'Help make travel throughout the Olympics easier. Avoid trains, tubes, buses, pavements and roads. Stay in your house and play with your oddly anthropomorphic Olympics mascots. Watch the BBC. Buy British.'
It is easy to see why Londoners are already frustrated with the 2012 Olympics. In a way similar to how one's own farts smell fine, while everyone else's are putrid, no-one really likes tourists. Being a tourist is great, but having people in London who don't know how to use their Oyster cards, or that we queue on the right and walk on the left flooding our city, trying, God help us, to talk to us even though we don't know them, is something no-one really wants.
But did you know that the Olympic Village has ordered 100,000 condoms?
I'm not sure my dour London self, already sodden with the delights of our Summer, can cope with so much youth, vitality and muscle. Which is why I used the Aviva London Grand Prix as a litmus test.
Which was brilliant. I stomped and cheered with the best of them as the athletes ran over things, threw themselves over things, threw things across over things
- as they showed me, once and for all, why the Olympics will be fantastic. The Olympics, like all major sporting events, offer us a rare chance to shed our snotty London skins, and British reserve, and cry, shout and hope with everyone else. This Summer, London is going to be a Nike ad. Only with more sex. And queues.
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