Olympic Fever

I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t have any symptoms leading up to the games. Quite the opposite in fact. I was all, ‘Transport will go into meltdown!’ ‘London will collapse!’ ‘How will anyone get to work?’ ‘Why can’t I walk down this road anymore?’ ‘Too much money spent on showing off!” (who am I to talk?)

But on the day the games started I went for a run and ended up at the Olympic Park, which is down the road from me in Hackney. And then it happened. The fever hit me. I saw the stadium, the velodrome, the aquatics centre, that big white building with the red blobs which houses some sport f which I know not what, all these things I have seen before in their varying stages of construction and never once felt a thing. I think I may have even tutted in the past. Until then. And I burst into tears there and then on Ruckholt Road, overcome with emotion and excitement and pride and maybe because my right leg was hurting a bit too, but pride mainly of course.



Oh London *cries*

Since then my Olympic love has just grown stronger and it seems to be the same across the nation. I LOVE IT! The fact that I didn’t see it coming makes me love it EVEN MORE. Everyone just seems happy. Maybe that’s my hideously relentlessly grating positive outlook, but there does seem to be a general feeling of excitement and celebration in the air. It’s ace. I take back every moan and winge I emitted pre-Olympics (except Boris announcements on the trains / buses, THAT stays) as right now, it’s just ace.

Prolonging the love is all the winning we’ve done. WINNING. US. WHO KNEW? So much winning. I’ve watched hours of sporting feats so far, unable to avert my gaze from the telly all whilst shouting encouragement / crying / being amazed by the athletes to the point where I have dreams about them and think we are best friends (Jessica Ennis) / stealing make up ideas from gymnasts (one can never have too much blusher is key) / crying / wondering what sport I could do at Rio 2016 and win gold and stand on the podium and cry / how I could become friends with Jessica Ennis / more crying…


The emotional floodgates have opened it seems and I can’t make it stop. Not just our country either, I’ll take any potential tear jerking opp. It’s like a drug; I need a regular fix. It reached an absurd point last week when an advert in the paper for Gillette with Chris Hoy and the strapline “Can you knight a man twice?” brought tears to my eyes. Jesus. An advert for razors. Not even with moving pictures. A tenuous link. A cynical marketing ploy. A whole other level of tragedy I never knew I could reach. What has become of me?

A razor. I’m not emotionally capable to deal with such powerful imagery. 

But what makes it all so much sweeter is a year ago London was rioting, burning and unhappy. It wasn’t much fun and everyone was somewhat fed up and a bit scared. I’m not so naive to think that the Olympics can magic the problems away, but the fact we’re not robbing from the guy in the shop who sells us milk every day or smashing up Footlocker but instead being a bit excited about good stuff is really quite nice.

I don’t want them to end. I know it would be a bit weird if they carried on forever and we’d all get dead bored, but right now I just want them to keep going. We’ve run out of most sports, but can’t we just start doing some others to make it last a bit longer please? How about rounders? Everyone likes rounders! We’re good at rounders, we could win another medal! Come on, let’s not give up, one more week. Please? We’re good together. You make me feel happy. I’m a better person when you’re around. PLEASE. I NEED YOU. DON’T GO!


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