A decent crowd in a towering, steep-sided arena, seats with terrific views at no extra cost to the tenner you'd paid to get in, and the same sort of enthusiasm and excitement which characterised the Games a few weeks ago.
What was different, of course, was the athletes. Seriously, sitting there watching them was an awesome experience, in the genuine and true sense of the word. What else can you feel for the Italian basketball player, no legs, only one hand, tearing about the court and scoring baskets? I can't begin to imagine my own response should I find myself wheelchair-bound but I'd be absolutely chuffed with myself if I showed even 10% of the determination and drive that these athletes have. Sitting there with a beer in my hand, knowing my own portly body does no more than play a bit of footy on a Tuesday and get dragged to the gym when I'm not feeling too lazy, makes you sort of wonder what the fuck you've been doing with your time, and how much you take your own body for granted.
The Italians won that one, anyway, leaving a South African side yet to taste victory in the competition, but the honest truth is, I couldn't have given less of a damn about the score. I was, and here's the bit in which I may unwillingly patronise the players, thoroughly bloody impressed with all of them.
Same goes for the wheelchair tennis doubles I also saw. A British side, enjoying the same sort of support all the British Olympians enjoyed, defeating a couple of Canadian lads in straight sets. I've never watched competition tennis, so have no frame of reference with the non-disabled professionals, but what I saw had pace, power and intensity, with one of the British lads in particular showing a deftness of touch on the volley which any tennis player would be bloody thrilled with.
Late in the evening, back home, I saw Pistorius's surprise defeat to the Brazilian lad and his subsequent criticism of the winner's blades in the post-race interview. Here's the story if you missed it. It was a reminder, if any were needed, that the Paralympians take their sport exactly as seriously as everybody else, and that, regrettably, the politicking, arguments and possible cheating are the same. It's sport, basically, exactly as the Olympics are. But the South African's comments were nonetheless disappointing, especially in the light of what he had to go through to be able to run alongside so-called able-bodied athletes just a few weeks ago. He fought a long battle to prove that his blades give him no advantage over runners using only their own legs, as it were, a battle he eventually (and officially, in the eyes of the sport) won. He should perhaps remember that when he thinks about criticising somebody else's blades in future, if he's not to damage the sport's credibility in some eyes.
If any of what follows is patronising to the people about whom I'm writing, I humbly apologise, I certainly do not mean it to. I was particularly keen to see wheelchair basketball - it looked brilliant on the trailers and I hadn't got into the basketball arena when I'd been to the Olympics before. It did not, needless to say, disappoint. A decent crowd in a towering, steep-sided arena, seats with terrific views at no extra cost to the tenner you'd paid to get in, and the same sort of enthusiasm and excitement which characterised the Games a few weeks ago.
What was different, of course, was the athletes. Seriously, sitting there watching them was an awesome experience, in the genuine and true sense of the word. What else can you feel for the Italian basketball player, no legs, only one hand, tearing about the court and scoring baskets? I can't begin to imagine my own response should I find myself wheelchair-bound but I'd be absolutely chuffed with myself if I showed even 10% of the determination and drive that these athletes have. Sitting there with a beer in my hand, knowing my own portly body does no more than play a bit of footy on a Tuesday and get dragged to the gym when I'm not feeling too lazy, makes you sort of wonder what the fuck you've been doing with your time, and how much you take your own body for granted.
The Italians won that one, anyway, leaving a South African side yet to taste victory in the competition, but the honest truth is, I couldn't have given less of a damn about the score. I was, and here's the bit in which I may unwillingly patronise the players, thoroughly bloody impressed with all of them.
Same goes for the wheelchair tennis doubles I also saw. A British side, enjoying the same sort of support all the British Olympians enjoyed, defeating a couple of Canadian lads in straight sets. I've never watched competition tennis, so have no frame of reference with the non-disabled professionals, but what I saw had pace, power and intensity, with one of the British lads in particular showing a deftness of touch on the volley which any tennis player would be bloody thrilled with.
Late in the evening, back home, I saw Pistorius's surprise defeat to the Brazilian lad and his subsequent criticism of the winner's blades in the post-race interview. Here's the story if you missed it. It was a reminder, if any were needed, that the Paralympians take their sport exactly as seriously as everybody else, and that, regrettably, the politicking, arguments and possible cheating are the same. It's sport, basically, exactly as the Olympics are. But the South African's comments were nonetheless disappointing, especially in the light of what he had to go through to be able to run alongside so-called able-bodied athletes just a few weeks ago. He fought a long battle to prove that his blades give him no advantage over runners using only their own legs, as it were, a battle he eventually (and officially, in the eyes of the sport) won. He should perhaps remember that when he thinks about criticising somebody else's blades in future, if he's not to damage the sport's credibility in some eyes.
Monday, 20 August 2012
Is it really worth this?
Another example of religious ideology driving people to do stupid, evil things in the news at the moment. Sometimes I despair of it, I really do. This poor girl is the latest victim of zealotry, with extremist reaction leading to threats to burn Christian homes - religious fervour once again being used as a wedge to divide people.
I've heard, and understand, the responses to my problem with theological extremism. It's not religion, it's people that are the problem. Well, yes. Of course - but would the response to some perceived slight in any other walk of life, any secular insult, provoke such a reaction? Remove the ideology, and you remove a stronger reason for hatred than any other I can think of.
I am, once again, reminded of the great quote from Mark Twain - a man who, despite being a Christian himself, saw religion and what it does to people rather more clearly than many of his contemporaries:
"The fleets of the world could swim in spacious comfort in the innocent blood it has spilt."
Let us hope that matters calm down in this instance, before it comes to that.
I've heard, and understand, the responses to my problem with theological extremism. It's not religion, it's people that are the problem. Well, yes. Of course - but would the response to some perceived slight in any other walk of life, any secular insult, provoke such a reaction? Remove the ideology, and you remove a stronger reason for hatred than any other I can think of.
I am, once again, reminded of the great quote from Mark Twain - a man who, despite being a Christian himself, saw religion and what it does to people rather more clearly than many of his contemporaries:
"The fleets of the world could swim in spacious comfort in the innocent blood it has spilt."
Let us hope that matters calm down in this instance, before it comes to that.
What say do we have left in our own lives?
I can't, generally, understand what it is that drives people to suicide. I'm fortunate enough never to have found myself in a position where it's even crossed my mind, and of those poor people driven to it, it's often thought of as 'selfish', particularly when it traumatises other people (train drivers, for example). I can't begin to empathise with people so full of despair that they seriously contemplate it, still less actually carry it out.
But the case of Tony Nicklinson offers an insight into the life of a man who has made this decision rationally and clearly. I'm lucky enough that I can't empathise with him, but I can at least understand his reasons and certainly defend his choice. He has, though, been denied that choice by a court. A court which has condemned him to live that life against his will, either because it has allowed concern for the letter of the law to weigh more heavily than human considerations, or for some other reason I can't fathom.
All he's asking is that somebody who cares for him, or a medical professional, be allowed to help him carry out that choice without being prosecuted for murder. But that concern for those he'll leave behind, and the fact that this has been done openly, has worked against him. It seems the law denies us that choice in our own life. The only reason for it, as far as I can see, is to prevent murder being dressed up as assisted suicide, but that possibility exists anyway, regardless of what the law says. There are bad people out there who could do this to somebody vulnerable - that will be a fact notwithstanding the wording of the laws.
Certainly any religious pressure not to take one's own life are outrageous - what right does a theological organisation have, for example, to tell an atheist they must adhere to their doctrine? Even if Mr Nicklinson is a Christian he's living, in his own words, a very real hell - you would hope a benevolent deity would be sufficiently understanding to forgive him his choice. It's also to be fervently hoped that such considerations played no part in the court's ruling.
So let's assume it was down to the law, and no more. If we can't even, in a sound and rational state of mind, take this decision for ourselves any longer, what rights to self-determination do we have left? I sincerely hope, for Mr Nicklinson's sake, that he eventually will be allowed the peace he's after, that he will be free to make this most fundamental of choices for himself.
But the case of Tony Nicklinson offers an insight into the life of a man who has made this decision rationally and clearly. I'm lucky enough that I can't empathise with him, but I can at least understand his reasons and certainly defend his choice. He has, though, been denied that choice by a court. A court which has condemned him to live that life against his will, either because it has allowed concern for the letter of the law to weigh more heavily than human considerations, or for some other reason I can't fathom.
All he's asking is that somebody who cares for him, or a medical professional, be allowed to help him carry out that choice without being prosecuted for murder. But that concern for those he'll leave behind, and the fact that this has been done openly, has worked against him. It seems the law denies us that choice in our own life. The only reason for it, as far as I can see, is to prevent murder being dressed up as assisted suicide, but that possibility exists anyway, regardless of what the law says. There are bad people out there who could do this to somebody vulnerable - that will be a fact notwithstanding the wording of the laws.
Certainly any religious pressure not to take one's own life are outrageous - what right does a theological organisation have, for example, to tell an atheist they must adhere to their doctrine? Even if Mr Nicklinson is a Christian he's living, in his own words, a very real hell - you would hope a benevolent deity would be sufficiently understanding to forgive him his choice. It's also to be fervently hoped that such considerations played no part in the court's ruling.
So let's assume it was down to the law, and no more. If we can't even, in a sound and rational state of mind, take this decision for ourselves any longer, what rights to self-determination do we have left? I sincerely hope, for Mr Nicklinson's sake, that he eventually will be allowed the peace he's after, that he will be free to make this most fundamental of choices for himself.
Tuesday, 14 August 2012
Closure
Having absorbed as much of the Games as possible, and absolutely loved the entire thing, I was fortunate enough to be at the closing ceremony on Sunday thanks to my girlfriend getting tickets in the first draw, way back when.
She's been volunteering throughout the Games, and has had experiences she'll remember forever; indeed she attended the closing ceremony in her uniform, having come straight from the men's marathon earlier that day. The goodwill and thanks to her and all the volunteers from organisers and public alike where heartfelt and fulsome. I'll add mine - what an incredible job they all did. My missus came home exhausted from long days on her feet, but when I met some of her colleagues they, like her, expressed nothing but admiration for each other and enjoyment of their experiences. Hats off to all of them. My g/f most of all, of course - no doubt she was the best of the lot.
The closing ceremony itself was another exhibition of extreme Britishness, just as the opener had been. I occasionally felt like I was there under slightly fraudulent pretences, given my indifference to music and its pivotal role in the whole thing. But I enjoyed it immensely, as much, I hope, as a proper music fan would have done, and came away from it regarding it as an all round good thing. Spectacular, amusing again, and smoothly done.
Slight criticisms? It could have done with being about 45 minutes shorter - I got into bed at around 2.45am as a result of its finishing time, and bits of it were slightly flabby. George Michael should never have been indulged to perform that second one, a new song that nobody knew, from an album which came out the next day. Absolutely bare-faced, and the audience sat largely still and pretty mute as he performed it. An odd, incongruous few minutes which jarred with the tone of the rest of the show.
Good bits? Everything else. Stomp and Fat Boy Slim being there, both being from Brighton like me, was a particular joy. And I got as close as I'll ever get to addressing one of my enduring regrets - I never saw Queen live while Freddie M was alive. Amazing light shows from the seat-mounted LEDs all over the stadium. Cracking fireworks and some top set building. The beauty of the flame itself unfurling and dying slowly.
It wasn't for everybody, I suspect - I don't know what the vision of a modern Britain was of the older couple from just in front of us who left, no more than a third of the way through, during one of the show's noisier sections, never to return. But for me, yet again, it somehow succeeded in capturing Britain, exemplifying our modernity, diversity, our willingness to poke fun at ourselves.
It was, like so much of these Games was, an absolute joy to behold, and a great privilege to be there. The stadium is absolutely wonderful, and though I strongly suspect I'll be disappointed, it'll be a crying shame if it's handed over to a football club. (This from a die-hard footy fan, by the way - we made a legacy commitment to athletics during the bid process, and should be held to account for that commitment.)
I shall miss the Olympics terribly and look forward with great enthusiasm to seeing some of the Paralympics live. Evidently I'm not alone - more tickets have been sold for the Paralympics than ever have in the event's history, with those Games on course for a sell-out.
Truly, the British have shown, and are showing, the best of us to the world these past weeks. Can we take that best to heart for ourselves, I wonder?
She's been volunteering throughout the Games, and has had experiences she'll remember forever; indeed she attended the closing ceremony in her uniform, having come straight from the men's marathon earlier that day. The goodwill and thanks to her and all the volunteers from organisers and public alike where heartfelt and fulsome. I'll add mine - what an incredible job they all did. My missus came home exhausted from long days on her feet, but when I met some of her colleagues they, like her, expressed nothing but admiration for each other and enjoyment of their experiences. Hats off to all of them. My g/f most of all, of course - no doubt she was the best of the lot.
The closing ceremony itself was another exhibition of extreme Britishness, just as the opener had been. I occasionally felt like I was there under slightly fraudulent pretences, given my indifference to music and its pivotal role in the whole thing. But I enjoyed it immensely, as much, I hope, as a proper music fan would have done, and came away from it regarding it as an all round good thing. Spectacular, amusing again, and smoothly done.
Slight criticisms? It could have done with being about 45 minutes shorter - I got into bed at around 2.45am as a result of its finishing time, and bits of it were slightly flabby. George Michael should never have been indulged to perform that second one, a new song that nobody knew, from an album which came out the next day. Absolutely bare-faced, and the audience sat largely still and pretty mute as he performed it. An odd, incongruous few minutes which jarred with the tone of the rest of the show.
Good bits? Everything else. Stomp and Fat Boy Slim being there, both being from Brighton like me, was a particular joy. And I got as close as I'll ever get to addressing one of my enduring regrets - I never saw Queen live while Freddie M was alive. Amazing light shows from the seat-mounted LEDs all over the stadium. Cracking fireworks and some top set building. The beauty of the flame itself unfurling and dying slowly.
It wasn't for everybody, I suspect - I don't know what the vision of a modern Britain was of the older couple from just in front of us who left, no more than a third of the way through, during one of the show's noisier sections, never to return. But for me, yet again, it somehow succeeded in capturing Britain, exemplifying our modernity, diversity, our willingness to poke fun at ourselves.
It was, like so much of these Games was, an absolute joy to behold, and a great privilege to be there. The stadium is absolutely wonderful, and though I strongly suspect I'll be disappointed, it'll be a crying shame if it's handed over to a football club. (This from a die-hard footy fan, by the way - we made a legacy commitment to athletics during the bid process, and should be held to account for that commitment.)
I shall miss the Olympics terribly and look forward with great enthusiasm to seeing some of the Paralympics live. Evidently I'm not alone - more tickets have been sold for the Paralympics than ever have in the event's history, with those Games on course for a sell-out.
Truly, the British have shown, and are showing, the best of us to the world these past weeks. Can we take that best to heart for ourselves, I wonder?
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
A once-in-a-lifetime privilege
Last Saturday has already gone down in the annals of British sporting history, with gold medals all day, but particularly the three in the Olympic stadium in one dazzling 45-minute spell in the evening.
This was, for me, the day that I got to use the only tickets I'd been able to secure, for a morning's handball in the Copper Box. Taking the advice, or rather the dire warnings, on travel and getting to the venue early, I was up at six to meet my mate and head up to the park. The travel was, in fact, a doddle, as was getting through security and into the park. Friendly and efficient welcome, everybody chipper and a state of happy expectation. A slight hiccup when one of the many volunteers greeting crowds from vantage points on the top of step-ladder high chairs, on spotting a Belgian flag, yelled, "Good morning, Germany!" through her loudspeaker. Never mind - in keeping with the general atmosphere of goodwill, they took it in good heart.
Excitement grew pretty quickly after getting our bearings; I even posed for a photograph - willingly - in front of the Olympic Stadium, with a union flag. Anybody who knows me will realise the double-rarity value of such a thing. So, we headed to the Copper Box in plenty of time for the couple of games we were to see.
We saw a valiant GB side, put together from nothing in the past six years to compete at these Games, get handed their usual thrashing, and then saw South Korea v Serbia. A couple of hours very well spent in a cracking venue, with a loud, positive crowd really getting into both games. Handball is a game I've always thought would go down well in Britain if it were played to a decent standard, and it's been one of the success stories of the Games.
The rest of the day, though, was genuinely one of the great sporting experiences of my life. My mate and I spent the rest of the day and all evening in the Park, sitting watching British successes on the two huge screens they've put up there. All around were noises of cheering from the huge main stadium, from the hockey stadium, the basketball arena and around the screens themselves. As darkness fell and the big stadium filled up, partly emptying the park in the process, those without tickets to go in gathered in front of those screens and saw those three golds in quick succession. For all of them, but for Mo Farah in particular, there was jubilation. I saw, and felt, national pride without it spilling over into jingoism, and no trouble. It was an entirely positive experience. We left just as Jessica Ennis was receiving her gold medal, hearing the 80,000-plus in the stadium singing the anthem as we made our way out.
However much I was enjoying the Games already, nothing had compared to that Saturday. I have, needless to say, sat up late into each night since, trying until the early hours to secure tickets for anything else, anything, anywhere, without success. With so little time left I've basically given up trying now, and must instead look forward with huge anticipation to the closing ceremony, which I'm lucky enough to have a ticket for through my girlfriend.
With just four days to go as I type, it's been a huge success so far. They've ballsed up the ticketing, as I predicted in a much earlier post months ago, and they've ballsed up the mascots - in the Megastore in the Park, ranks of forlorn Wenlocks and Mandevilles sat unsold, while this new lion thingy which has appeared lately was flying off the shelves - but they've got the Games themselves right. Throw in a British public which, both in the excellent volunteers and the vast, positive, celebratory crowds, have switched off our innate reserve and pessimism for a couple of weeks, and you've got an absolute bloody marvel.
This was, for me, the day that I got to use the only tickets I'd been able to secure, for a morning's handball in the Copper Box. Taking the advice, or rather the dire warnings, on travel and getting to the venue early, I was up at six to meet my mate and head up to the park. The travel was, in fact, a doddle, as was getting through security and into the park. Friendly and efficient welcome, everybody chipper and a state of happy expectation. A slight hiccup when one of the many volunteers greeting crowds from vantage points on the top of step-ladder high chairs, on spotting a Belgian flag, yelled, "Good morning, Germany!" through her loudspeaker. Never mind - in keeping with the general atmosphere of goodwill, they took it in good heart.
Excitement grew pretty quickly after getting our bearings; I even posed for a photograph - willingly - in front of the Olympic Stadium, with a union flag. Anybody who knows me will realise the double-rarity value of such a thing. So, we headed to the Copper Box in plenty of time for the couple of games we were to see.
We saw a valiant GB side, put together from nothing in the past six years to compete at these Games, get handed their usual thrashing, and then saw South Korea v Serbia. A couple of hours very well spent in a cracking venue, with a loud, positive crowd really getting into both games. Handball is a game I've always thought would go down well in Britain if it were played to a decent standard, and it's been one of the success stories of the Games.
The rest of the day, though, was genuinely one of the great sporting experiences of my life. My mate and I spent the rest of the day and all evening in the Park, sitting watching British successes on the two huge screens they've put up there. All around were noises of cheering from the huge main stadium, from the hockey stadium, the basketball arena and around the screens themselves. As darkness fell and the big stadium filled up, partly emptying the park in the process, those without tickets to go in gathered in front of those screens and saw those three golds in quick succession. For all of them, but for Mo Farah in particular, there was jubilation. I saw, and felt, national pride without it spilling over into jingoism, and no trouble. It was an entirely positive experience. We left just as Jessica Ennis was receiving her gold medal, hearing the 80,000-plus in the stadium singing the anthem as we made our way out.
However much I was enjoying the Games already, nothing had compared to that Saturday. I have, needless to say, sat up late into each night since, trying until the early hours to secure tickets for anything else, anything, anywhere, without success. With so little time left I've basically given up trying now, and must instead look forward with huge anticipation to the closing ceremony, which I'm lucky enough to have a ticket for through my girlfriend.
With just four days to go as I type, it's been a huge success so far. They've ballsed up the ticketing, as I predicted in a much earlier post months ago, and they've ballsed up the mascots - in the Megastore in the Park, ranks of forlorn Wenlocks and Mandevilles sat unsold, while this new lion thingy which has appeared lately was flying off the shelves - but they've got the Games themselves right. Throw in a British public which, both in the excellent volunteers and the vast, positive, celebratory crowds, have switched off our innate reserve and pessimism for a couple of weeks, and you've got an absolute bloody marvel.
Friday, 3 August 2012
Absolutely loving it so far...
I'll come back to the tickets later, but now's not the time. The Olympics so far have been nothing short of wonderful so far, with huge, enthusiastic crowds (80,000 people turning up for a morning session of athletics mainly comprising heptathlon heats!), cracking venues and British success. Two people, in particular, caught my eye today. On a day when we won three further golds to go fourth in the medals table, a couple of bronze winners stood out for me.
Firstly, Rebecca Adlington. Winning a bronze in the event she won at Beijing, I think expectations of her were hugely over-inflated. Interviewed after today's bronze-winning swim, she apologised to everybody who thought she'd take gold. What the hell does this woman, who's won four Olympic medals for Britain, have to apologise to anybody for? She is an absolute heroine who is rightly feted, and owes the fans and her country nothing. Congratulations to our greatest female swimmer of all time who, far from saying sorry, can hold her head up wherever she goes.
Secondly, Alan Campbell. This shows how much effort he had to expend in winning his bronze, and how much it meant to him when he collected it. That somebody can drive themselves to such extremes of endeavour, and react so emotionally when they're rewarded for it, shows just why people love the Olympics so much, even with all the attendant corporate zealotry and occasional cheat. Oh, and the ticketing. Like I said, I'll come back to that later.
Firstly, Rebecca Adlington. Winning a bronze in the event she won at Beijing, I think expectations of her were hugely over-inflated. Interviewed after today's bronze-winning swim, she apologised to everybody who thought she'd take gold. What the hell does this woman, who's won four Olympic medals for Britain, have to apologise to anybody for? She is an absolute heroine who is rightly feted, and owes the fans and her country nothing. Congratulations to our greatest female swimmer of all time who, far from saying sorry, can hold her head up wherever she goes.
Secondly, Alan Campbell. This shows how much effort he had to expend in winning his bronze, and how much it meant to him when he collected it. That somebody can drive themselves to such extremes of endeavour, and react so emotionally when they're rewarded for it, shows just why people love the Olympics so much, even with all the attendant corporate zealotry and occasional cheat. Oh, and the ticketing. Like I said, I'll come back to that later.
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