The evening started with the realisation I hadn’t made plans and everyone I knew had. My daughter is on holiday, and I am lost at sea. I looked at twitter and the Olympic ceremony was starting, I pottered, after pledging a night of hard drinking and unbridled cynicism, I kind of ignored twitter. Until the Queen parachuted into the Olympic ceremony, as part of the most audacious cross marketing, movie franchise Olympic tie in possible, I left the house, sure I had taken acid. I came back several hours later, and the ceremony was still ongoing.

I imagine the people there thought it was brilliant for the first hour or so, and by all accounts it was spectacular. Including an NHS tribute, a potted history of the British Empire and the potato famine. I have seen clips.

Then by the time I realised that I really should be thinking about sleep, I glance at twitter and the MET are battering cyclist and demanding they are broadcast to the world as beacons of British Corruption. I found out it wasn’t really The Queen and now I feel cheated, but feel the warm glow of knowing that a lucrative marketing opportunity like this must have resulted in a slice for the

I daren’t even factor in what we know about the employment conditions of some of those working there.

All in all, surreal. You ever get the feeling the games have begun?