I have hugely enjoyed the French verdict on London 2012: the whole thing was botched and all our athletes cheated. They really are the most ghastly people. The only positive thing about France, on a personal note, is that if the country did not exist I would have been more likely to have been in favour of the EU and the single currency.
In the end I thought the whole shebang was rather wonderful, despite having carped and cavilled in the days before it started, and fleeing the country for the first week or so. My only quibble is that the closing ceremony, with a couple of notable exceptions, doused the entire world in some of the worst music that has ever been produced, anywhere. I wish that Brian May, who seems like a lovely chap, would forget about playing his awful, screeching, overblown mid-seventies guitar solos and stick to protecting badgers. I always hated Queen, right from the first moment I saw them, on OGWT in about 1973. ‘Wrong uns’, I thought to myself, as they played their proto-camp metal-lite rubbish. And then there was the fatuous bombast of Muse and the talent free zones of multiple Spices, the hideous grizzled prowler of Hampstead Heath George Michael, the vapid Take That and so on. Ah well.Tags: French, Olympics, Pop music, Rod liddle, Spice Girls