Technomelt 2

So, remember Technomelt 1? Well, it gets better!

So, I have the bedroom computer sorted. Turns out it was a well-known problem with that brand of hard-drive and that version of Windows.

So that has sorted.

And with the netbook - well, I now have a netbook that works, but I haven't had chance to sort out the proper 1TB hard-drive for it yet, nor adjust all the various settings and whatnot. But it's getting there.

Smartphone? Well, somewhere between Samsung and their repairers Intercity that has gone AWOL. So I am still without smartphone. Not very smart of either Samsung nor Intercity really.

I have excelled myself by leaving my battered old standby phone on the train. It has been handed in to the lost property and should be returned to me by Tuesday; but it means a weekend either of unadulterated freedom; or of randomly shouting angryily at people in the street because I have no other contact with humanity.

Oh, and the router has started playing up. I'm not sure if it is the router or Tesco Broadband. I have a feeling it is the router not having been given the correct settings, but if Tesco will give out crap G-rated routers (with my 'normal' number of connected devices chattering amongst themselves I need N-rated) then I have to use my own; and their customer services don't go all-out to check the settings (though they are lovely people to speak to.

One of these days...

All by myself...

Do you want an example of myself as a dichotomy in action?

I have lots of people who are desperate to be close to me.

And yet on Sunday night I was sat in a busy restaurant off a busy street, eating alone.

Odd, yes. I don't know quite how to describe the people really. They are more than friends, that is for sure. And I collect them. They start out with just a simple attraction to me, they flirt outrageously and do everything that they can do to have something more than a platonic relationship with me. There are many of them. I keep them close so that I can keep an eye on them, make sure they aren't getting me into trouble, but not so close I can burn them.

I suppose it's kind of a 'When Harry Met Sally' situation - knowing that the moment anything sexual happens the relationship dynamic changes beyond belief. Once you've seen someone's willy, you can never go back to being just friends. It's boom or bust then, no half way.

But I keep them close enough to flirt with me and flatter me. I have never been massively confident in myself - at school I was the quiet, boring, weird-looking lanky kid. To the few people I knew I was probably quite funny; but the cool kids didn't want to know me because I wasn't good at sports or computer games or loud and brash. And the girls didn't want to know because I wasn't pretty.

These days people say that I am quite good looking. I don't see it myself - maybe it's one of those 'quirky' good looks that some people go for. But enough self-pity and wallowing - the basics of it is that I like having people who like me around me.

It's not that I don't find these people attractive - and hence haven't taken the relationship to the next level yet - either. It is possibly the case for the odd one or two that I don't particularly identify their visual appeal, but they clearly have some sort of connection with me otherwise they wouldn't be a Simmer. But some of them have started out simple friendships where they have started to find me increasingly attractive (or have themselves become increasingly desperate) over time. Or we started out in a friendship whilst they were in an existing relationship; or living at a distance that made a relationship unviable. Or there may be other reasons behind it.

But the result is that I have a number of these 'simmer' friends who I keep to bolster my ego as well as for the friendship and chat; and who reciprocate all aspects back with lashings of flattery for that ego. It is a mutually beneficial relationship; and that analysis alone simplifies and understates the relationship. I need these people, not because of the ego boost, but because they provide me with the strongest emotional support and guidance I could ever want. They aren't just there to go to the pub, they are there when I need someone. They are the greatest of friends, despite that they may wish something more.

And whilst I refer to them as 'Simmerers' it is on the basis of their simmering feelings for me (or suspected ones at least), not on the basis of an underlying unrequited yet mutual attraction.

So, how is it then that I ended up in a restaurant in Manchester all on my own?

Well, I seem to have pinned each of these Simmerers down to a particular niche, whether this is a locality (I have them dotted around the country, port-in-a-storm style) or people who understand me professionally, or historically, or just logically. Whilst I have friends with whom I can generally associate, there are particular Simmers for particular moods, moments, occasions or placements.

So I have a couple in Manchester and a couple who would have accompanied me to Manchester. The problem is that the couple who would accompany were not minded to (for reasons of cost, lack of availability or logistics) whilst those in Manchester were actually away for the weekend.

I was very eager to go to Manchester. As I mentioned previously, had I not gone, this would have been the first year in a long while that I had not attended any Pride event; and the first year in around a decade that I had not attended Manchester Pride.

Logistics for myself were not good - I had rather left it until the last minute to make a decision. Knowing that my Manchester friends were away; it would have required booking accommodation - something which was prohibitively expensive at the last minute; and readily snapped up by others earlier on in the year. This would have been viable had my 'local' friends been eager to attend; but as ever with them, dilatory action meant they didn't have a clue what they intended to do until it was too late.

And I was also treading uncertain waters. Was I to go over on the Friday from work? What about Saturday? It was too long to spend all the time from Friday through to Bank Holiday Monday without organised accommodation (though on a previous year I have spent all of that period of time staying somewhere other than my organised accommodation). I could do one night at a time by staying out as late as humanly possible and getting the first train back; but not all three nights.

Well, as it happened, other events governed proceedings. One of my friends wanted to go out on Saturday night; which meant that I could combine that with an early evening meal - not only two birds with one stone, but also one night at home. So it could be Friday and Sunday nights away. Except that I had another friend organise a meal out on the Friday night; which was nice.

So that left Sunday night. I was available to go to Manchester - I had no other plans organised; the logistics of it were feasible; and I would satisfy my need to attended an unbroken run of Prides. Marvellous.

But no-one was available to either go with, or to meet up with.

This of itself is not - and was not - a problem. I am more than comfortable with my own company, so long as I have the ability to jot down any particularly inspiring of the many thoughts that will prattle though my brain.

In the end I didn't have to occupy myself for long. Having eaten my lonely meal I visited a few bars and stumbled upon a lovely group of people who were more than happy to chat. Indeed, one of the more pretty ones of the group was willing - eager even - to accommodate me on the other half of the sofa he was staying on.

And so a good weekend was had by all.

Too many weekends away

I am very much looking forward to September. I have quite a few weekends at home.

It's been a while, and that is one of the reasons I have been off the boil with the blog.

Since returning from my holiday during April I have had 8 weekends away

I have had three weekends down in London - one for the Olympics, two for courses and visiting friends.

I have had two weekends up in Newcastle - one for a wedding and one for a birthday.

I have had a weekend in Carlisle for a stag do.

I have had a weekend at a festival in Staffordshire.

And this last weekend I was in Manchester for at least part of it.

Of the nine weekends I have had at home:

One has been taken up with a local festival

One involved my sister-in-law's birthday

One involved a friend coming up to visit for the weekend

One involved meeting up with a friend.

So that is pretty much six vacant weekends over the last 5 months (21 weekends) holiday included. That is actually about three more than I was expecting before I started totting up.

I am pretty near exhausted.

Even those weekends that I had at home involved preparing for other weekends - doing any shopping required for festival essentials or birthday presents and such like.

And the weeks haven't been quiet. The weekend before last, for example, I was at V Festival. We left on Friday, very early in the morning, so everyone came round to mine Thursday straight after work for pizza and an early night. Due to a mishap of timing I put myself down for my monthly charity work shift last Wednesday. This meant that I had to spend Monday and Tuesday night packing and tidying and sorting the house and sofabed for my friends staying over.

And then the following week involved sorting the stuff out after the festival: airing out and folding the tent, undertaking lots of washing, packing things away, making list of things that I have used, lost or damaged and need replacing. And then there is uploading photos onto Facebook and just generally getting my life back in order.

September - astoundingly - seems to have four out of five of the weekends vacant.

At the moment.

The Sun and the moon

So, did you see the pictures?

Did you buy the Sun to see the pictures?

Did you buy the Sun out of the principle of the freedom of the press and the public interest in publishing the pictures?

I do hope not.

Yes, as the by-line said “The photos that you've probably already seen on the internet”, which is the best place for them.

So, was the Sun right to publish the pictures? Does the publication entrench the freedom of the press in a time where it is mortally threatened by the internet? Or does it ride roughshod of the right of an individual to privacy?

It has been subject to perhaps more learned commentary than from myself, however this is my reasonably informed opinion, and not the first I have made on the subject.

The Human Rights Act 1998 incorporates

the Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, agreed by the Council of Europe on 4^th November 1950 into UK law. Schedule 1 of the Act repeats the Articles.

There are essentially two conflicting Articles:

Article 8

Right to respect for private and family life

1. Everyone has the right to respect for his private and family life, his home and his correspondence.
2. There shall be no interference by a public authority with the exercise of this right except such as is in accordance with the law and is necessary in a democratic society in the interests of national security, public safety or the economic well-being of the country, for the prevention of disorder or crime, for the protection of health or morals, or for the protection of the rights and freedoms of others.

Article 10

Freedom of expression

1. Everyone has the right to freedom of expression. This right shall include freedom to hold opinions and to receive and impart information and ideas without interference by public authority and regardless of frontiers. This Article shall not prevent States from requiring the licensing of broadcasting, television or cinema enterprises.
2. The exercise of these freedoms, since it carries with it duties and responsibilities, may be subject to such formalities, conditions, restrictions or penalties as are prescribed by law and are necessary in a democratic society, in the interests of national security, territorial integrity or public safety, for the prevention of disorder or crime, for the protection of health or morals, for the protection of the reputation or rights of others, for preventing the disclosure of information received in confidence, or for maintaining the authority and impartiality of the judiciary.

So, it is clear - the freedom of expression claimed by the Sun is accompanied by duties and responsibilities.

In the UK, whilst the law is in a slight state of flux, generally the right to a private life is protected unless there is a particularly overwhelming public interest in the disclosure.

Now, I would probably be slightly more receptive to the argument of the Editor of the Sun that this was all a question of freedom of the press, had they not been so sensational about the splash. The manner in which it was presented was one of a commercial coup, rather than any elegant argument over fundamental rights. If you are taking the moral high ground, you don't couple it with a pun and an 'exclusive' banner.

So, is there a public interest in the story?

Well, for a start we have an established Article 8 claim. This was clearly a private matter, at a private party, in a private hotel room, where privates were exposed.

But is there a scandal of such depth that Article 10 overrides this?

No.

This was not a case where the law was broken; nor any moral or ethical wrong perpetrated - he was not cheating on a wife or mother of his baby or any such. This is pure titillation.

If Harry were in a relationship, then it is for a discussion between him and his girlfriend; however I can see many arguments to use which also discount this being a case of Freedom of the Press trumping the rights of the individual:

There was no indication of sex. It was pure horseplay. There's nothing wrong with that.

He was on a break from the army. This is what people on a break from the army do (in fact they normally get up to a lot worse).

He was on holiday. Even if you are not in the army, when you are on holiday you let your hair down (or bum out).

He is 27. It is what 27 year olds do.

He was in Las Vegas. It is what people in Las Vegas do.

He wasn't the only person there. This is precisely how people react under peer pressure.

The best comment I have seen on the story has come from Boris Johnson, a man who I have a curious admiration for. Never has someone come across as so eccentric - no, actually bonkers - and yet so erudite, witty and intelligent. He stated that “The real scandal would be if you went all the way to Las Vegas and you didn't misbehave in some trivial way.”

So no, there is no scandal.

Indeed, in comments made to the Leveson Enquiry a long time prior to this being a story a clear distinction was made: just because something is of general interest to the public does not mean that it is in the public interest.

The Sun's main defence was that the pictures were already on websites all over the world.

Well boo hoo.

In the UK the print media, television, radio and the internet are all regulated independently and differently, and you abide by the regulations which apply. Furthermore, the fact that a webpage may be accessible internationally does not necessarily meant that domestic rights and obligations are irrelevant. If you want to publish a newspaper in this country you abide by the rules, regulations and responsibilities. It is no excuse to say that some other party, in a media to which those regulations do not apply, has already done it therefore we can ignore the regulations.

If you don't like the fact that private individuals in this country have rights, take your publication abroad.

Olympic organisation, architecture, infrastructure and advertising

So, what did you think to the stadium?

The RIBA Stirling Prize nominated stadium.

Or the Velodrome?

The RIBA Stirling Prize nominated Velodrome.

Or the 'masterpiece' aquatics centre?

Each of the permanent venues is amazing in its architecture and has been developed not just with the games in mind.

It's that L word again: legacy.

Being aware that it was unlikely that an 80,000 seater athletics arena would be needed again during its lifespan; and the inconvenience of having an athletics track between football supporters and the pitch, the stadium was designed as a national athletics centre, but with the excess seats being removed to provide a permanent 25,000.

Similarly in the aquatics centre there would never be a need for 17,500 seats. 2,500 is much more comfortable, so the temporary 'wings' can be removed.

There's no massive white elephant, no hugely unnecessary, unfit for purpose enduring megaliths. And yes, it does mean that in a year's time we will have a collection of rather fantastic local leisure facilities without a centrepiece reminder in the same way as the Birds' Nest stadium. But perhaps the centrepiece reminder is actually a somewhat more permanent one - the local communities that benefit from having new, excellent though not excessive facilities.

Similarly the temporary locations have been amazing. This is London, don't forget, where land is already at a premium, so the fewer excess buildings the better. Hence the rather genius decision to locate the beach volleyball in Horse Guards' Parade. Beach volleyball isn't one of our national sports; the requirement for a new, national, bespoke beach volleyball simply wasn't there, to build one would have ended up with it being mothballed or demolished. So there was the rather amazing temporary structure constructed in the centre of London within the Royal parks - a mass of open space within easy reach of the heart of the transport system which actually can't be built upon - it is a Royal park, it can only have temporary structures on it, but it is available and free.

One of the things that continued to amaze me was the fluid organisation that sat behind these brilliant structures. Clearly these stadia have to cope with lots of people at any one time; and often the sessions are arranged so that there is very minimal changeover. Combine that with the extra security measures which have to be employed, and the feat to make this all run smoothly seems almost impossible.

So they looked to the airports. Although we may not enjoy them, airports are surprisingly efficient at getting people and all their baggage through security and on to the planes. There is a waiting area until you are ready to check in and pass security, and then there is another holding area where you wait whilst the unloading of existing passengers and luggage and various other operational exercises take place, allowing a reasonably swift and comfortable embarkation.

And so it was with the Olympics. A brilliantly organised one-way system, with a well-staffed and efficiently operated security and ticket check, with nice, big, open, almost festival-styled holding areas meant that you barely even noticed you were part of the system because you were concentrating on the fish and chips and Olympic-branded wine.

And everything had been done to make the holding areas as pleasant as possible. There was artwork to explore, and more trees than you could shake a stick at. The greenery really was a triumph. It helps that everything was new - well, except at Stratford where they had tried to hide the rest of the city from the Olympic crowds with the 'leafy screenage' project - an art installation stuck onto the sides of the concrete monoliths which may actually have had the effect of drawing attention to the Orwellian architecture behind.

Indeed the only locations which actually seemed to suffer where those where the buildings or infrastructures were already in place and unable to be adapted: the football stadiums had didn't really have anywhere to put the security, or to cope with people waiting outside whilst the stadium empties: they haven't had to deal with security or short turn-around times before.

For the one-way systems, the transport infrastructure is key. Whilst the Underground stations are a system of interconnecting tunnels, certainly with the recently remodelled stations everything is done to ensure that the passengers entering the system don't encounter those passengers exiting. Even down to the simple placement of signage.

Ah yes, the pink signage.

It was everywhere, wasn't it? Inside all the stadia, all around the holding zones, all across the transport network, everywhere. Indeed you could hardly tell that the beach volleyball stands were temporary, because the mass of scaffolding was enveloped in a wrap of pink and purple.

Gaudy, wasn't it?

Well, no. I know I've already mentioned in one of the previous posts about the unifying effect of the branding, but the pink was cunning. It needed to be bright, to be clear and to be noticeable. It also needed not to be confusing. A natural inclination would have been to brand the Olympics with the red, white and blue of the Union flag to show the London location. But there was already going to be more than enough of the red, white and blue around with the very patriotic Brits waving their flags.

And then there was another reason: the Underground. The Underground is already red, white and blue. You choose those colours for the Olympic directions and suddenly no-one can see them amongst the roundels or the red buses. You couldn't go for yellow, else everyone would have ended up on the Circle Line; nor District-Line green. So the palate was restricted.

And all of this assisted by the ever-amiable Gamesmakers; clad in Olympic Purple - again chosen because few other uniforms use purple, and probably because it wasn't too much of a headache when placed with the pink. You could barely move for them. Which was actually very useful. On these occasions 'swamping' isn't a problem. You know how many tickets have been sold, you know how many visitors you are expecting. It isn't like a wander around the DIY store on a quiet day where you can't move for people trying to help you; the only criticism that could ever be levelled in the circumstances would be “ there was never anyone to ask.”

Particularly when the volunteers are not only free, but oversubscribed.

Of course, all of this was organised a long, long time ago - even before the IOC awarded the games in 2005.

It really is a testament to Lord Coe and to LOCOG that these details were considered whilst compiling the bid. The park had to be planned, transportation detailed, costings and commerciality assessed, and contingencies planned. All this was pretty near finalised, waiting on the nod and a few Acts of Parliament.

Goodness only knows what would have been done if it had rained!

Even the hype-building was well orchestrated. When the torch relay started, I wondered how effective it was going to be. An 8000 mile, 70 day build-up? It all seemed a bit much. But it was surprising how effective it was. The fact it passed within around 10 miles of 90% of the population meant it even managed to whip up excitement in the most hardly of refusenik.

Indeed it seems as though the only operational, organisational failings occurred either a long time ago; or outside of the hands of the organisers.

Yes, it is the ticketing.

The public ballot had the effect of excluding a lot of grass-roots supporters, who couldn't commit to bidding for lots of tickets, and therefore considerably reduced the chance of even getting one ticket. This is because payment was taken without any further communication - you only knew if you had tickets if the £20 or the £2012 disappeared from your account. And even then you didn't know quite what the tickets were for. People were ending up in thousands of pounds of debt, and only able to resell the unwanted tickets months later once the official resale portal opened. With the time-scale for ticketing such as it was it seems unbelievable that no-one thought to allocate tickets to the 'winners', allowing them to pay for the tickets they chose, and re-ballot for the unaccepted tickets a while later.

Even during the games the ticketing site took its fair share of criticisms. Events would show up with no available tickets despite you selecting 'show only available events'. Or they would show up with tickets available, then not let you put them in your basket. And if you did manage to get them in your basket, you had to wait up 20 minutes or so before being told that, actually, your selected tickets were no longer available.

But if you got them, then, clutching those very expensive tickets, you turned up to half-empty stadia. Or at least that is what you would believe if you listened to the press. Of course, it wasn't so. But the allocations for the organisers and other National Olympic Committees could have been handled slightly better. Unfortunately a lot of this was in the hands of the IOC requirements, and not under the control of LOCOG, but not all.

And finally, a word from our sponsors...

Did you notice them?

Probably not a vast amount during the actual events: the regulations state that there is to be no advertising - even of the official partners - within the stadia. This lead to the rather amusing sight of seeing the name of the manufacturer of the hand-dryers in the toilets being covered with tape. Becoming an Olympic partner isn't about getting that sort of access. It is about being permitted association with the Olympic brand.

So LloydsTSB had the 2012 logo in all of their branches which also distributed flags and paraphernalia along the torch relay route.

BA was widely praised for the message it put out with its association. Very British, very self-deprecating and very tongue-in-cheek humour: it told you not to fly with BA. It worked marvellously. It wasn't a case of fly with someone else, it was “don't fly at all”: stay home, support team GB. What should have been commercial suicide was a marketing masterpiece. And, of course, it coupled it with one of its typical 'epic' adverts, with a plane taxiing through London. Marketing these days can't be done without the viral element, so using their website, Facebook and various other means, you could take control of the plane and watch it taxi down your street. A nice bit of novelty, and certainly not detracting from the campaign as a whole.

I've discussed some of the advertising previously though the concerns about people being asked to take off Nike-branded t-shirts never played out after the official guidance was issued with a very common sense approach.

And that was, in turn, heeded to a great extent in the lack of ambush marketing. I've talked about the Summer of Sport, like I say, and aside from a few more sports clothing adverts dotted around; almost nothing attempted to get close to an unofficial association. Well, unless Jagermeister had sponsored the Dutch contingent. Or, perhaps, Beats By Dre - the headphones that many of the athletes wore, though the proportion wearing them didn't seem that dissimilar to the proportion of the general public that I see on train station platforms. They just happen to be the fashion of the moment.

One notable 'miss' - actually more of an own goal - was Visa. Yes, one of the benefits of being an official Olympic partner is the exclusivity that is offered. For those who haven't read the other articles around, sponsoring the Olympics never used to obtain exclusivity, meaning that the IOC had many more deals, though much less profitable. Now, unless you are the official burger supplier to the Olympic games, you don't get a look in with your burger van anywhere near the Olympic park. This lead to a few curiosities, such as the signs that went up telling staff members at various locations that because of the exclusive deal the IOC had with McDonalds, the only other chips that could be sold had to be sold with fish (a specific exemption in light of the national dish).

Now, I'm not sure about you, but when I apply for a credit card I am looking at the rate that is offered, or the cashback or other benefits. I barely bat an eyelid at whether it is Visa or Mastercard. But Visa have the exclusive deal with the Olympics, meaning that you can only pay on a Visa card. Or with cash, obviously, although the cash machines within the venue areas were turned off because they were not 'official providers of cash to the Olympics'. Well, not quite, but they weren't Visa ATMs so they did get turned off.

I don't know if the marketing guru that thought the slogan up had seen the Jubilee stuff going on, or if they were specifically told 'you have to make Visa look proud', but they came up with the marketing plan “Proud to Only Accept Visa”. How can you be proud to only accept Visa? It's a contradiction, and it fell flat on its face, being very broadly criticised. Obviously if I don't want a McDonalds there are still a few other fooderies around that I can buy a fish and chips at; and Coca Cola own so many brands that I'm not spoilt for choice; but if I don't have a Visa card? Then you're stuffed. And probably not feeling their warm glow of pride, less so when the system crashed. It may actually have done more harm than good.

Coca Cola seemed to miss the beat a bit, with its 'Celebrate Britain's Beat'. It seemed entirely disassociated to the sport. I originally thought they had made a typo, and it should have been 'Celebrate Britain's Best', but I'm not sure - the billboards seemed to make a speaker out of concentric circles which - only on further inspection - turned out to be in the colours of the Olympic rings. And who is thinking about music when your team is winning gold medals? I don't know if the television adverts tied the campaign in any better, but I didn't see them because the Olympics were on the BBC who don't have adverts on.

Adidas did brilliantly. It helped that the various sporting outfits of Team GB were actually quite amazing, yet so stylishly simple. But Adidas had put a lot of thought into the campaign. Evocative television adverts, with a building nervousness and yet a simple sense of pride; a very simple, clear, across-the-board message: “Take the Stage”, the adverts didn't need to do anything more, they didn't need to explain anything. Whether you were already into your sports, or simply associated with the various different cultures featured in the adverts, you felt part of it. And it got better still: what do you do when you've taken the stage? You “Take the Crown”, nicely tie-up the campaign with a lovely, properly 'proud' message celebrating the achievements. And then a couple of fun videos showing the athletes letting their hair down and enjoying their achievements. And it didn't just work locally to the UK either.

Yes, there was a bit of criticism about the likes of McDonalds, Heineken, Cadbury and Coca Cola being associated with a sporting event; but there have to be snack, drink and beer providers within the venues, and they are always going to want to be associated with the Olympic brand, so really they are a natural fit - so long as they get across the right message in the most interesting and effective manner.

But then again that is just marketing!

I don't intend covering the Paralympics, mostly because I have already covered off most - if not all - of the aspects with the last few posts, although if there is anything particularly different or note-worthy I will try to do a post on it, time permitting.

Olympic Media

It has been commented on by many that the biggest winners of the Olympics were the BBC.

The coverage on the BBC has been absolutely phenomenal. That they were able to cover every sport – most live on one of 24 channels and the rest available on-line, to catch up with as you choose – is a spectacular achievement. Couple this with good background information via the (albeit slightly clunky to navigate around) website and they really have excelled themselves. An information page for every sport and biography for every athlete is no mean feat in itself, before you consider the audio-visual content, feeds, tickers, apps etc.

But…

I speak from a biased position. I’m going to nail my colours to the mast here: I’m a Beebophile. (Note this is a very different thing to a Beiberphile).

I love the BBC. I love pretty much everything about the BBC. I would be a pig in clover

I actually struggle to understand people who have a problem with the licence fee. The current licence fee costs around £12 a month. Considerably cheaper than any of your Sky, BT or Virgin Media packages, and with those you still get bombarded with advertising. For the BBC fee, you get uninterrupted, high-quality programming (though with a 3 ½ hour opening ceremony you actually could have used an advert break).

I don’t know of any other organisation that is funded by the public, and yet fiercely independent of any political interference. It has the highest quality journalistic standards around. And it isn’t just about the news either. The BBC was set up with a remit to “Inform, Educate and Entertain”. This isn’t just a teacher talking to you – this is playtime included. And no other organisation commits as much to the creative industries in this country as the BBC, whether in-house science, nature or historical factual programming, or whether commissioning quality independent drama or comedy.

And this shows, not just from the investment in the Olympic sport and news broadcasting; but in the cultural run-up with specials including Twenty Twelve and the Hollow Crown series of Shakespeare histories, as well as the Hackney Weekend music festival. They are catering for more than just the sport.

Now, it is very possible that the coverage was ‘too much’. After all, during the day you could only watch sport and children’s television. In the evening there was some respite on BBC2 with non-sporting content; but otherwise the channels weren’t just dominated by sport, they were practically exclusively sport.

But, with an event such as the Olympics, you have to make that investment. And non-sport viewers have to make that compromise: it is two weeks of programming, every four years.

So, the cost to the viewer? Around £6. That’s how much of your licence fee cost for that fortnight. You can’t buy a DVD for £6 these days. That is value for money.

And the timing helps, of course. Parliament has broken up, so there is little if any politics to report. Indeed because of the Olympics other news stories dry up – it isn’t that they still happen but are replaced; people are too busy watching the Olympics to do anything newsworthy.

Indeed, the only real complaint levied on the BBC was that the coverage was ‘too British-focused’. For a corporation whose name is the British Broadcasting Corporation? And being obliged to the British public? This seems a bit of a grasp at a very short straw.

And of course this effect is not limited to the BBC. Flick through any tabloid over the last couple of weeks and you would have been hard-pressed to find and more than half a dozen non-news related stories.

One of the things that it has highlighted is the vast cultural shift in the way we access and consume breaking news. The BBC Sports pages registered over 55 million hits. People were watching catch-up clips on smartphones whilst sat in a park watching live action on the main screen. This is a far cry from the days when you listened on the wireless or read the newspaper the next day. This is immediate. And it leaves newspapers scared. Unless they shake-off the ‘paper’ bit of their title, they are going to get left behind.

Newspapers though (and this may be one for a separate blog post) are more viewspapers these days. People turn to them for opinion or the particular style of an individual commentator, more than the cold, hard facts of a story. And the pictures are critical – viewspapers have to be very visual. Finally, the one differential behind print is the tangibility. Special souvenir supplements, bumper editions, something to keep and show your grandkids; rather than a screenshot off a computer. Even in this day and age, physicality has a value.

The traditional newspapers were in a difficult position in the run-up to the Olympics. On the one hand, they had to have news; some sort of scandal to shift the papers off the stands. Good news and ‘everything is as expected’ doesn’t sell. But, on the other hand, if they are too overtly doom-mongering then they risk the public turning. Either the public mood turns against the Olympics, and suddenly a paper that was looking at a full two weeks of sporting coverage has to convert each story into how every event was an over-budget, mediocre or even controvertial non-event; or alternative (and much more likely) public sentiment turns against the newspaper. We’re trying to get all excited and enthusiastic about the greatest Olympic games ever, and all we are getting told is about how the wrong Astroturf has been fitted? Time to move on to someone that tells us the stuff we actually want to read.

It’s a fine line, and one which could be exploited almost with brilliance over the G4S shambles.

It is long established in the newspaper world that G4S = “bad”. G4S is the company that – as newspapers would have you think – are privatising work ordinarily undertaken by public sector workers, whether it be prison officers or probation officers. This is a prime bug-bear of the press: that public taxes are lining the pockets of the shareholders of a company which is not held to public account.

Add to that the occasional loss of a prisoner and the press goes into uproar. So the problems that they had recruiting and training security personnel for the Olympics were a gift: there is a story and an existing baddie! Thrown in the rescue of the day by the nations sweethearts, the army (you know, they go out fighting for our right to be free, doing what they are told to protect the nation etc.) and a happy ending (no security threats detected over the fortnight) and everything works out rosy! The Olympics happen! It isn’t the organisers fault! The army are darlings! A private company makes a loss on the contract! Many photo opportunities of army personnel being generally charming and lovely!

And for once the press aren’t the baddies; because if the Millie Dowler / phone hacking revelations have taught the press anything, it is that the public can turn from ennui or ignorance to fierce anger within a second. Whilst the only phones being hacked were of a few celebrities, no-one cared. An innocent victim of a brutal murder? Suddenly the press were as bad as Bellfield himself. Well nearly.

They also had a sort-of story to cause a controversy around the opening ceremony: the animals. Various groups seemed to be in uproar that animals were to be seen within the stadium. This is despite reassurances that they would be treated humanely. But that story promptly disappeared once it became clear just how fantastic the ceremony was, and how tiny a part the animals actually played: people barely noticed them.

However, the press didn’t always get it right.

For example the story about the 21 school playing fields being sold off. Nice, simply statistic, nice simple headline, something along the lines of “whilst government wants school sports to be a legacy of the Olympics, they have rather shot themselves in the foot by approving the sale of 21 school playing fields.”

Only more snappy.

But it is wrong.

Firstly, there are 20,000 primary and secondary schools in the UK. So selling off 21 playing fields is around 0.1%, assuming each school has one playing field. And that’s a wild assumption to make. One of the 21 playing fields was a surplus playing field because the school already had more than one. Then we find out that a further 14 of them were sold because the schools had closed down, whilst four of the fields could be sold off with no undue effect on students because schools had amalgamated. So the stark headline of breaking promises and legacies is very misleading.

Unsurprisingly in the ‘wrong’ camp is the Daily Mail’s Jan Moir. In my opinion there is probably no more odious a person in the country. And she stratospherically misjudged the mood of the nation when she described the closing ceremony as ‘chaos’ where ‘vehicles … drove around the track for no good reason’. If the public didn’t already hate you Ms Moir, they do now if only for urinating on our Olympic spirit.

And then this Olympics has been the story of the ‘other’ media.

Social media.

The athletes who are writing the stories as well as being the stories. The

My Twitter feed regularly exploded with people who clearly thought that they were either the first to report a result, or the most reliable person to report the result.

But there was also the darker side of social media and the people who still haven’t quite gotten the hang of how public a publication method it is. Again, this will be something to be considered in a separate blogging; but a notable example was @rileyy69 who received a warning and had his account suspended after a malicious communication to Tom Daley, which @rileyy69 claimed was a heat-of-the-moment vent of frustration and not intended to be malicious.

Then the Twitter account of Guy Adams disappeared after he posted a complaint about NBC’s coverage, along with the publically available email address of an executive to whom to complain. The account was subsequently reinstated with a rather obscure apology from Twitter. But that got commentators commenting as much about the impact social media was having on the commentators and the athletes as much as they were about the sport. But then all journalists – even the technology ones – needed an Olympic peg to hang there story on, otherwise they wouldn’t get a look in.

And Matthew Mitcham gets another honourable mention – for getting told off for Tweeting scores. Despite the fact that any man and his dog within the stadium could Tweet scores, he as a competitor could be suspended. That the Olympics had in place a social media policy at all shows that it is at least aware of the problem; but that it is that short-sighted may be a slightly overbearing and unwieldy policy for the future.

And heaven help anyone who would Tweet about a brand that was not an Olympic partner. But branding is for another day…

The morning after the fortnight before

So, you’re probably either on a massive high or one of those hangover-lows that can only happen after the holiday of a life-time.

How was it for you? Was it the best night(s) of your life, building to a fantastic climax? Floods of tears? Or were you actually quite bored of it all by the end?

I am, of course, taking about the Olympics, and the post Olympic buzz/downer. Was it the Greatest Show on Earth?

From me, it is an emphatic YES. All of the shows over the 17 days were the greatest shows on earth. From the build up to the opening ceremony to the last dying gasp of The Who closing formalities as last night turned into this morning.

Now, let me declare my interest here.

I am not one of those people who just got caught up in the zeitgeist. I was not a naysayer until the first gold medal was won. I was not one of those people who didn’t know any of the sports or the sportspeople.

No, I’ve been in this for the long haul. I’ve long been a fan of the Olympics, since the first one that I can remember in Seoul in 1988. I remember collecting the card inserts from the cornflake boxes, making pamphlets about the sports, and decorating my room with endless reproductions of the swirl and rings logos.

In 1992 we were on holiday in the South of France whilst the Barcelona Olympics were on and the family relented – after very persistent berating from myself – to a day-trip to Barcelona in the space between the Olympics and the Paralympics. I’m not sure that security then was as tight as now as I can distinctly recall peering into the stadium and watching a rehearsal for the opening ceremony of the Paralympics. We
had to buy a t-shirt. And it had to be a specific t-shirt. It had to have the rings, and the official ‘running man’ brushstroke logo, and it had to have Cobi, the mascot on it. I still own it to this day, though I’m not able to squeeze myself into it any more.

So I’m a long-standing fan of the Olympics, and was on incredibly nervous tenterhooks on the 6 July 2005, watching live and awaiting the decision as to where the 2012 games were to be held. Paris was the favourite – though this was a good omen for us as historically the favourite had lost out to second place. And – with
much whooping, yelping and jumping from myself – so it proved, and we won!

I was ecstatic.

I was over the moon.

This was unbelievable.

The games were coming here – to my country – in my lifetime.

And then it went quiet.

Over the following 7 years there was a drip-feed of information, increasing in intensity as the pressure built. And I eagerly devoured all of it with much gusto. I couldn’t hear a bad word said about the games.

Whilst everyone else in the country was deriding the logo as garish, blocky, confusing, aggressive and generally far too modern; I found it bright, simple, clear, distinctive, very different and generally nice and modern.

Whilst they were annoyed by the slanting, angular Headline 2012 typeface, I loved how unique and unifying it was; they only ended up muffled under the ubiquity of it and actually how well it worked as an identity. (If you want a nice, readable but brief analysis of Olympic typefaces and branding, this article by Wired.com is good)

As every arena was completed I looked on avidly watching all the news reports as the velodrome had the last piece of roof lifted, the stadium was substantially completed for fitting out, and then Tom Daley inaugurated the aquatics centre as only he could.

The sense of thrill and delight was only marred by my inability to obtain any tickets whatsoever through the ballot. But, regardless, I would go to London and get as close as I could to the action. Merely to soak up the overwhelmingly electric atmosphere would be an achievement of an ambition of sorts.

However it was not to be.

Because a very good friend of mine had won a pair of tickets and offered me one of them. Well, I say 'won' as though she didn't have to pay for them, which obviously she did. In fact, on paying for them she had no idea exactly what she had 'won'.

I was delighted! I was going! I was actually blummin’ going to watch the Olympics!!!!!

Yes, it was beach volleyball – hardly a headline event. Yes it was at Horseguards’ Parade, so didn’t entitle me to access the Olympic Park and see the stadium up front; but it was still the Olympics!

And so in the run-up to the Opening Ceremony I was more than giddy with excitement. My enthusiasm peaked, the thrill was unbelievable – I was fever pitch personified. Ordinarily at this point, the whole thing could really only be an anti-climax, not live up to expectations, surely?

No. Any lapse or omission was entirely blurred or overwhelmed by the adrenaline coursing through my veins, by the phenomenal achievement of the organisers, the athletes and the volunteers. It was unbelievable. That they could – in just 7 years – turn a patch of contaminated wasteland in the East-end of London with a creaking transport system already bursting out of its seams; into a park of unimaginable beauty, with each of the buildings nominated for awards of architectural brilliance and sustainability; a modern high-speed rail link and an unimaginable fluidity of connection and administration, facilitated by gamesmakers who were not just helpful, but positively enthusiastic; was an achievement that no-one expected.

Particularly with an increasingly sceptical press.

Remember Athens? How the stadia were half-built just a few months before the opening ceremony? And Beijing with concerns over contaminated water and dangerous structures? Well, we didn’t have that. We were on target with each and every building. But the media can’t have that: we don’t do good-news stories. So there were escalating budgets to criticise and security problems requiring the army (THE ARMY!) to be drafted in, albeit smiling and jovial.

But these stories were great. They tried to subdue anyone getting overly carried away, adrift on a sea of unbounded enthusiasm. No, if we bring that enthusiasm under control, if it does all go wrong we can say “we told you so”. And if it goes right? No-one remembers the naysayer or the doom-monger. It wasn’t anti-patriotic. They weren’t doing it to stamp on the Brits; they were doing it because we are Brits – we love an underdog or for someone to achieve in the face of adversity - because when you keep putting something down, it can only look and grown up - and the IOC were not giving them that adversity with the reports that London was “well prepared”, “on target” and positioned to provide the “best games ever” so something had to be done to temper, rationise, very-Britishly-moderate this unexpected display of emotion.

And, of course, the change happened after the Jubilee. I have already discussed the ‘Summer of Britain’ and ubiquity of the Union flag; but once the Jubilee was over, the next big thing was The Biggest Show On Earth. And it was on our doorstep. So they could then crank up the visibility – there were no distractions now, all attention was focused.

Build the buzz. Hype the hype. Cloak the secrets and start the guessing…

How was this show to start?

With Paul bluddy McCartney, obviously. If my Twitter feed was anything to go by, this was the let-down of the century. Surely the organisers had heard the grumblings from the Jubilee? Why is it they have to roll out Macca for every national event? But had it not been Sir Paul, there would have had to have been some other slight blip, annoyance or blunder to provide the contrast with the amazingness of the rest of the show. Someone’s laces would have been untied and we could all sit back and say “Well, if that’s the worst there was, we still put on a damned good show!”

I loved it. I watched it with the said very good friend that I was to go down to London the following weekend with to actually watch the games, and every moment awed me. This wasn’t all-out exuberance, a massive display of force; this was just good, British fun. Who cared if the rest of the World didn't understand it? Apparently not the rest of the World, who seemed to enjoy it just as much.

And that was just the start.

I did go down for the weekend and London was a-buzz. You could smell the enthusiasm in every ounce of air. This wasn’t an interference on the capital, the capital wanted ever second of it, was drinking it in as  though it had never tasted excitement quite like it. People everywhere talked of nothing else.

I, of course, had gone all out. I was dressed in my Team GB shirt, Team GB shorts, Team GB wristband Union flag shoes and even Union flag underpants. You couldn’t move for Olympic memorabilia around my person. And it felt good.

I went to the Olympic Park. I didn’t get in, but I was able to have a (very expensive) pint right next door, and I had a very good view from the shopping centre. And I got to try the new high-speed rail link, which was fun.

And I obviously went to the beach volleyball (which I now know is a very different sport to ‘volleyball’) which you must go and watch if every you get the opportunity. Everybody wears next-to-nothing (we had one men’s match and one women’s) and, in the middle of play, for no apparent reason, they bring out some dancers to jig around for a bit. Brilliant.

And I have a ticket with a logo on it to take home. I can say I was there. If you squint very carefully in the corner of the screen you can possibly make out my Union flag that I was waving round proudly, despite the fact that none of the teams playing were Team GB. As an added bonus on the Sunday morning we got to stand in torrential rain and wait for the women’s marathon. A brilliant spirit even in the damp. God bless
the lass from Timor who brought up the rear a good five minutes after the penultimate runner.

And I found out that the differences between volleyball and beach volleyball are more than just the playing surfaces and the dancers.

And it all drew to a close last night with not enough superlatives to describe the fortnight.

Last night was always going to be difficult. It is the closing ceremony. It doesn’t have the hype and expectation of the Opening Ceremony. In fact, people don’t actually want it to happen – it is the inevitable end that we might as well try and make the most of; try to make good out of a funeral by turning the wake into a party. It’s not going to reflect the Opening Ceremony where the end is just the start: here the end
really is the end. It's like turning 30: it's not the start of a new century, it's the death of a decade (hence why I decided to run away for that particular experience.)

And so yes, the closing ceremony was always going to be a bitter-sweet moment, exemplified when Boris Johnson admitted that he had half a thought to run off with the Olympic flag and out of the stadium, inthe hope that we could keep the Olympics forever.

But that is the thing about this, and all festivals. If they didn't end, they wouldn't be special. And so I watched the closing ceremony, not really caring that they could have had some more, dfferent acts on, not caring that George Michael was promoting his new single rather than doing that-song-he-sings-about-having-sex-in-a-public-toilet-and-getting-caught. There was nothing that could lift my mood: this was the end of the greatest experience, my childhood hope and ambition. It had come true in the most British, admirable, achieveable, untaintable form.

And yet for me it was - as my life is - so incomplete. I shouldn't just have been there (I know that was more than many could have hoped for) I should have been in the Olympic Park. In the Stadium no less. For the Opening Ceremony. As an Athlete. With a Gold Medal and a Personal Best and World Record to beat.

I suppose I got as close as my mediocre life allows me. But I think that's good enough for me.

Over the next few weeks I intend to review - in my own entirely unqualified style - various aspects of the games, but in the meantime this is me done, drawn, exhausted, spent.

Fully Olympic'd out.