I Missed It All ...

The Olympics, that is. I missed it all. From the start right through to the final climax. Practically every last moment of it.

Of course, I caught some of it. Who the hell couldn't? Pictures of men and women, scantily - clad, clutching medals; pictures of tracks, swimming pools, fields, roads. Crowds lining streets waving flags, celebrities carrying the torch relay - or have you forgotten that crap too? - and all the Facebook status updates. I stayed off Twitter because I had no desire to see an endless stream of #London2012 #LondonOlympics #insertnamehere tags with all of the news outlets I'm following.

And so, finally, last night we brought it all to a close. Well, I say "we," and I really should say "them." I wanted no part of any of it, any more than I wanted to be interested in watching the opening ceremony. Or any bits in the middle.

If any of my f'list had been in the Olympics, they would have been very disappointed by my pronounced absence, my utter disinterest.

But that is just the way it is.

I'm not even going to go on about "British spirit" or any of that. I will, however, bring up the question of whether or not anybody noticed if those missile emplacements and peace wall have gone yet, whether the troops have gone, when the roads opened to the public again, and how long it will take for Merry Olde London to come back to her former boozy, raucous, whory old self, now that the festering parasite body has been removed from her lower intestine, leaving behind only the scar tissue of its passing.

And fuck me, no, the Welsh Assembly Government want to put in a bid to host 2028 or something.

I have a little pilgrimage, of sorts, to Cannon Street, London, some day. A formal meeting between a magician, of sorts, and a very special stone at the heart of London. Something I will need to do ... and, I suspect, do soon.