Ok, ok, I admit it. I was wrong about the Olympics. Far from being a transport and tourist nightmare, it was actually one of the nicest times EVER to be in London. Those lovely pink-jacketed transport helpers were brilliant, directing people to the right tubes and trains, while the maroon-clad volunteers were just so smiley and fabulous that I wanted to adopt one and have them pottering around at home, being helpful and cheery, the way I thought children were before I actually had them. And the soldiers! Don’t even get me started on how thrilling it was to be searched by strapping young chappies wearing camouflage and carrying really big guns.
Oh, and the actual Olympics too. I only saw one event, due to diary changes/Child One being stricken by sickness/general disorganisation but that one was just great. Child Two and I ventured up to Earls Court to see the volleyball, a game I have zero interest in. We didn’t know who was playing, we didn’t know the rules, but as soon as we heard the roar of the crowd as we left the tube station, we knew we were in for a good time. It was literally impossible to resist the mood of jubilation as a bunch of fit women in shorts jumped around below us. It eventually turned out that it was Brazil vs China, and the woman next to us, with a delectable toddler, was Brazilian, so we became honourary Brazilians too. Eventually I even got the hang of the rules. But for those who remained baffled (which seemed to include the TV people, who came on too early to announce the finish and had to go off again) there was plenty of other entertainment on offer from the tireless cheerleaders with sparkly pom-poms, a Drum Cam and lots of choruses of We Will Rock You to stomp to.
Thanks to me and Child Two, Brazil won and we then repaired to the John Lewis Olympic shop to buy a T-shirt to commemorate. Now this was a really tough sport, getting to the till and back without serious impediment or injury from the crowd, but luckily, as TL tells me, I already have an Olympic gold medal for shopping.
