Open Sesame

Photo: Vince Caligiuri, SMH

It's just not the same. How does one adjust to an Olympic Games without Bruce McAveny smearing the proceedings with margarine and sacchrine? I'm watching the BBC coverage of the Opening Ceremony and there's the commentary guy sounds thoroughly bored with it all. Here's some obscure African country with crazy costumes. And here's those Australians with their cameras again. And next up we have an little Icelandic singer. Come on man, it's Bjork! Show some enthusiasm!

Never have I felt so desperately homesick as tonight. I am missing Bruce, Sandy and Joh more than I've been missing Weiss Bars, sunshine and Continental Malaysian Creamy Satay mix. I tuned out towards the end of the athlete's parade, only looking up at the telly to see The Flame had been lit.

Is it just me or does that whole torch setup look a little bit smutty? Like a diagram from some sort of How Babies Are Made book? Hmm.

Five Ring Circus

I love the Olympics. I measure my life in Olympiads. It's a nice handy unit of time, more interesting than your usual years and minutes and so forth. Thus, it's been six Olympiads since my sister was born. Three Olympiads since The Late Show was on ABC. I've also been blogging for an Olympiad. And it's been an Olympiad since I bought new trainers. I must buy some new ones, they're really starting to honk.

I thought living in the UK would make me lose the Olympic fever, what with the stuffy BBC commentary and general lack of Olympic zeal amongst my Scottish accquaintences. But as soon as the athletes from all those wacky little countries of the globe started trotting out into the arena tonight, I got that ol' tingling feeling. Rather than cluttering up WNP, here I am on Blogspot, Goin' For Gold for the next two weeks. Or at least until the novelty wears off and/or drug scandals erase my faith in humanity.