Preston

29th July

‘Oh Tara, how ARE you? We have a chalet in St Tropez now, we must have a tete-a-tete about a rendezvous down there!’

Now that conversation never actually took place. It was simply made up to illustrate to you how much Twickenham’s affluence is already beginning to grate.

Of my friends on the campsite, one of them has seen Avram Grant, one has seen Ronnie Wood, and the other has shown Michelle Obama to her seat. If I don’t see someone of the stature of at least one of the Saturdays or Carlton Palmer, today’s first shift will have been for nothing.

So yeah, the shift. I initially dressed this blog up as an access-all-areas, critical, cynical, rambling, shambling rant which would uncover the appalling working conditions of Games makers and the dictatorial bosses of LOCOG.

Vantage Point

Impossible. Sorry to disappoint but everything was genuinely great. We stood around for a while, wondering if we'd actually made the cut to become volunteers, considering that our briefing was roughly half an hour late. After volunteering to become part of the 'seating team', I could not believe my eyes when I was taken into the arena. This was my vantage point: 

I didn't see Obama. I didn't even see Carlton Palmer. I saw Preston from the Ordinary Boys. Or as he’s otherwise known, Preston from Chantelle. He asked me how I managed to maintain a veneer of stylishness whilst wearing the Games maker uniform.

I smiled, and replied ‘boys will be boys Preston, boys will be boys.’ My god, he loved that line. A bit too much, in all honesty.

Tonight’s first shift made it real for me. I loved every second. A Yummy Mummy on the train said we were fantastic, and an American on the DLR told us we were ‘fucking phenomenal dude’. Also, despite being told that I would see no sporting action, and being ribbed subsequently, I was pleasantly surprised that I got to watch a fair bit of the boxing. The atmosphere for the British and Irish boxers brought it home. London 2012. It’s here.