I'm sure there was something to complain about this week, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. And I'm definitely not the only one suffering from an overdose of brain-washed cheerfulness. From the beaming grins waltzing down every British street yesterday, you'd be forgiven for thinking Danny Boyle completed some kind of Men in Black-style manoeuvre with that singing cauldron of flames.
No money in the bank? Lost your job? Business about to go under? Nope, can't remember any of it, we're all just really, really happy. And really, really proud to be British, and we definitely, at no stage, thought the Olympics were going to be a disaster. Absolutely not. Dancing nurses are a cultural triumph. Danny Boyle's a hero. The Queen has a sense of humour after all. And Mr Bean is funny again! Oh, and the sun's come out, too.
So the opening ceremony took a little getting used to, but once you'd stopped worrying about whether the rest of the world got it, the utterly insane, bonkers brilliance of it all meant there was nothing left to do, but pour another glass of champagne, sit back and send a few smug Tweets out about how, well, brilliant it all was.
As Mitt Romney discovered to his cost this week, while us Brits are more than happy to criticise our own Olympics, we don't take kindly to anyone else doing it.
Of course, not everyone got sucked in quite so readily. Even a few home-grown individuals dared to voice dissent, but let's not indulge them here, and for one weekend at least, bask in the collective glory.
In fact, if Cameron wanted to bury any bad news, Friday night at about 11pm would have been an excellent time to try it. He might also think about re-running his nationwide happiness index. One would expect the results to be slightly different to those published last week.
So, now there's the small matter of a few hundred matches, races and the like to get through, but what we're really waiting for is the closing ceremony. Nothing like wishing your life away...
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