Monday 21 May 2012

I’m not really getting caught up in the Olympic spirit, that much is true. The arrival of the Olympic torch for its tour of the country has not done much to provoke an upturn in my interest. Given that the flame is essentially Greek it is amazing that it can be so ostentatiouly transported about (this is referencing the collapse of the Greek economy and fulfils my current affairs quota for the year – there is a joke about going up in flames like the rest of the Greek economy in here somewhere but I can’t be arsed looking for it); the news told me that there were 39 people in the party carrying the flame around. Thirty-nine. People.

J-Lo didn’t have an entourage that big back in the way when she was with Puff Daddy (P-Diddy/Sean ‘Puffy’ Combs). I know it is a symbolic representation of eternal human spirit, or something (it’s to do with Prometheus stealing fire from the Gods truth fans but it’s all the same thing), but we all know it’s a fire right? It’s a burning gas. There’s an episode of Only Fools and Horses where Trigger tells Rodney (though he calls him Dave, Lolz) that he has had his sweeping brush for 20 years; the punchline is that it has had 15 new handles and 25 new heads in that time. I hope you get what I am saying here and I don’t have to carry on explaining what I am trying to point out: the nation is lining its streets to cheer on Trigger’s sweeping brush.


Do you know who started all this passing the Olympic torch from Greece to the host country? That’s right it was the 1936 Munich Olympics. I am not saying that the people cheering on a glorified lighter are effectively okaying the death camps, it is for you to overreact/make ludicrous statements about – I can’t go on doing it for you. It is time for you to tread your own path when it comes to comparing absolutely everything to the Third Reich in the naive belief that it is humorous on any level.

What would be nice would be if I had a way to tie all this into my own life in some convenient way to finish today’s entry. I don’t know like going for a run tonight, around Hough End playing fields, and there being a man doing laps with his horse-drawn chariot…you get it? Chariots of Fire anyone? Oh come on…it is about the Olympics and…Oh I give up.

Well I did see a ruddy man with a horse-drawn chariot speeding around. In fact he nearly ran me over. He did have the manners to thank me for getting out of his path, though. Though I am a man mindful of always trying to display good manners, I do have to be honest: I was getting out of the way of a charging horse and chariot so that my head wasn’t crushed to bits.

I didn’t even manage to complete my run despite not having my legs crushed by a horse. I had to walk home after half-an-hour because I am a pathetic cunt. I can’t even run correctly. My arches were rubbing against my trainer to the extent where I was modifying my running style to avoid putting pressure on them. When you are approximately 12 st overweight modifying your running style to avoid, essentially, standing on your feet plays havoc  with your knees and hips.

Isn’t this the Olympic spirit really? No, no it isn’t. Though if any British athletes have to give up in an event this summer we shall be sure to make them a national hero – well nominate them for Sports Personality of The Year at any rate.

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