Paralympic party proves perfect finale

Posted on September 10, 2012 by writewyattuk

Awesome Line-up: Channel 4’s thought-provoking advert for the 2012 Paralympic Games

You know that feeling when a party’s still going strong but you’re contemplating sloping off while things are still on a high? That was London 2012 for me. I couldn’t get too enthused ahead of part two of the proceedings – the Paralympics. I even suggested on these pages that maybe it should have been held before the Olympics.

Yet while the start coincided with a family holiday and it took me a while to be hooked this time, I’m glad I stuck around. And as the tongue-in-cheek Channel 4 advert said, ‘Thanks for the warm-up’. For the final fortnight provided a perfect end to a superb summer of sport. At a time when the sun seemed reticent to show across the UK, we still had something special to savour.

After the great job the BBC did at the Olympics, part two of London 2012 appeared a  thankless task for Channel Four, and wall-to-wall, largely uninspired advertising didn’t help. But the production team rose to the challenge and delivered in style, not least after the clever behind-the-scenes poaching of BBC leading light Clare Balding and several others.

Class Act: Channel 4 Paralympian presenter Ade Adepitan

For all of his enthusiasm, Ade Adepitan struggled at first but improved by the day, in what must have been a baptism of fire for the former wheelchair basketball star. His pure eagerness alone got him through, but by the end he was every bit the professional presenter. That can be said for many of the team around the ever-earnest but always impassioned Balding, not least Iwan Thomas, a natural as a studio summariser. And fair play to anyone who in the heat of the moment says ‘bollocks’ on air when he quite clearly means ‘balance.’ What was going through his mind at the time I really don’t know, but it showed a human quality that illustrated so well an altogether real televisual success.

An honorary mention for Danny Crates too, just one of the many co-commentators and summarisers who helped bring the Games’ atmosphere into our living rooms, his often-hyperbolic excitement perfectly conveying all that was unfolding before him.

Last Leg: Channel 4’s on-loan Australian comic Adam Hills proved disability and comedy can work

And then there was Aussie comic Adam Hills and his late night sofa buddies Alex Brooker and Josh Widdicombe, proving on a nightly basis that disability and comedy can work. It wasn’t just about laughs either, but a fitting celebration of the day’s action that proved educational too, not least the off-beat ‘is it ok?’ section. Why, the show even helped give tax-loophole lover Jimmy Carr a chance to part-redeem himself after a tricky PR summer – JC just one of the many celebs who found themselves in awe as they visited the Olympic Village and saw for themselves the sporting wonders on offer.

After a few days, I got beyond that difficult stage of spotting the disabilities ahead of each race. It became far more than that, and in the best moments this was first and foremost a celebration of great sport, national and international identity, inclusivity and comradeship. The fact that there were so many great – and often very touching – stories behind the athletes’ bids to even get there in the first place, made that all the more awesome.

I’ve mentioned this before, but when I think of cameraderie I recall Trigger’s great line on Only Fools And Horses, wondering if that was the name of that Italian bloke who used to play five-a-side with Del Boy and co. Well, there was certainly plenty on show at the Paralympics, and it certainly wasn’t all just about Team GB posturing.

He’s Off: London 2012 mascot Mandeville

While the crowds certainly upped the decibel rate when it came to the appearance of our competitors in the Olympic Stadium, the Aquatic Centre, Velodrome and elsewhere, there was plenty of noise for the other competing nations too. And not just for the superstars like South Africa’s Oscar Pistorius and Natalie Du Toit. Adam Hills’ mob got behind the four-strong Team Ghana, for instance, and there was plenty of love for every other country’s leading lights. And rightly so. The majority of these athletes had come a long way to get to London 2012 – metaphorically as well as geographically. And just to prove this was a human crowd, it wasn’t all blind adulation – there was the odd resounding boo for visiting Tory ministers too.

It’s difficult to pick out just a handful of highlights here, but from a sporting perspective I’ll start with just some of the many quality acts on the track that served to inspire us – GB’s Hannah Cockcroft, Jonnie Peacock and David Weir, South Africa’s Pistorius, and Ireland’s double sprint gold medallist Jason Smyth, who like Pistorius could well be on his way to the Olympics as well as the Paralympics in Brazil in four years.

Then I’ll throw in (get it?) characters like discus dynamo Aled Davies, cycling’s quadruple-gold medallist Sarah Storey, equestrian multiple golden girls Natasha Baker and Sophie Christiansen, and swimming’s Paralympic poster girl Ellie Simmonds.

High Five: London 2012 mascot Wenlock

Add to that a wealth of other archery, athletics, cycling, equestrian, rowing, sailing and swimming gold medallists from these shores, and all the others who made this Paralympics such a huge success. As with the Olympics, it wasn’t just about the winners and medallists – there were so many other great highlights to choose from, not least those in the wheelchair tennis, rugby and fencing events.

On a personal front it was nice to see two of the Paralympians I interviewed in a spell writing for newspapers in Lancashire come good again, namely 100m sprint T36 silver medallist Graeme Ballard and 200m individual medley SM6 swimmer Natalie Jones, who claimed bronze in the pool. Both lovely people who have overcome so much, in their case despite cerebral palsy.

Jones went even further in my view with her post-race interview and podium celebrations in deference to GB team-mate Simmonds, providing a fitting example of the respect these fine athletes afford each other.

At one point, it seemed like all the technical details about running blades and the like would overshadow the Games, not least with Pistorius’ ill-timed outburst following his T44 200m final defeat to Brazil’s superb Inspector Gadget impersonator Alan Oliveira. But in the end the athletes’ achievements put that all in the shade.

IPC president and former Paralympian Sir Philip Craven got it spot on at the closing ceremony, his Boltonian accent a breath of fresh air during the official speeches as he told us, in something of a Spinal Tap tribute, he was “above the landscape, floating on cloud nine or sometimes 10 and 11” following the success of this year’s event.

That’s how it got some of us, not least proud Mayor of London, Boris Johnson, who told the athletes and games-makers at the final day parade, “You routed the doubters and you scattered the gloomsters and for the first time in living memory you caused Tube train passengers to break into spontaneous conversation with their neighbours about subjects other than their trod-on toes.

“And, speaking as a spectator, you produced such paroxysms of tears and joy on the sofas of Britain that you probably not only inspired a generation, but helped to create one as well.”

I mentioned in my last Olympic piece how important it was now that we took on that legacy Seb Coe and his co-organisers trumpeted, to ensure this is no one-off party. That work has to continue at every level as we look to a bright future for Team GB and world sport.

But for now let’s just bask in the glory of these past few weeks and applaud a job well done, while thanking all those who made it happen. You did a great job, London. Now it’s over to you, Rio.

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Why I still love The Undertones

Posted on September 9, 2012 by writewyattuk

Derry’s Finest: The Undertones in their prime (pic courtesy of BBC)

I’ve always liked that James Nesbitt, from early roles in films like Waking Ned through to leads in TV successes like Colin Bateman’s Murphy’s Law, and ever onwards.

But he’ll be forever remembered for his big break in the brilliant ITV series Cold Feet, where among the many emotional scenes that made his name, one which left me close to tears was perhaps one of the more unlikely.

Jimmy Jimmy: James Nesbitt with the Cold Feet cast (pic courtesy of ITV)

I always got the feeling it wasn’t scripted, and must just have been Jimmy caught on camera in something of a rant during filming, more himself than his character Adam Williams, as he enthused about his love of The Undertones and the fact that the band were built – contrary to popular belief – around the might of John O’Neill’s song-writing rather than the warbling voice of Feargal Sharkey, wondrous as that was.

So there was no great surprise it was that particular Jimmy Jimmy narrating BBC Northern Ireland’s documentary Here Comes The Summer: The Undertones Story, first broadcast on BBC 4 on Friday September 7th, with Nesbitt voicing some of the best lines written about a band that has had such an impact over the years.

I wasn’t even 11 when legendary Radio 1 DJ John Peel first played Teenage Kicks and the band seemingly took off overnight, but within a year I was marvelling too – thanks to my older brother and his mates’ love for the band – at this five-piece from Londonderry. And things were never quite the same from then on.

Why The Undertones? Well, it’s never been easy to explain, but I think the team behind this BBC/Alleycat Films documentary – produced, directed and edited by Chris Wilson – came as close as possible to explaining the band’s pull as anyone before, with the help of insight from Nesbitt and broadcasters/journalists Eamonn McCann, Waldemar Januszczak and Paul Morley.

It was a shame Feargal Sharkey declined the offer to be involved, and there was only a brief strap at the end mentioning how the band re-formed in 1999 without him. At least a short interview with current frontman Paul McLoone and his thoughts on the whole phenomenon might have added something. But you can’t have it all.

Front Man: Today FM DJ and Undertones singer Paul McLoone (pic courtesy of the Galway Advertiser)

I should qualify that. There will be purists who see that reformation as just another variation on the endless stream of bands past their best back out on the road with new members in key roles. But that was never the case with The Undertones. It was never about a karaoke approach and half-hearted stroll through the hits catalogue. McLoone has a great voice and strong stage presence too, yet never looked to mimic Feargal or replace him. He just adds a new dimsension to all those great songs, as Seattle’s Steve Mack had to That Petrol Emotion, John and Damian O’Neill’s other success.

I was only 13 when I first caught the band – at Guildford Civic Hall on the Positive Touch tour, but within two years I was seeing The Undertones with Feargal for the last time on The Sin Of Pride tour at Guildford, then for their final UK gigs at London’s Lyceum and supporting Peter Gabriel and the Thompson Twins at Crystal Palace FC. In some kind of solidarity with the boys, we bemused the gate staff that sad day by leaving after their set.

I was there from the start for next contenders Eleven (featuring Undertones’ Mickey Bradley and Damian O’Neill) then That Petrol Emotion from their opening London pub gigs onwards, and have great memories from those days. We’d all moved on in the years that followed, but that premier sighting of the band with McLoone in the summer of 2000 at the Mean Fiddler in Harlesden – their first outside Derry – remains a cherished night. The same goes for the first time I heard John Peel play comeback single Thrill Me, as good a song as John O’Neill ever wrote. And The Undertones remain my favourite ever live band.

To fully understand the impact The Undertones had on me and so many others, perhaps you need to understand something of the band’s background and situation. More to the point, how a teenager from a semi-rural council estate in the heart of suburban, leafy Surrey could relate to a group of lads from such a different UK background, brought up in a divided city at the epicentre of The Troubles.

First Footing: The Undertones – the debut LP

Yet while I entered my teenage years inspired by the message of The Sex Pistols, The Clash and The Jam, I retained a love for good, honest pop – one that made me susceptible to bands like the Buzzcocks, Squeeze and in particular The Undertones. And you don’t need to have dodged bombs, police and army raids and rubber bullets to understand the latter quintet’s appeal.

Other mates (past and present) were more into Stiff Litle Fingers, and while I admired them and understood their stand, it was always The ‘Tones who did it for me. Their vision of an alternative Ulster was far more grounded, I felt. In later years, the O’Neill brothers realised they could actually write more political (although always subtle) songs, but as teenagers they just got on with tackling what they knew best – more songs about chocolate and girls. And the results have certainly stood the test of time.

As Nesbitt said at the beginning of this fine documentary, “Their adolescent anthems were revolutionary nonetheless: startlingly positive protest songs that demanded a life more ordinary.” Paul Morley echoed that, pointing out how the band came up ‘with these great pop songs was the most wonderful form of protest’.

H-Y-P: Hypnotised – The Undertones’ second LP

In an industry characterised by rock’n’roll excess and superstar status, often putting its heroes on a pedestal somewhere just out of reach, I always felt more in common with The Undertones. It’s a cliche, but these really could have been the boys next door, down to earth and never full of their own self-importance or taking themselves too seriously, despite their musical edge and pristine song-writing.

You only have to enjoy the contributions of bassist Mickey Bradley, drummer Billy Doherty and guitarists Damian and John O’Neill in this documentary to see that charm, a wealth of  anecdotes – with plenty of humour – covering those early days forming the band, the first  Top Of The Pops appearances, the amateur ‘hard-ball’ contract negotiations with Sire founder Seymour Stein, and eventual half-hearted decision to disband and let Feargal do his own thing.

While the band were never at ease with their rock star status – as proved in the stories about their US tour with The Clash – it was more about loyalty to their home fan-base and Derry girlfriends. They never lost sight of what was most important to them and those who helped get them there in the first place. Again, that’s something I always admired about this very special five-piece.

Positive Touch: The Undertones’ third LP

But for all their ‘Derryness’, as McCann puts it, time and again they gave us perfect three-minute pop, with heart-felt guitars and harmonies beautifully complemented by Sharkey’s exquisite vocals. And they always wore their musical influences on their sleeves, in a new wave hybrid that initially borrowed elements of earlier glam rock, and seminal influences like the Ramones, blues, rock’n’roll and arthouse American bands.

The fact that they made the grade was perhaps all the more remarkable considering all that was going on in their home city, the band offering an altogether more healthy vision to cut through the daily grim news we heard from across the Irish Sea.

I knew so little of that world – despite my interest from afar – and while The Clash wrote about white riots and sten guns in Knightsbridge, The Undertones were living that life but wanted something else. Something more normal. As Bradley put it, “The Clash would have killed to have come from Derry.” And on that same subject of those daily police and army checkpoints, hassle and bombs, he added a more pensive, “Even then we kind of knew they didn’t have that in … Manchester.”

Swan Songs: The Sin Of Pride, the band’s last LP with Feargal Sharkey

Morley put it in a more highbrow style, talking about “17 and 18-year-olds in a very radical, absurd stressful situation still managing to capture the almost abstract universal exquisiteness of a great pop song”. Which is kind of what I was trying to say, I guess.

Eamonn McCann was more succinct, adding, “The Undertones were ‘the most improbable pop stars from the most unexpected place.” And as Nesbitt summed up, “Other punks may have seemed more radical, but what made The Undertones ‘ music genuinely subversive is that it came from a place where bombs and guns were part of the walk to school; a city where an ordinary life was something that dreams were made of.”

Yet this documentary wasn’t just about journalistic reflection and uncovered hidden meanings, and nor should it have been. In the tradition of the superb The Story of The Undertones: Teenage Kicks documentary that came before, the band ensured that. One great example comes early on, the ever-affable Bradley – over a cuppa and a slice of toast – sticking pins into a Derry street map, demonstrating how everyone lived within 10 minutes  of the O’Neill house – ‘Undertones HQ’ – and contemplating how none of what followed would have happened if Sharkey was born across the Foyle in the Protestant part of town.

That’s not political or pro-sectarian, just pure geography and social history. He explained how the band’s singer was more lower middle class than the rest of them, but “to an outsider we’d all be working class. There were no leafy suburbs here. There were no Volvos parked outside.”

One thing becomes clear early on, as explained by John O’Neill and his brother Vincent, who played his part until panic over his O-levels led to the band asking kid brother Damian to step in. There was no master plan for success, and no U2-style ambition to be the biggest band in the world. Being in a group was – as Doherty pointed out – just what you moved on to after realising you weren’t going to make it as a professional footballer.

Lasting Legacy: The Undertones – An Anthology, the 2008 Salvo release

The fact that the band were too young for pubs and clubs might have helped, instead swapping records, stories and guitar riffs at the O’Neill house, and in time rocking The Casbah, a downbeat Derry club where sectarianism thankfully played little part.

It was all a bit of a head-rush from there, John blossoming into a fine songwriter (as Bradley and  Dee O’Neill would in time), approaches being made to Belfast punk impressario Terri Hooley, the Teenage Kicks EP being played and loved by legendary Radio 1 DJ John Peel, that deal with Sire Records, and so on.

The sum result was a brief but glorious five-year, four-album and 13-single career, and those four great LPs chart their musical progress (for better or worse, depending on your viewpoint). Again, this documentary picked out key points, not least the story of their biggest hit, My Perfect Cousin, an under-stated dalliance with more political messages in It’s Going To Happen, and charted the band’s fortunes right up to the day Sharkey finally announced his intention to leave (and his fellow band members’ sense of relief).

Bradley, summing up that eventual implosion in typically tongue-in-cheek fashion, added: “Then again, that’s what’s good about being in a band. You look at The Beatles – they fell apart spectacularly too.” And for this fan at least, this Derry five piece were right up there with the Fab Four, however limited their success by comparison.

I’ll quote Nesbitt’s closing lines here to finish off, explaining, “At a time when the charts began to open up to even more shocking and extravagant acts, what was most remarkable about The Undertones was that the band and their songs were so down to earth they seemed positively exotic.

“Coming from the darkest of places and situations their enduring achievement is to have created timeless music of startling positivity that touched teenagers all over the globe, while daring a generation at home to dream of a life more ordinary.”

* Here Comes The Summer: The Undertones Story will be on the BBC iPlayer for a few more days, and is set to be repeated on BBC Four late on Sunday, September 9th.

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Back to reality – the road from Stratford to Woking

Posted on August 22, 2012 by writewyattuk

Barely a week after the closing ceremony of the Olympic Games, there are concerns about Lord Coe’s ‘legacy’ being derailed by a ruling party he has so long associated with.

But while attempts continue to halt Michael Gove’s plan to loosen legislation regarding selling off school playing fields (check out http://www.38degrees.org.uk), the feelgood factor and inspiration for grass-roots sport and community involvement remains strong, as we look to unearth Team GB’s next generation of medallists.

The Paralympics should keep an international focus on London 2012, even if it might have been better placed before the big event. And I’ve already seen a whole load more cyclists and joggers out on the roads at night, which must count for something. But in the meantime – and beyond – we can all do our bit to ensure a healthy future via our own local clubs, whatever our sporting preferences.

In my case the prime passion has always been football, even though as one of Billy Bragg’s ‘victims of geography’ that involves a tidy trip back to my old neck of the woods in Surrey – to Kingfield, the home of mighty Blue Square Conference outfit Woking, an important part of my life since the non-league club’s 1980s’ forays into FA Cup giant-killing, Isthmian League domination and subsequent elevation to the national stage.

People are confused by that for some reason. ‘Woking?’ they say. ‘So what other team do you support?’ No-one else. Just the Cardinals. It’s my club. Even if I have lived 225 miles away from the ground for the past two decades. I have a soft spot for many more teams – for a variety of reasons – but Woking will always be my team, even if we are barely scraping into the top 100 clubs in England and Wales at present. And while we might not have won too much these last few years, there’s always the hope that we might do again some day.

I’m not too bothered if we never actually make it to the Premier League or Championship, as long as I can enjoy the odd match with friends and family and a quick pint before kick-off, hopefully storing at least a few classic moments in the memory bank for future days. There will be a few poor games this season and beyond, I’m sure, but there will also be afternoons and evenings to savour for all the right and wrong reasons.

In these days of big finance and Stock Exchange flotations for a brand earmarked ‘soccer’, I’m far happier to champion the cause of the little clubs out there, and that’s not being patronising either. I’m talking about any club, amateur or professional – not just football – where often-anonymous volunteers work their butts off in the cause of local sporting development, whether the short and long term reality of their work brings glory or not. In many cases this is for very little if any reward, yet these unsung heroes return week in, week out in a bid to to unearth the next international and hopefully enjoy the odd great moment along the way.

I’m not talking about a level where millionaire footballers with questionable morals turn up for training in their flash cars between nights on the town looking for fake-tan brides. Well, not all of them anyway (it does seem to be a major illness with this sporting breed). While there are plenty of wannabes at the level of the Beautiful Game I prefer, there’s a far healthier sense of reality on show most of the time. And I feel a greater affinity for a club where I can play a direct part in their success. Rather that than being just another punter in a replica shirt advertising a giant organisation paying more heed to the Far East and US trade sectors than those paying through the nose through the turnstile.

Shove Off: Alan Pardew was embarrassed by his touchline angst in the light of his own pre-match ‘Olympic spirit’ talk (photo courtesy of BBC Sport)

I’m not totally writing off the Premier League here, and there were signs in the opening week of the new football season that the Olympic message and ethos has had a bearing on at least some of those big time clubs. A prime example was that of Alan Pardew after Newcastle United’s opening day win over Spurs. Yet it was a rather embarrassed Magpies boss who explained to a Match of the Day reporter that there he was extolling the virtues of the London 2012 spirit beforehand and then during the match made all the wrong headlines for shoving a linesman in his eagerness to dispute a refereeing decision. Pardew later made his apologies to the officials and public, embarrassedly laughed it off and called himself ‘ridiculous’. That should have been the end of it. He still wound up with a two-match FA touchline ban though, and that also seems to be ridiculous.

Less you should feel I’m portraying my own beloved Cardinals as a shining paragon of virtue and great examples of that re-found spirit of sporting fairness, however, I have to report that my opening home game at Woking proved otherwise.

Flash Point: Things get heated between Woking and Dartford after Gez Sole’s penalty (pic courtesy of David Holmes)

There were plenty of niggly challenges and moaning on the pitch, x-rated chants at the Kingfield Road End and good-natured frustration voiced on Moaners’ Corner as we saw a dogged 10-man Dartford side with a hobbling goalie try to hold on for a point. Meanwhile, my boys were deterred at every turn until a Giuseppe Sole penalty settled the affair, with argy-bargy and ‘handbags’ after the trip that led to the spot-kick leading to a brief period of what my pal Jim would call ‘a little bit of unpleasantness’ involving fans, players and stewards.

But that’s sport for you, I guess. It’s a contact sport and It can’t always be about those wondrous moments like Jess Ennis’ and Mo Farah’s late bursts to the front on the track at Stratford. That’s what makes it such an unpredictable and great game too. Sometimes it’s decided by an ill-timed challenge, a less than romantic deflection off an unexpected part of the male anatomy, or a total fluke of a shot.

I was back at Kingfield a few days after the win over Dartford to see my boys send a spirited Barrow side all the way back up to the end of the ‘longest cul de sac in England’ without a single point, their early promise and opening goal coming to nothing as the intense heat took its toll, the final straw being a delightful finish from Woking’s sturdy Portuguese-born striker Loick Pires that made it 3-1.

Pires Power: Loick lashes home Woking’s third on Saturday (photo courtesy of David Holmes)

It must have seemed like a 1,000-mile return trip for a commendable Furness away following, let alone the 300 miles they had to endure to get home after a long and tetchy day out in suburban Surrey, experiencing temperatures in the thirties (at the first game I’ve been to where the ref pulled the teams over mid-way through the first half for a drinks break). But they’ll get over it and might even subject my team and several more to a similar fate this season.

Fun In The Sun: The reaction to Pires’ decider against Barrow (photo courtesy of David Holmes)

That’s the beauty of football for me, perhaps in the same way as it for a hockey or rugby fan at turns frustrated and ecstatic about their own favourite waste of time. And just by turning up at your local club, using public facilities or safeguarding council and school playing fields, you’re doing your bit to encourage tomorrow’s sporting stars to come through and ensuring that sporting legacy continues.

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When Daldry and Daltrey took up the London 2012 baton

Posted on August 13, 2012 by writewyattuk

There was little sign of life at Our House on Monday morning, the latest of several late nights clearly taking its toll after the party to mark the end of a truly spectacular event.

My youngest was battling with her eyelids shortly before the phoenix rose from the ashes of the Olympic cauldron, but it’s fair to say both my girls have put in a few hours at the gogglebox this past fortnight for an event that clearly inspired the nation.

And Stephen Daldry and Kim Gavin’s closing ceremony carried on where Danny Boyle’s spectacular opener left off, a heady mix of great music, culture and drama making us proud to be British again.

To a backdrop of London wrapped in news headlines championing the UK’s unequalled literary heritage, Emile Sande and Stomp supplied the soundtrack as Tim Spall’s Winston Churchill – atop Big Ben – carried on where Kenneth Branagh’s Brunel left off, reading from  Shakespeare’s The Tempest while ‘newspaper taxis’ flanked the Urban Voices gospel choir as they tackled the first of many Beatles numbers, Because, cellist Julian Lloyd Webber played Elgar on the roof of the Albert Hall, Del and Rodney Trotter camped it up as Batman and Robin, and Michael Caine gave his immortal line from The Italian Job.

Nice to see Madness in the mix this time too, airborne saxophonist Lee Thompson still flying after all these years, and how peculiarly grand it was to see the Massed Bands of the Household Division tackle Blur’s Parklife and a pneumatic drill introduce the London Symphony Orchestra and Urban Voices’ version of the National Anthem.

Truly Madly: Cathal, Suggs and co bring down Our House on the big night (screen grabs courtesy of the BBC)

While the Queen couldn’t make it, there were plenty of worthy stand-ins, not least the Pet Shop Boys, projected images of David Bowie and Freddie Mercury, and George Michael and Annie Lennox in person.

Just when you thought this was another old ‘uns gig, One Direction took to the stage – while my youngest harshly covered her ears – but then the Spelbound gymnast troupe took us through the next Lennon-McCartney classic, A Day In A Life, and The Kinks’ Ray Davies led a rousing rendition of Waterloo Sunset, with ‘sha la la’s all round.

We were soon afforded the first glimpses of Damien Hirst’s impressive Union flag artwork, with tears flowing again as the screens showed iconic Games images as Sande reprised Read All About It with the help of 270 young East London voices.

The flag-bearers followed, Ben Ainslie leading Team GB as Elbow upped the ante with the stirring Open Arms and One Day Like This before the stage was transformed again for Kate Bush’s sumptuous heart-pumping Running Up That Hill.

Mast Man: Cornish sailing legend Ben Ainslie leads Team GB in (screen grabs courtesy of the BBC)

There was still time for the business of the day, Uganda’s Stephen Kiprotich and two Kenyan runner-ups receiving their last-day marathon medals before George Harrison’s Here Comes The Sun heralded Kath Grainger and co’s public thank you to the ‘Games Makers’ who’d ensured London 2012’s success.

It was only a matter of time before we heard Bohemian Rhapsody, a brief snatch followed by a touching John Lennon moment as the man himself gave us Imagine on the big screen, with young Liverpudlian choral and signing support, the resultant good vibe even seeing me through George Michael’s Freedom. While his second song, the Bowie Fashion tribute and Annie Lennox’s Little Bird section proved perfect for a ‘comfort break’ and a top-up, I was back for the Kaiser Chiefs tackling Pinball Wizard amid an awesome scooter rally, and hats off to Ed Sheeran and his supergroup of sorts for a pensive Wish You Were Here complete with Pink Floyd-themed tightrope walk.

Just in case there was a danger of the rest of the world understanding this show, on came  Russell Brand for a truly puzzling trip featuring Willy Wonka and the Fab Four (coo-coo-ca-choo) before Fatboy Slim had our pupils dilating, DJ-ing aboard a 50m fluorescent octopus for a storming Right Here, Right Now and The Rockafeller Skank, that followed in turn by celeb limo liggers Jessie J, Tiny Tempah and Taio Cruz, before they combined for Bee Gees tribute You Should Be Dancing.

Added Spice: Taxi for the Fab Five, anyone? (screen grabs courtesy of the BBC)

The dance moves continued apace as the Spice Girls hammed it up perfectly for Wannabe and Spice Up Your life, and while no self-respecting jock would have followed that with  Beady Eye and ELO, Liam’ Gallagher’s version of our kid’s Wonderwall and the subsequent Mr Blue Sky somehow did the trick.

A curiously British pageant then took another unexpected turn in a Pythonesque pastiche as Eric Idle led an array of skating nuns, morris and Indian dancers, rugby players, Welsh girls, angels and centurions through alternative national anthem Always Look On The Bright Side of Life.

Muse were next, their Olympic tribute Survival further underlining the wide church that is UK music, one further extended as Freddie Mercury taught us to yodel from above and ex-bandmates Brian May and Roger Taylor tackled Brighton Rock before Jessie J joined them for a suitably stadium-shaking treatment of We Will Rock You.

It was difficult to know where it could go from there, but the London Welsh Male Voice Choir and London Welsh Rugby Club Choir brought a lump to the throat with the Olympic anthem amid ceremonial flag-waving from Boris Johnson, Jack Rogge and the mayor of Rio.

The fact that we were partied out by then meant it was difficult to fully appreciate the following Brazilian taster session – including Pele’s appearance – or Seb Coe and Rogge’s   well-chosen words of tribute. But there’s only so much you can take in on one night.

Neat Pete: Townshend takes us to the climax with The Who (screen grabs courtesy of the BBC)

Yet on the stroke of midnight the cauldron was extinguished, Take That thrilled the throngs and Darcey Bussell’s dancers confused them one more time before The Who finished the party in style with a Baba O’Riley, See Me, Feel Me and My Generation show-stopper – Roger Daltrey leading a glorious twist on Lord Coe’s message, in what proved a fitting end for a celebratory climax to a truly spectacular and wonderfully inspirational Olympic Games.

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Living the dream and the lasting legacy – week two of the London 2012 Olympics

Posted on August 13, 2012 by writewyattuk

If ever there was a motivational endorsement of everything good that came out of these past two weeks, it was voiced by Lancashire lass Sam Murray late on Sunday afternoon.

Surprisingly fresh from her silver medal performance at the Modern Pentathlon – the last event at the London 2012 Games – the 22-year-old University of Bath graduate confided in Clare Balding just what it takes to be an Olympian.

The determined Clitheroe athlete’s off-the-cuff speech – which couldn’t have been better if it was scripted – touched on how much you can achieve in a short space of time. In her case that involved a pentathlon-speed transition from A-levels to podium, underlining the strength of her message about reaching your goals in life, battling away your detractors, insisting a ‘normal girl’ can get there in the end. And who can argue with that sentiment?

No pressure: Sam Murray on the BBC Breakfast couch with Bill Turnbull and Susanna Reid (pic courtesy of BBC)

Sunday was just the final day of a fortnight packed with such inspirational moments, and  one in which it was also pleasing to hear our third boxing gold medallist – super- heavyweight Anthony Joshua – confirm his bid to remain amateur, for now at least.

So where did we leave the story last week? That seems a few podia away now, and those GB celebrations included three more medals on the track – Rob Grabarz’s high jump bronze, Christine Ohuruogu’s silver in the 400m (after another epic battle with supreme US talent Sanya Richards-Ross, lovingly dubbed ‘Princess Girl’ by my daughters), and Mo Farah’s stunning second gold.

One week on from Super Saturday and its triple gold haul for Jess Ennis, Farah and Greg Rutherford came a fantastic follow-up as Little Mo secured the 5,000m title and bantamweight boxer Luke Campbell also struck gold after a classic bout with Ireland’s John-Joe Nevin, on a day that started with an A1 K1 kayak sprint win for Ed McKeever.

That followed a further moment of sporting history as Nicola Adams took the woman’s flyweight crown, while welterweight Fred Evans secured a silver medal, and middleweight Anthony Ogogo a bronze.

Elswhere, there was Liam Heath and Jon Schofield’s K2 200m canoe sprint bronze, the same honour for Tom Daley in the 10m platform diving, gymnastics pommel horse silver for Louis Smith and bronze for Max Whitlock, Beth Tweddle’s bronze on the uneven bars, the same for the women’s hockey team, and Taekwondo gold for Jade Jones and bronze for Letalo Mohammad.

There was also plenty to savour in equestrianism, topped by dressage gold for Charlotte Dujardin and bronze for Laura Bechtolsheimer, team gold for the same riders with Carl Hester, and gold in the team jump for Scott Brash, Peter Charles, Ben Maher and Nick Skelton. And let’s not forget Andy Murray claiming gold and then silver with Laura Robson in the tennis at Wimbledon. Whatever next?

In a Games in which Team GB got going with Lizzie Armitstead’s silver in the women’s road race cycling, there was gold and bronze for Yorkshire too as the Brownlee brothers showed Northern grit in their first and third place finishes, Alistair winning and bro Jonny having to settle for third after a dramatic 15-second time penalty.

The action continued at the Velodrome with even more historic moments for Dave Brailsford’s top-notch track cyclists, ending with nine golds – including those in the keirin for old masters Chris Hoy and Vicky Pendleton and individual success for younger guns like Jason Kenny in the sprint and his significant other Laura Trott in the omnium.

Add to that Team GB’s sailors carrying on where the rowers left off, Ben Ainslie becoming our most successful Olympic sailor with his Finn gold, and silver in the men’s star (Percy & Simpson), men’s and women’s 470 (Patience & Bithell, Mills & Clark) and Nick Dempsey in the RS-X. Can’t say I would have had a clue what was going on even if I was paddling at Weymouth (or in a few of those events elsewhere if I’m honest), but there you go.

Quite a week really. That makes two in total, and for all those who might take up Morrissey’s argument about ‘blustering jingoism’, this was far more than a nationalist flag-waving exercise. Granted, it’s easy to generalise and see our dominance at Eton Dorney and the Velodrome track as a symbol of Rule Britannia and all things empirical. But amid the patriotic noises at all these venues there was voluminous support for all the other competing nations too.

That includes the respect shown to the Jamaican sprint fraternity, the US sprint sisterhood and emerging talents like Kenya’s 800m sensation David Rudisha, Grenada’s Kirani James in the 400m, tearful Dominican 400m hurdler Felix Sanchez, and Ugandan marathon man Stephen Kiprotich.

The same goes – in equal measure – for some of the many who overcame major hardships and obstacles to get there in the first place, not least South African paralympian Oscar Pistorius and Saudi Arabia’s first female Olympian Sarah Attar. For these two and many more Pierre de Coubertin’s statement that “The important thing is not to win, but to take part” rang true.

Meanwhile, the Dutch and German teams taught us a thing or two about total hockey, bronze medallists Canada and eventual champions the USA fought out a gripping advert for women’s football in their ‘soccer semi’ at Old Trafford, and there were so many other displays in a variety of sports that truly exemplified the Olympic spirit.

We’re off: Our first gold at Eton Dorney (pic courtesy of BBC Sport)

From Helen Glover and Heather Stanning’s rowing gold through to Sam Murray’s modern pentathlon silver it’s been a blast for Team GB and London 2012 as a whole. The locations were great, from the top of Box Hill and the country lanes of my old neck of the woods in Surrey through to Greenwich, Richmond, the Mall and Buck Palace, this was a tourist board’s dream.

In the build-up to these Games, with all its corporate branding and potential free-loading, a lot of us had misgivings and fears, lest we should be witnessing an event advertising the selective austerity UK of Cameron & Clegg, with added financial clout from FatCat Holdings. But while there were elements of that – as is the case with any event of such magnitude in this day and age – Danny Boyle’s opening ceremony set the right tone, and for a couple of weeks we could at least leave our political squabbles on the back-burner and dream, enjoying age-old values of sporting glory and participation, backed by an inspirational belief in all the good things about this island nation and its position of respect within the modern world.

Now of course comes the real crunch, as we watch and wait to see if the vast amounts of money made from London 2012 find their way back to the communities that were promised a long-term future by this great scheme at the planning stage.

A world party that’s cost around the £10 billion mark was backed by then-mayor Ken Livingstone in the hope that it would lead to major Government funding for the East End of London, in a similar way to that Manchester saw with its own redevelopment through the 2002 Commonwealth Games.

Already we’ve heard Government rumblings which the more cynical might see as little more than lip service to soundbites (more PE on the national curriculum, safeguarded playing fields, etc.). Let’s just hope all this about lasting legacies and a boost to UK sport, volunteering and regeneration is not just blarney, and there’s some truth behind the talk.

The London 2012 Olympics saw real across-the-divide success, and made this blogger for one proud of the welfare state that helped hone those talents in the first place. Now we have to build on that and ensure that belief remains, and that doesn’t just mean through the £125 million annual pay-check for UK Sport.

Back on July 27th, internet guru Tim Berners-Lee told us from his keyboard at the Olympic Stadium opening ceremony, ‘This is for everyone’. Let’s make sure that remains the goal from here on in. I’ve been proud to be British these past couple of weeks, and I could get quite used to that.

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40 great reasons to have loved the 2012 Olympics

Posted on August 13, 2012 by writewyattuk

In no particular order …

1. Danny Boyle’s opening ceremony for setting the tone and leaving me proud to be British; and Stephen Daldry and Kim Gavin’s closing pageant for living up to its high standard

2. Double-golden girl Laura Trott’s infectiously excitable post-race interviews, be it with her track cycling team-mates or just on her own

3. Steve Cram and Brendan Foster’s historic BBC TV commentary as Mo Farah secured his 5,000m gold medal amid a wall of noise in the Olympic Stadium

4. Mo Farah and his marvellous ‘mobot’, with his missus and daughter on the track after his 10,000m title

5. Heptathlon pin-up Jessica Ennis: the tears, the winning smile, and pure all-round inspirational tale

6. Jamaican sprint stars Usain Bolt and Yohan Blake and their post-race trackside antics, artists in front of the cameras in more sense than one

7. Ben Ainslie’s Dirty Harry-style ‘and you don’t want to make me angry’ pronouncement on his way to becoming the most successful sailing Olympian of all time

8. Matt Baker’s no-holds-barred excitement on the Beeb at the gymnastics finals, particularly when Oldham, Purvis, Smith, Thomas, Tweddle and Whitlock shone

Motown Moment: Jackson, Johnson and Lewis get excited with the Beeb … big time (pic courtesy of BBC Sport)

9. Colin Jackson and Denise Lewis’ ‘hidden camera’ studio ecstacy during the Farah and Bolt golden track moments, as Michael Johnson struggled to keep calm and carry on

10. Andy Murray learning to have fun in public – too much of a rarity – with help from some shockingly good form from Laura Robson, on his way to two tennis medals

11. Bradley Wiggins and those super sideburns on the road again, from Deepest Surrey to the streets of London and Hampton Court Palace

12. Mrs Brownlee’s boys and their triumphant triathlon antics, not least that tense moment in the penalty box for brother Jonny

13. Manx road racer Mark Cavendish and his impish grin, trying to make sense of it all in the BBC’s Velodrome press box

14. The highly-professional Hugh Porter and his off-mic coughs during a mammoth spell commentating alongside Chris Boardman during the cycling road races

15. Gary Lineker’s post-time trial interview with a wonderfully eloquent and refreshingly down-to-earth Brad Wiggins

16. John Inverdale’s genuine TV interview tears after rowing silver for a gutted Zak Purchase and Mark Hunter

17. Sir Steve Redgrave and his unpaid role carrying exhausted British rowers to the podium after Inverdale’s interviews

18. Rebecca Adlington’s stirring acceptance of her bronze medals after a gruelling 800m freestyle battle in the pool

19. Dominican 400m hurdles champion Felix Sanchez and his tears on the podium, so difficult to watch but perhaps a perfect example of how much that moment must mean

20. All those sprinters playing to the gallery, including Blake’s less than convincing ‘Beast’ mime and a certain team-mate who was nothing less than greased lightning throughout.

21. Radio 5 Live’s commentary team for all those key moments, notably the switch to and from the canoe slalom and double trap finals as we won two more gold medals

22. Nicola Adams, Jade Jones, Gemma Gibbons and Karina Bryant for redefining the term ‘fighting like a girl’ in the boxing, Taekwondo and judo

23. Cyclist Chris Froome, living proof in lycra that it’s not always just about finishing first

24. Gymnast Beth Tweddle proving you don’t always need flamboyance to shine out of the arena – unassuming to a tee.

25. Equestrian Mary King proving age is no barrier when it comes to achieving at Olympic standard.

26. Sir Chris Hoy and Queen Vic Pendleton showing them younger whipper-snappers a thing or two about riding a bike

27. Coleraine rower Ian Campbell after his single scull bronze, a broken man showing us all just what it takes to claim a medal

28. Rowing alchemist Kath Grainger and her persistence paying off as she turns all that silver into gold.

29. The BBC’s radio and TV commentary teams doing their best to explain the more technical sports like diving, gymnastics and sailing

30. Clare Balding for her boundless enthusiasm at whatever sport she’s covering, and her punter-in-the-street explanations as to what the hell’s going on at key moments

31. Proud Olympian Oscar Pistorus for his determination, a perfect ambassador for the forthcoming Paralympics and one who clearly never takes no for an answer

32. Sarah Attar for her historic presence in the 800m, the first Saudia Arabian woman to feature at an Olympic Games

33. Michael Phelps and his swimming pool mastery, taking his total up to 22 medals – 18 gold – to become the most decorated Olympian of all time

34. Tom Daley for proving his doubtors wrong, and for his emotional nod to his late father after his bronze medal

35. Montenegro for taking 34 athletes to London 2012 and coming back with 14 medals – a superior 41% success rate

36. Kirani James for winning Grenada’s first ever gold medal in spectacular fashion in the 400m final, earning his nation a day off in the process.

37. Lancashire lass Sam Murray’s heart-felt advice after her modern pentathlon silver about how we can all get what we want in life if we put the hours in

38. Mancunian pensioner Peter Deary and his unusually iconic Derney bike, leading the keirin charge in the Velodrome

39. Every single Team GB athlete who made it to the podium, for proving what can be achieved with a little hard work, persistence and perseverance

40. Every single Team GB athlete who didn’t make it to the podium, all the volunteers and all those who turned up at London 2012 and during the Olympic torch relay

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When bronze ambition measures up to golden gongs

Posted on August 5, 2012 by writewyattuk

When Jess Ennis and Mo Farah somehow found those extra gears and kicked home to secure yet more Team GB gold medals on Saturday night, there were tears of pride and joy up and down this land.

If ever there was a statement that we still have the right to use the word ‘great’ in our title, and underline that vision of this being an Olympic Games for everyone, here it was -two superb sporting products of a multi-cultural UK leading the world.

Crowning Mo-ment: Farah’s finish in the 10,000m proved a defining moment (pic courtesy of BBC Sport)

We’d already seen world and Olympic records tumble and enough GB gongs to hang as bunting in Bradley Wiggins’ homecoming before heptathlon hero Ennis, 10,000m star Farah and long jump jet Greg Rutherford joined the party.

And from Stratford to Weymouth and Wimbledon, there’s plenty more of that to come  these next few days at London 2012.

But for all the wondrous stories and tales of inspiration aired so far – culminating in Saturday night’s track and field master-class – we’re still in danger of losing the true message of the Olympics if we’re not careful.

I guess we’re all guilty of forgetting about our modest initial medal aim as we eye up the leader-board and see how we’re (almost) competing with the big guns of China and the USA. That’s no mean feat when you take into consideration the comparative size of the UK, and it’s also a great advert for Lottery funding.

Greg’s Grace: Rutherford about to strike gold at London 2012 (pic courtesy of BBC Sport)

But for every rousing play of the national anthem and hoisted Union flag, it’s sometimes the less obvious stories and glories that catch this old cynic’s eye. Fantastic a moment as they were, I find myself looking beyond the Grainger, Hoy and Wiggins headlines, seeing more of that old time spirit in the attitude of a few lesser lights.

So step up to the writewyattuk podium Rebecca Adlington, for her rousing acceptance of a bronze medal after a sapping 800m freestyle swim in the Aquatics Centre, complementing that she gained in the 400m free.

Michael Jamieson’s 200m breaststroke silver might have been deemed more impressive, but the Mansfield marvel showed maturity beyond her 23 years (yes, I know, that’s ‘old’ for a swimmer) as she ‘bigged up’ her honour in a post-race poolside chat with Sharon Davies.

The same goes for physically-broken Coleraine rower Ian Campbell after his single scull bronze. A superhuman effort on the water at Eton Dorney left the poor bloke a wreck and he could hardly lift his head as John Inverdale hovered sympathetically with his mic.

In the same boat, so to speak, were ‘defeated’ pair Zac Purchase and Mark Hunter after being pipped by the Danes (painful) at the climax of a thrilling lightweight double-sculls race, the afore-mentioned Inverdale left in tears and Sir Steve Redgrave again called on to help carry a medal winner to the podium.

Perhaps understandably, Purchase and Hunter couldn’t quite see beyond their failure to strike gold and were bereft, yet they had every reason to feel proud of their own vast efforts and salute their opponents.

I felt more empathy for the Polish girls who finished third to women’s double sculls victors Kath Grainger and Anna Watkins, their smiles of delight what this Games should all be about. While Grainger’s tale of try, try, try again should be applauded, all that previous silver was something to be savoured.

You’ll forgive me for not reeling off every rowing medal winner. There’s only so much space here, and again they proved to be world-beaters, putting in the shade all those no-lesser stories involving fellow competitors in such a demanding sport.

Jess Brilliant: First lady Ennis is all smiles for the cameras (pic courtesy BBC Sport)

The same goes for the glut of cycling medal winners, but I’ll add Chris Froome to my list, his mammoth achievement of third at the men’s time trial hot on the heels of second overall at the Tour de France – while the world can barely see past the sideburns of cycling colossus Brad Wiggins.

An honorary mention for Wiggo though, who was quick to praise his team-mate (again) in an illuminating BBC interview with Gary Lineker after his time trial, the man of the moment cool without being cocky, entertaining without preening, and on the whole humble and gracious.

I’ll add Lizzie Armitstead to my honours list too, getting the party started with a silver medal on a day of good old British rain, crashes, toil and pain, and that after the GB boys got their tactics wrong on the road – the rest of the field getting their own back for Paris and all that.

Next up I’ll praise David Florence and Richard Hounslow, who had to settle for C2 canoe slalom doubles silver after being pipped by their own team-mates, Tim Baillie and Etienne Stott.

What a bit of broadcasting magic that proved. I’d only popped out of the house for an hour or so and found myself in the car park at Asda listening to BBC Radio 5 Live’s compelling commentary as they switched between Lee Valley and the double trap shooting at the Royal Artillery Barracks as Peter Wilson claimed the Olympic title. Just who would have thought that would have made great radio?

I can’t leave out the equestrians. How great must it be to collect your silver medal from your Mum, as was the case with Zara Phillips, with your cousins later hogging the TV limelight, telling Sue Barker how proud they were of you.

And how fresh it was to see Mary King strike silver at 51, in her sixth Olympics. Not sure if she’ll go on to take the honour of becoming the oldest Olympic medallist mind, as that will probably remain with Britain’s John Copley, winner of a silver medal in the 1948 engravings and etchings competition, at the age of 73. Yes, 73. Yes, engravings and etchings.

Then there was Euan Burton after his tears following an early exit in the judo, later made up by a silver for his partner Gemma Gibbons – complete with a heart-warming post-bout spirited reaction from US champion Kayla Harrison – and a bronze for Karina Bryant.

I’ve also picked our men’s gymnastic artistic team – Louis Smith, Daniel Purvis, Max Whitlock, Kristian Thomas, and Sam Oldham. Who could forget their superb third place and all the drama of that appeal by Japan that saw the silver snatched away from them? It was worth viewing for the reaction of mega-excitable ex-Blue Peter presenter Matt Baker and his co-commentators alone – a TV commentating gold assured.

That of course is just highlighting those who made it to the podium. Spare a thought for the likes of diving pin-up Tom Daley, not just having to face a narrow defeat but also personal Twitter troll abuse, and so many more.

Then there was Team GB rising football star Daniel Sturridge after his penalty was saved, signalling our quarter-final exit, as was the case with a late miss by Karen Carney for the women the night before. All three will surely bounce back and be all the stronger for the experience.

And less we forget it’s only a Games, on a lighter note my final gong goes to a bit of an outsider, and relates back to the Velodrome drama again.

I could have chosen the men and women for their team pursuit and sprint glories, or Victoria Pendleton for her persistence and superb late charge as she claimed her keirin title. But instead I’m going for that unlikely early leader in that latter event.

He may have looked less than dynamic – the definition of calm itself – for those first relaxed six laps, but in sport there should perhaps always be a respect for the pace-setters. So hats off to the unnamed rider of the Derny motorised bicycle, competing in both the men’s and women’s races and looking like he was just out to the shops for a few last-minute items until he took a wrong turn to end up on the track.

Just when you get wrapped up in sport and start to believe all the hype, here’s something truly bizarre that makes you see through all the expert analysis and talk of lactic acid (which seems to have just been discovered this past week, judging by the amount of column inches and TV analysis that mention it). And that’s okay by me.

If Manx missile Mark Cavendish’s infectious boyish grin isn’t enough to bring a smile to your face, the sight of the mystery man in black on the Derny surely will, not least when the cycling experts find themselves having to defend the bike’s relevance for the umpteenth time.

Author’s note: you may have noted that I refuse to use the words ‘medal’ and ‘podium’ as verbs in the above London 2012 review. It’s a bastardisation of the English language and I’m not having it, even if – like Daphne, Fred, Velma, Shaggy and Scooby-Doo – those medalling kids have ‘gotten away with it’ on the radio and TV every night so far.

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Oh Danny Boyle

Posted on July 29, 2012 by writewyattuk

Arise Sir Daniel. The Boyle done good at the Olympic Park on Friday. And what with DB’s opening ceremony and the torch relay that preceded it, a lot more of us feel part of London 2012 now – something we might not have imagined just a few weeks back.

While dear old Madge and the DoE looked a little nonplussed at Boyle’s party piece, you really can’t blame them. With a combined age of 177, this was after all just another late night in what’s been a pretty hectic summer … reign, rain or (occasional) shine. But what a triumph that ceremony proved, and what a marvel in this day and age of instant techno gratification that no one let on what was going to unfold.

From Frank Turner’s frankly thankless task as warm-up amid the sheep and milkmaids for the pastoral scene and Tour de France hero Bradley Wiggins’ tolling of the bell, there was hardly a chance to draw breath on Friday night.

Rings True: Danny Boyle nailed it with his Olympic Ceremony spectacular (picture copyright: BBC)

What followed was sublime, the strains of the LSO treatment of Elgar’s Nimrod giving way to Evelyn Glennie leading 1,000 drummers through Underworld’s And I Will Kiss while a lone voice led us through Blake and Parry’s Jerusalem, followed by Danny Boy, Flower of Scotland and Bread of Heaven from choirs elsewhere – need you think this was all just about England.

That musical legacy later included among others Bowie, Clapton, The Jam, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, New Order, Queen, Sex Pistols, The Specials, The Who, and even Mud and The Prodigy. I for one was captivated. Lest we forgot where we were, there was Forever Blowing Bubbles too. And it wasn’t just Emeli Sande’s gloriously-understated Abide With Me – alongside a visual memorial to the 7/7 victims – and a frail Muhammad Ali’s appearance that tugged at the heart-strings.

Even after the admittedly-long but cleverly-managed parade of competing nations, that climactic cauldron moment and the official speeches – with Seb Coe clearly touched – we still had Paul McCartney’s apt finale of The End and Hey Jude, in what proved a ringing endorsement for a truly great Britain.

What the rest of the world (there was a staggering 26.9 million tuned in here alone) made of it all is a mystery. But so what? Radcliffe-raised director extraordinaire Dan was given the task, and got it spot on as far as I’m concerned. You couldn’t fit 2,000-plus years of history into one stage show, but he came damn close. And anything that questionable Tory MP Aidan Burley doesn’t like is alright by me.

A few months ago the negative reaction to London 2012 outweighed the positive, and few saw how a Games based in the capital could bring this nation together. But it has. the Olympic torch relay seeing to that from day one down in Land’s End. And there was more of the same in the opening ceremony to suggest this isn’t just another opportunity for the far right flag-wavers to try to steal our national identity.

Boyle was accused of left-wing sympathies for the subjects he chose. Well, fair play to him. Much of what he featured I’m proud of – multi-cuturalism, inclusivity, a free health service for all, and a celebration of great music, literature, film, sport and history – all delivered with a delicious British sense of humour.

Even the rain couldn’t thwart us this time, and was quickly repelled before Boyle’s Isles of Wonder film was truly underway, a mass of pertinent images following on and off screen. From the first TV soap gay kiss to – I kid you not – Pot Black, The Archers, Corrie, Fawlty Towers and Oliver, we also had action from iconic films like A Matter of Life and Death, Gregory’s Girl, and Boyle’s own Trainspotting, certainly crossing the UK cinematic spectrum. From casual nods to Milton and the Mini and from Sgt. Pepper to Churchill, the marching Chelsea pensioners and the Suffragettes – at an event where women of all nations will be represented for the first time – all life was here. And all the time those drums sounded.

It’s difficult to tell a nation’s history in short form, but Boyle’s choices seemed to tick the more pertinent boxes. There was Kenneth Branagh for starters as a particularly-smiley Isambard Kingdom Brunel (seemingly at odds with his Wallander persona) reading from Shakespeare’s The Tempest as we toiled through the Industrial Revolution amid smoking chimney stacks and the forging of those iconic five rings. Then there was the impact of the Great War, Trade Unionism, the Jarrow March, and a NHS celebratory dance-along, enough to have David Cameron squirming in his seat.

There was also the arrival of the Empire Windrush and all that led to in our modern multi-faith and multi-cultural history, right through to a cameo for web visionary Tim Berners-Lee and his simple but effective ‘this is for everyone’ message.

We also had the championing of children’s lit (I suspect Boyle collaborator, esteemed  screenwriter and author Frank Cottrell Boyce had a hand in that), not least a Mary Poppins invasion, Voldemort, and JK Rowling’s reading of JM Barrie’s Peter Pan.

Hard as it is for this ageing new wave fan, I even enjoyed Mike Oldfield’s involvement, a world away from the Arctic Monkeys, their Lennon & McCartney cover Come Together accompanied by a sea of glowing moths on bicycles – like a Velodromatic version of ET. I think even Kate Middleton thought she was tripping by then. That humour was always there, and not just in the more obvious form of Rowan Atkinson’s Bean-esque tribute to Chariots of Fire. As star turn Dizzee Rascal himself said, Bonkers.

After the Queen’s splendid cameo alongside Daniel Craig and that genuinely shocking  parachute moment, it was clear we hadn’t seen the last of British icon James Bond. But while Craig was perhaps Connery, the Roger Moore alternative was on this occasion London 2012 ambassador David Beckham, his speedboat entry to the party just a further touch of genius.

I was so proud that my girls made it through this three-and-a-half-hour spectacular, although my youngest was battling with her eyelids by the time Guam were proudly waving to the crowds, let alone Zimbabwe. At one point it seemed that even Devon separatists Torquay had sent a team, but it turned out to be the moon and star of Turkey instead. But eventually – 205th out – there was Chris Hoy and his fellow Brits too, to the strains of David Bowie’s Heroes, and we could finally find out who was going to light that cauldron.

That was a genuine surprise of course, Steve Redgrave passing the torch to those seven young amabassadors. It was an inspired move, and another master-stroke on a night full of them – and no more potent a message that this global event should not be about celebrity endorsement but the legacy of the Olympic spirit and a bright future for all.

Postscript: This should have been on-line by Saturday morning, but the Olympic road race thwarted my attempts. So is this what I’m to expect this coming fortnight? I had good intentions but pretty soon had a call from my sister to let me know where they were stood as Cavendish, Froome, Millar, Stannard, Wiggins et al attempted to get Team GB off to a winning start. Pretty soon I was revelling in the glorious Surrey Hills backdrop as the race took shape, somewhat homesick and certainly proud of my old stamping ground in a perfect event to get the blood pumping. Our boys were ultimately upstaged by Kazakhstan rider Alexandre Vinokourov, but that’s not the full story and nor should it be. My godson was sporting his BW sideburns, and the streets were thronged as the nation turned out in force at the road and lane side. This wasn’t just about sports buffs either, as illustrated by an exchange between my family and a woman who asked them which one Bradley Walsh was, and would he be wearing his yellow hat. And if that doesn’t sum up the fact that the UK is getting behind London 2012, I’m not sure what would.

Combe Dancing: Blogger’s godson dons Wiggo ‘sidies’ in reverential nod to a Team GB folk hero

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Are we nearly there yet? – Ben Hatch

Posted on July 27, 2012 by writewyattuk

A chance to enjoy some quality time with your partner and children, clocking up 8,000 miles on a UK tour – with free accommodation and a huge amount of attractions thrown in, all financed by a leading guide book publisher? What’s not to like?

When I saw the remit for Ben Hatch’s Are We Nearly There Yet? I felt quite jealous. But within a couple of chapters I was pretty much thankful it was Ben, wife Dinah and pre-school children Phoebe and Charlie on this mammoth trip, rather than me. For once the reality of the undertaking sinks in, you know this is no picnic – however many free hotel stays, meals and tourist spots are thrown in en route. If the planning was something of a logistical nightmare, the actual tour proves even more sobering.

And just reading Hatch’s account of his family adventure to end all family adventures leaves you feeling drained.

Brand Hatch: The ‘often painfully funny’ Are We Nearly There Yet?

Whether it was opportunism twinned with financial necessity, a spirit of wanderlust or devil-may-care, or just midlife-crisis-with-children that drove the Hatch grown-ups to take on this venture is open to question. But it certainly proved timely, not least with their daughter starting ‘big school’ on their return – the offer to write a British family tour guide for US publisher Frommer’s giving the Hatch clan a golden chance to bond before the reality of September to July school terms kicked in.

Whatever the case, it certainly proved a huge undertaking for a couple who met as regional journalists 20 years before. At times we’re witness to something of a learning curve for these rookie parents, from the moment they leave their East Sussex coastal home in a jam-packed (and soon smelly) Vauxhall Astra to travel the length and breadth of the UK in the name of family leisure time research.

There are certainly useful illustrations of how much children will get away with in trying circumstances. There are occasional victories for the grown-ups, but it’s mostly the kids who rule the roost – exploiting a situation where parents feel guilty for dragging them around such a tortuous circuit – demanding treats by the bucket and spade-load as they move from village to town and city and obscure museum to open-top bus and theme park.

Let’s not get too sociological about it though, even if social scientists could learn a lot through this rather unorthodox case study. We can just be thankful we weren’t there and instead enjoy the tragic-comedy of the journey for ourselves. In short, it’s bloody funny in several places for one reason or other. Often painfully funny.

It’s the author’s delivery that makes it so good, as you might expect from a son of one of the leading lights of British radio comedy – Sir David Hatch. He’s clearly picked up something along the way from his old man, be it through his reportage of the people and places he meets or the everyday vignettes of family life he records.

At times Hatch displays a taste for comic travelogue reminiscent of Bill Bryson or Michael Palin, but there’s a deeper side too, and it soon becomes clear that this is every bit as much a tribute to the author’s father. Along the way are reminiscences of past family holidays, or reminders of his father’s flagging health and battle with cancer via phone calls from the family or emergency trips to his bedside.

This is perhaps the main strength of Are We Nearly There Yet?- the touching anecdotes dealing with a dying parent something many of us can identify with. And Hatch expresses with skill his gratitude for all the good times and a public thank you for a healthy father-son relationship over the years.

One moment the author has you in stitches – a case in point a description of a Scottish family holiday in which his Dad loses his competitive rag while playing golf with his sons – and the next you feel for him as the true nature of the illness is realised – be it in a hospital ward or at the end of a phone.

Hatch may yet have a better book in him, but it’s unlikely to be as raw and personal, and there is plenty to savour here. And I for one look forward to the fruits of his next major road trip, his 2012 European tour – again with his wife and children in tow.

* Are We Nearly There Yet? By Ben Hatch (Summersdale, 2011) is available from all good book shops, amazon.co.uk and other leading internet stores 

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Bradley Wiggins’ tour de force

Posted on July 23, 2012 by writewyattuk

Allez allez allez! What’s that? A British one-two in the Tour de France? Absolutely. Congratulations to Bradley Wiggins – king of the rue, home and away, and an inspiration to us all.

Surely it won’t be long now before there’s a knighthood, and hopefully more Olympic medals on the mantelpiece at Brad’s all mod cons pad in rural Lancashire – nicely complementing all those other honours on his impressive sideboards.

Sorry. I’ll stop there with the mod and sideburns witticisms, for the first Briton to win the Tour in its 109-year history. From the mountains to the time trials, Wiggins excelled and proved the experts wrong. And his victory acceptance speech proved curiously British too, suggesting a sense of humour we’ve rarely heard and deflecting from that bloody awful Leslie Garrett rendition of the national anthem just before.

It was as good as all over as a race before Wiggo’s final frantic approach on the Champs-Elysees on Sunday, but he was clearly not content to just ‘cote’ home, and the adopted Lancastrian helped team-mate Mark Cavendish, Manx missile and 2011 Sports Personality of the Year, towards his own little bit of Tour history with yet another final stage victory. And on the day Chris Froome secured second overall, Wiggo was quick to big-up his fellow Team Sky riders.

Two-a-penny these top-of-their game cyclists around Lancashire these days. At least that’s how it appears. You can’t go down a local road without bumping in to Sir Chris Hoy, Jason Queally or fellow Team GB Olympic hero Wiggins. Or so it would seem. You certainly would have struggled last week to get past all the TV crews fighting to interview stalwarts of Lancashire cycling clubs or shopkeepers, landlords, barmaids or dentists who may have served or treated Bradders/Wiggers/Wiggo (you decide) these past few years.

As a regional journalist a few years back, I tried to track down the elusive Wiggins myself, but came to the conclusion that while his family address was the village just down the road, he actually lived on his saddle. The closest I got was via a self-styled press officer who jealously guarded all access, not even letting me tell how many children he had. I understand Wiggins is a private man and doesn’t want a stream of journo scum lining his drive, but this was the local rag – not The Currant Bun.

I did catch up with Queally a few times. A lovely bloke too, as I’m sure is the case with our latest cycling hero. Last time we met he was just back from a training ride with Hoy on the West Pennines bordering Chorley. I always liked the idea of these two Olympic heroes being spotted by picnicking families heading up Rivington Pike.

My views on lycra and the horrible shapes it makes on the human arse remain, but I feel proud that I have on my patch a succession of cyclists (would a better collective term be a pedalo? Perhaps Preston’s Freddie Flintoff would know). It seems that they were all lured to Lancs by the state-of-art Manchester Velodrome and some serious hills to stretch those tendons to capacity.

Things may change now there’s a new velodrome at Stratford, barely 10 miles from the Herne Hill track where London-raised Wiggins made his cycling debut 20 years ago, aged 12 (the only remaining London 1948 Olympic Games venue still in use, I believe). But I’m not convinced an exodus of pedal-punishing cyclists will follow from the North-West. For one thing, these riders know just how much comparative bang they can get for their bucks on the housing market up north.

It wouldn’t really matter if they did all move though, particularly now Brad has ensured that love of cycling has transferred to the national stage, something started by Merseyside’s Chris Boardman track pursuit gold at the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona, a major inspiration for Hoy, Queally and co as they spear-headed a veritable explosion of track cycling success at Sydney 2000 and beyond.

Tour Duo: ITV4’s Gary Imlach and Barcelona Olympics hero Chris Boardman compare notes on air

That was helped by the splendid daily coverage on ITV4, with Gary Imlach (whose book My Father and Other Working Class Football Heroes is a superb read, while we’re at it) and Boardman himself keeping us up to date with Wiggins’ and co throughout, from those gruelling mountain climbs to ‘Tackgate’ and beyond.

Wiggins’ own national breakthrough also came on the track, and in my formative years I kind of assumed that road racing was just something those European types were good at, with Belgian Eddy Merckx the big star back then. That perception had changed to some degree by 2002, when I was on hand to see Horwich stage the 2002 Commonwealth Games road races. And while cricket legend Sir Clive Lloyd handed out most of the medals to the Aussies that day (including 2011 Tour de France winner Cadel Evans), there was also a gold medal for Wales’ Nicole Cooke.

Now we’re all fired up for London 2012, hopefully there’ll be plenty more cycling glory to come – on the track and on the road – not least from a strong women’s team including the delightfully-named Wendy Houvenaghel and Jess Varnish, golden girl Victoria Pendleton and BMX star Shanaze Reade, just a few of the names that have helped spread the word even further afield.

So thanks Brad. You’ve sown the seed. Let’s hope that inspired three-week spell on the saddle will now rub off on the rest of Team GB, with plenty more medals to come. And as long as it doesn’t involve a further explosion in lycra sales, I can live with that.

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