2012 London Olympics… Has quite a ring to it, don’t you think? Be here sooner than we realise, too, if we didn’t realise it’s pencilled in for next summer, anyway.
Imagine, the actual Olympic Games here in London! How exciting! Should really introduce our little town onto the world stage; really put us on the map. Unless it wipes us off the map when the terrorist nuke goes bang! Not really, just kidding. Even Seb Coe couldn’t out run one of those. Not that he’d have to. He’d be safe in a nuclear bunker with all the other elite knobs before your eyes had finished melting.
Not that anything terrible will happen, apart from traffic gridlock, dozens of tourists getting mugged each day, anti-Chinese protestors being beaten up, us winning a handful of medals in obscure sports no one has ever heard of and Londoners being left to pay the bill for about the next century while being stuck with a load of useless stadia they can then watch falling into rack and ruin from disuse. Other than that, it will all go off like clockwork. Probably.
Think of it though, a fabulous event like that, staged with military precision and lots of glitz and glamour, will give people around the world the chance to see what a happening place this is. London will become a household name even for those who have never heard of us before. Like rain forest indians and anyone who has been on Mars for the last two thousand years.
David Cameron and Nick Clegg will have the opportunity to show what world statesmen they both are. Mandelson will get the chance to spend several happy afternoons drooling over all the lithe young diving boys. The Blairs can sit in their box, grinning with relief at having dodged the egg-hurling crowds outside and a global audience can have fun watching the grand opening ceremony while trying to pick out Boris Johnson from among all the other clowns.
Just one word of warning, though. If an alien spacecraft turns up just after the olympic flame is lit, or if Buddha, Allah, The Messiah and various other religious icons float down on a cloud, I suggest you put your fingers into your ears and whistle as loudly as possible to combat the NWO mind control machine.
I’ve made a hat out of milk bottle tops, just in case, but it’s up to you if you can be bothered to go quite that high-tech. If you do, however, take my advice and wash them thoroughly first. My hat already smells cheesy, but that’s a small price to pay to keep my thoughts my own, I think you’d agree.
All in all, it should be a real blast. If Anjem Choudhary can manage to sneak into the stadium with his suitcase, anyway. Just kidding again. I’m sure he’ll be shouting and vigorously waving his Union Jack along with all the rest of us. Better be careful it doesn’t burn right down to his fingers, though.
I wonder if there will be lots of posters around the running track advertising “Cash for Gold”? Hmm, before now and then, our British olympians had better hope they open a sister company: “Cash for Bronze.” I’ve even got a slogan for them: “you could get lucky, if your bronze was plucky!”.
All the top politicians, businessmen and bankers will be attending, of course. They like free stuff, they do. That’s why I’m praying for strong winds during the javelin final.
(And on the very day tickets went on sale, the countdown clock in Trafalgar Square stopped working. Let the fuck ups begin!!)