There is no point denying it – I am addicted to the Olympics.
Even being out the country didn’t stop us tuning in.
Granted it was a bit surreal sitting in a French hotel watching the London Olympics on a German TV station, but you do what you have to do.
The Games have to be one of the few reasons you can spend hours in front of the television without feeling guilty.
It has created armchair experts across the country.
For example, watching the diving, comments soon go from which country has the smallest pants to which make the smallest splash – an indication of a well-executed dive, don’t you know.
At work and at home we’ve been united, and divided, by the unravelling events.
Starting with debates over the opening ceremony being brilliant or bonkers (both) and whether certain sports should be included (football = no.)
I’m loving every minute of it.
From the confusion on my sister’s face when she first saw the steeplechase, or the ‘soggy trainers race’ as it has become known in our house.
To marvelling at the pummel-horse while trying to forget I struggle to even do a push-up.
That isn’t to say we haven’t come up with a way to make improvements.
In the office we had a great idea – we know Bolt and Phelps are fast – but it is hard to appreciate just how fast when they are racing other fast people.
Instead we think there should be a ‘Joe Bloggs’ lane – where a normal, average, has-a-couple-of-beers-on-a-Friday person competes alongside the athletes. And, if they do it while eating a Big Mac, even better.