Mr B is like a Miaowy Cat who hasn't just licked the cream but has lapped up a massive great saucer-full. He is cock-a-hoop. He is on top of the world. His whole body exudes an unmistakable
air of "I Told You So!" In short, at great expense but, I am willing to concede, worth every pound and penny, we were there in the Olympic Stadium yesterday for "Super Saturday."
B has spent the last ever so many months muttering dire threats against anybody remotely responsible for our failure to purchase any tickets at all in the Lottery which has been the London Olympics Ticket Sales. These include all the corporate
sponsors, LOCOG and Lord Sebastian Coe (but not necessarily in that order.) Now, in a quite breath-taking about-turn, he boldly states that it was undoubtedy A Very Good Thing that all 80,000 tickets for yesterday evening were not made immediately
available to the great British public. Had this been the case, he explains, given our sorrowful record of ticket purchase failure, we would undoubtedly have missed out. Instead, Mr Thomas Cook was allowed to sell us precious tickets at Enormous
Expense. Well, it's an argument worth the making, I suppose.
But, hey, the aim of the Daily Blog is not to be smug and self-congratulatory. I certainly don't want to be one of
those people who go on and on about how lucky they are, in order to prove (usually only to themselves) that their life is richer, happier and more fulfilled then anybody else's. In fact, those of you who were among the more than 12 million watching at
home did have a few advantages over us in the stadium.
For one thing, you were spared the totally inane commentary of Ben Shepherd. I'm sorry if you like Ben Shepherd (I have to admit
I didn't know who he was; the Middle of the Darling Daughters had to text me from the other side of the Stadium to explain. She did say I wouldn't lose too many Brownie points for not knowing - though you may, of course, beg to differ.)
Anyway, suffice to say, I was underwhelmed. You also did not have to put up with patronising instructions flashed on bright pink screens around the stadium exhorting us to "Make a Noise!" As if anyone needed such encouragement. And why, oh why, did
we have a Master of Ceremonies for the London Olympics with an American drawl? Wouldn't a British accent - Liverpudlian, perhaps, or better still, good old Cockney - have been more appropriate?
will be able to read about some of the "best bits" on the Olympic Heroes Board, elsewhere on this website. But there's one story I must tell you. Our seats were overlooking the Long Jump and every time Chris Tomlinson and eventual
Gold Medal winner Greg Rutherford landed on the take-off board, ready to soar to new heights (or, rather, lengths) you could see all our collective bottoms lifting off our seats as we, too, rose to the occasion and willed them onwards and
upwards. I like to think that, in some small way, I helped Greg to his Gold.