Hellas!

I spent last night in some uncharacteristically trendy bars. It's not like me to go for a night out in Zone 1- ever since I moved to Hertfordshire I've taken to calling it London- so I thought I'd make the most of a special occasion and take my mates to places with panoramic views and interiors that look like final year text books from an architecture degree.

It just felt different, pretending to be part of some trendy City set. I was musing on this when two of my mates came outside.

“They just lit the Olympic flame!“

And then I realised this was the first time I'd missed the opening ceremony. I was sitting next to a fellow aspie, and we mused over the torch-lightings of the past; the Korean dove-torchings, Spanish Archers, American Tackoramas and Aussie Godesses. Then, perhaps fortunately, the conversation turned back to women and holidays, and I realised this is
maybe the first Olympic year I've had a life.

Besides, Olympic ideals don't count for everything. Particularly when it's sponsored by Coca-cola and there's 70,000 people crammed into a hastily-built Greek stadium. Maybe I should spare my nerves that one.

Except I have been following the beach volleyball. So much for having a life.