Woke up wondering which great from the
world of culture Noel was planning on bastardising next. Elvis perhaps. James
Joyce. Lemal from Kajagoogoo.
It was my day off so I allowed myself
time to reflect as I sat and watched Super Saturday in Canary Wharf. I cried
awhile as Brit after Brit picked up medal after medal. It’s a good job I have
little intentions of ever winning a gold medal, as flash flood warnings would
have to be issued worldwide.
I’m halfway through my shifts now.
The best week of my life.
 |
| Canary Wharf- former stronghold of the Daleks |
I was so sceptical and cynical when I
arrived, I fully anticipated walking out after two or three shifts, in a blaze
of glory, overturning touts’ trestle tables and quoting passages from the
Bible. It’s just been brilliant though. Everyone I’ve worked with, dealt with,
worked for, have been like-minded, lovely people. Not happy-clappers, just
people who really couldn’t believe their luck, with regards to how the whole
process was turning out. Cynical people, no doubt, like myself, who have found
themselves on the crest of a wave, carried by each other, spectators, Team
GeeBee, even the press who apparently can’t praise the Games makers enough.
(I appreciate this blog has been
lacking in humorous drive and has become a little bit worthy, but I need to eat
humble pie. My early blogs, rip them up. Throw them out. I was wrong. This
Olympics. It’s incredible.)
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