Posted on | July 29, 2012 | 1 Comment
I’m reeling, still reeling. Thrilled, buoyed, emotional, proud. Friday’s Olympics Opening Ceremony, with its cheek and wit and ace music, made me proud of my country. As one of my friends commented on Facebook: “We’ll always lead the world in music, even if we don’t get all the medals!”
Dear Danny Boyle. Ain’t he just so daring and clever? If you didn’t laugh out loud at The Queen and the helicopter, or cry at the deaf children’s choir, or smirk at the sight of N.H.S. in huge celebratory letters, you had to marvel that he squeezed in The Sex Pistols, a big snog (that’s kissing on lips/making out for you Americans), and a clip from Trainspotting. The Arctic Monkeys performing in front of Queenie: brilliant. Becks in the speedboat: hilarious.
And so all the things I had planned to do this weekend – weeding, putting up a storage shelf in a bathroom, finally wiring up the new record player – fell by the wayside as The Olympics took over. We had to watch the opening ceremony twice, of course, just so we could make sure our eyes had not deceived us the first time around, and so the kids got to see it too. And we had to eat Hubby’s famous chicken curry, to make us feel like we were ‘back home’. And drink beer. And eat home-made scones and cream and jam. We had to watch swimming, and women’s gymnastics, and cycling and…
Ahem… yes. You see where I’m coming from. It’s been a lost weekend as far as the house is concerned. Good job it only happens every four years, eh?