The big day

Have I mentioned that I love the Olympics? Have I? I fell in love with the Olympics in 1984, the year that I bought a tiny Olympics workbook and carefully filled in the winner of every medal. I don't still have the book and I don't remember all the medallists, but I remember that it was the year of Carl Lewis, and of Evelyn Ashford, of Budd and Decker, of Seb Coe's winning grimace, of Daley Thompson's backflip. Obviously mainly I was obsessed with the athletics, I now realise.

And then on 6th July 2005, we won the right to host the Games, and I cried with joy. And then, on 7th July 2005, as I was sitting in my office in the City of London, four men blew up the tube, and I thought London would never be the same again. And now, seven years later, London is exactly the same as it ever was, except the Olympic Games are here, and it's brilliant.

I have thoughts, many thoughts, about the opening ceremony, but I'll save them for another time. For now, here's a picture of me and my best friend at Eton Dorney on the opening morning of the rowing. Here's to a brilliant fortnight.