I have no interest in sport, generally. That carries over to having no interest in the Olympics. I have nothing against those who do have an interest in sport – it seems like a pretty arbitrary thing to be interested in to me, but many of my interests are in pretty arbitrary things too. It makes little sense to care who can run faster, or who can throw a metal ball further; but it makes little sense to find such fascination in pens, or torches, or to obsess over photographing rusty things, but these appeal to me.
My lack of interest in the Olympics carried over to the opening ceremony. I wasn’t watching it. I even closed Twitter so I didn’t have to see thousands of other people tweeting about what was happening. Sam opened the live stream of it on her Mac, so I ignored that too.
But I was slowly drawn in. The vaguely Hobbiton-like beginning was twee, but the conversion to industrial darkness was impressively gradual, with not much seeming to change quickly, but entirely transforming the set in very little time. Appropriate. By the time the glowing Olympic rings were forged and met in the air, I was actually watching. Shortly after that, I opened Twitter back up again to follow along as everyone excitedly chattered along with the show.
It was impressive, but it remained endearingly British throughout. Confident, but not too cocky. Even a cynical git like me, with no interest in the overall event, found it entertaining to watch.