The ‘Olympics’ is an internationally engaging event from which men and women can come home with medals for their efforts. It began with Britain winning the bid followed swiftly by a string of tragic bombings London hadn’t seen the like of since the Blitz. This terrorist act in response to another international engagement from which people were taking home medals resulted in me never getting a tin of Lynx Africa on a flight back to Belfast ever again.

Then came the indistinguishable symbol that made me think of ‘Jumanji’ and ‘Risk of Electric Shock’ warning signs with a hint of Wacaday. Other than that it was of little relevance. Then came the cuts. Art Galleries, Theatres and Libraries were losing money and shutting down all over the country. My beloved preview nights where wannabe Warhols and charming creatives could get pissed on free wine and talk about Art and Artists they hate became as rare as my liver ever since. If you want to know The Truth About The Cuts, check out our series on it HERE.

‘It’s the Olympics, all the money is going to the Olympics’ people whispered. ‘What! Get them, GET THEM!’ I thought. So it began, my anti Olympiad mantra, ‘Free Wine Good, Olympics Bad’. Then came the London Riots and the nation was gripped in frenzy. The streets were full of people running with torches in their hands grabbing millions of pounds worth of sportswear and flat screens to watch the Olympics on.

Then came the un-built Stadiums and ticket fiasco. Surely this would deem Cameron and his greasy Tesco Bag a failure by association. The ‘Green’ leader who cycled for the press with his chauffer following close behind. The man seen to be awash with confusion after his bike had been stolen from the 2 foot pole he slung his lock over! The impatient Cameron’s response under fire from the Leveson Inquiry regarding phone hacking, “What we should be concentrating on is the Olympics!” If ever a hand was shown it was then.

Just prior to the games, Nick Buckles – the head of G4 security – faced a televised Nuremburg trial for his incompetent under par, under numbered army of Brown shirts. “You’re just a big shit aren’t you!”, Barked the inquisitor. “Yes, I am a big shit” Buckles replied in forced submission tinged with the arrogance of a prefect whose father was a patron of the school.

Then it happened! I wasn’t fickle enough to watch the opening ceremony or the first few days competing.  I was in the kitchen on my laptop with the men’s Team Gymnastics first medal in over a hundred years being celebrated on TV. They were aiming for a bronze at best, with the Chinese running away with the gold. I don’t know how they judge this sport, as it all looks very strenuous with the aim of not falling off, which is what the Japanese did but not until the end of their routine.

Japan contested their mark and climbed up the points table knocking Team GB back down to Bronze after their unprecedented silver in this sport. ‘We’ had to take our achieved goal temporarily as failure. ‘Brilliant’ I thought. ‘Does this happen all the time?’ Defeat in success.

So began my Pacman like quest for gold discs on the computer screen.  The cycling was mesmerizing with its ‘Tron’ costumes in the velodrome. ‘The Velodrome’! Chris Hoy and Victoria Pendleton blazed around the track like aggressive 2 pence pieces in a spinning coin charity box. Taekwondo and BMX brought the Karate kid back to life and I started jogging. I was in the zone and part of the Team GB’s fickle fan base, I even watched the opening ceremony on I-Player.

Then came the voice of Richart Private: ‘Are you for real you turn coat fucker?’ I was ‘concentrating on the Olympics’ as the ash from the concentration camps fell on the silent hill towns. The evils of the state could be ignored whilst the nation reveled in its regained patriotic pride thanks to its athletic and physical prowess.

The ‘Legacy’! What will be the legacy of these games and the medals we have won? 30 years ago an unpopular Margaret Thatcher faced defeat in the poles until she sent the British army to reclaim the Falklands. Victory and medals followed and as the British public love winning medals they gave Thatcher another five years. These games could very well be Cameron’s Falklands but what will that mean for us in the long run.

One of the Legacy’s of WW2 was the NHS and in Cameron’s hands that could well be consigned to the history books as Danny Boyle’s Giant Death figure suggested in his opening ceremony. You couldn’t get a hospital bed that night thanks to those dancing sick kids. When I’m old and in need of a Zimmer Frame my untreated senile mind will struggle when I’m handed a pair of welded javelins to hobble off on.

But maybe you like Cameron and Boris with his big gold Medallion. If you do you probably heavy breathe over the bathroom mirror and draw medals on yourself whilst listening to Elbow in tears. Now that it’s nearly over I might get my wine back but in the mean time I’m off to get my new found jog on.

One more thing. Congratulations to Ireland! Despite having suffered her own financial meltdown the land of Saints and Scholars was still able to claim a little pot of Gold thanks to boxing and horses.