Exclusive Rights

This morning we ride on the new Thames Cable Car which goes from the nicely renamed North Greenwich Arena (that dome thing) to the ExCel centre.

We had hoped this would be a short cut but in fact, an hour later, we end up back more less where we started. Still can’t complain about the transport system, it’s been impressive and the predictions of gridlock have not materialised at all.

Eventually we make it into the centre and watch the marathon pass us close to London Bridge.

Again the atmosphere is great, the whole city is buzzing. The games are the best thing to have happened to London in years, probably ever. I've never seen London so clean or so finished. Where are all the road works and unfinished building projects?

Even Londoners are smiling, that never happens. Perhaps the attitude of the wonderful games volunteers has rubbed off on them or perhaps after having been repeatedly told it’s going to be a disaster, everyone is just so elated that hasn’t happened. In fact, everything has been superbly organised. London has not only pulled it off but done so with great style.

We ponder about whether to stay and watch the next lap of the marathon or whether to head off to get a good spot in Greenwich Park for the Modern Pentathlon for which we have tickets. We opt for the later and get a good spot we do.

We have an excellent view of everyone being thrown from their horses during the show jumping section and also a great view of the run and shoot that follows.

Even the weather is great. Perhaps too great as I sit slowing baking in the sun. At least I have a beer in my hand, which is probably one of the few things I can actually whinge about.

London brewer Fullers were in the running to be the official beer supplier which would have been great. Perhaps a rebranding of ‘London Pride’ as ‘London 2012 Pride’ and ‘ESB’ as ‘ESO’ - for Extra Special Olympics, but no. Instead the very un-British Heineken paid handsomely for the exclusive beer rights, or non beer rights, as obviously by the UK definition at least, it’s a lager.

What I’m actually drinking is something that they’ve generically called ‘ale’, totally unbranded. Although the staff openly tell you it’s John Smiths. Which is, of course, a very British name of long standing, although a shadow of its former self. Bizarrely this ‘brand’ name is actually owned by Heineken yet they choose not to market it against their parent brand...

A last gold of the games today for GB from Super-Heavyweight Anthony Joshua in the boxing but we get to witness in person the last medal of any colour, a silver from Samantha Murray.

Afterwards we celebrate a very successful Games in a nice little beer cellar called the Wheatsheaf and then we eat in the equally pleasant Southwark Tavern where they are showing the closing ceremony.

(Sunday 12th August)

Spinning The Roulette Wheel

So Olympic tickets... here we go again. Let’s spin the roulette wheel.

First up an all events Modern Pentathlon ticket and in less than three minutes Ticketmaster told me I was having a laugh. So no change there then. I spin the wheel again.

I take a punt on the Brownlee boys and the Triathlon. Ticketmaster fell off its chair at this point, ROFL-ing for all it was worth, but only after making me wait 7... no 8... no 9... no 10 minutes... no 11... it just kept going up and up like something you bought from Microsoft. I remove my fist from my PC screen and spin the roulette wheel again.

I go for the lesser Modern Pentathlon option, a ticket for just the Greenwich Park events - the riding, running and shooting. Ticketmaster said 'yeah no problem'. Now it really was taking the piss.

I kept looking at the screen which was now saying ‘you have 1 minute 10 seconds to accept these tickets’... no ‘1 minute 5 seconds’ ... ‘1 minute’... hang on just one minute... I mean 50 seconds... I mean 45 seconds... this countdown is going down not up, that can’t be right. It’s also not long enough to decide whether I’m being defrauded or not.

Sod it. Buy buy buy. It’s only money and it’s the London Olympics. We all love the London Olympics.

So yes we have tickets. I still can’t get anywhere near the Olympic Park but it’s a start.

Buoyed by this success, I wonder what the hotel prices are like. The media have led us to believe that the only way to stay in London during the games is to pay someone a grand or so to sleep in their garage on the edge of the M25 and then walk in to London because all the public transport will have ground to a halt.

So I’m rather surprised to pay £85 for a double room with an ensuite bathroom and full English breakfast just over a mile from Greenwich Park. As I say, we all love the London Olympics. I really don’t know what everyone is complaining about.

Talking of London, L is there today for work. Good choice Dear, there’s a train strike on but then again isn’t there always. Does anyone know what they’re striking for? Thought not. They’re probably all sat in front of their PC trying to get Olympic tickets. Ha. Tough. I’ve got them.

Anyway, she has to get a taxi from Nottingham to Long Eaton, then get a train to Tamworth and then to London... coming back is via Tamworth, Derby and then by bus to Nottingham. Which is sort of annoying, sort of hilarious and just makes you really really hope that they don’t get given whatever they're demanding.

I take the boys to squash, well they wait in the car and then I wave to them as I go to the pub for a pint of ‘Traditional’. That’s what it was called and that’s what it was. Very nice, none of this ‘blonde’ stuff. Then I make it up to the boys by chucking balls on Embankment.

After her traumatic day, L texts to say she’s just got off the bus and will meet me in bed with a bottle of wine. Ok boys, that’s it, game's over.

(Thursday 17th May)

Powder Dry, Bone Dry

L reckons that we should both be getting up and getting fit rather than getting amorous in bed. I disagree, plenty of muscles group that can be worked on here and all at seven calories per minute (so they say). Then because I’m on the bike today, I have to get a real shift on to get to work on time because I’m running late which does my legs loads of good, I hope.

As I’m on the bike, dodging potholes, I best mention the recent University of Nottingham study which reckons they can improve average life of a pothole repair from four years to fifteen. Hang on a sec. Four years! Who are they kidding. Four months more like. The ones I cycle over are re-repaired every year and even that isn’t often enough.

I have another look at the Olympic tickets website. There seems to be availability for a lot of things at the moment, apart from athletics and cycling of course. One wonders why all these tickets weren’t on sale in the first place... plus they’re limiting people to one set of tickets each now, which would have been a good idea in the first place. I’m keeping my powder dry (it's bone dry) for an assault on the modern pentathlon and the triathlon, which are added tomorrow. I just hope that everyone else isn’t planning the same.

After work, I pedal to the pool for a swim. L says she's rather jealous but she wouldn't be if she saw the queue, which is out of the door. It's an almost exclusively female queue so I assume they're all going to be booking into bodypump, zumba, pilates, chairobics or whatever the current fashion is but no, they all pass through saying ‘swim please’. So OMG it's going to be busy. If it had been all been men I'd have been running in the opposite direction because it would have been competitive hell at the top end of the pool. I know it's going to be busy but at least it’ll be scenic.

Actually it’s hell. Twenty-eight swimmers across five lanes, the sixth lane is shut for a lesson and there are eight in the fun pool. These morning swimmer like L get it so easy. I make it a quick one.

(Wednesday 16th May)