I left the cinema feeling cheated. This was meant to be a James Bond film. They could have replaced the long dialogue scenes with more action, they could have replaced the darkness with more elements of fun, they could have.... they could have....... they could have made it better.
If I'm honest, this event was a bit of a shower.
I found it quite difficult to attack a friend with a sword, even if it was a faux one, and I think really, this can only be a good thing.
More people have walked on the moon than have successfully rowed around the Great British coastline.
If the London 2012 Olympic Games have taught us anything it is that football doesn't quite matter anymore.
Recent high profile news stories have thrust outsourcing into the public spotlight and under this brightness, our industry may seem pale and washed out. Despite this, it has to be understood that whenever private sector companies bid for public sector contracts, there is always a great amount of scrutiny through formal EU governed processes - after all, it is our money that is being spent and we want it spent in the best possible way.
We've heard enough love songs about relationships in our time. It's all 'baby', 'kiss my this' and 'touch my that'... 'ooh I'm so happy', 'now you're a twat'. Bloody hell... I'm even at it now. But what about all of those other people in our lives that might be worth a mention in song? Gecko are a band that generally like to steer clear of sounding like anyone else.
Read any biography of a great man or woman and you will almost always find evidence of the ruthlessness, cruelties and immoralities that arose from their single-minded pursuit of greatness.
A song by Erin K is like no other.
Yes, London 2012 is for many, just a long and distant memory of a fantastic story the world will never forget. We miss the Games as much as anybody else; the longing pang to be reunited with our shark-like stage striking often- but it's okay. It escaped 'Free Willy'-style and now lives in the ocean deep. (Maybe.)
In almost every international tournament, Britons baying for success end up disappointed, often before the event is even half way through. As a nation, we stand these people - who regularly end up in the newspaper for one nightclub misdemeanour or another, one extramarital trifling or another, or the occasional on-pitch inappropriate remark - on pedestals and eulogise them as pillars of our nation.
Philippe Gilbert is a worthy world champion. Ask around the peloton and the team cars and everyone will tell you the same thing. Not just for the way he won this race, impressive though that was, but for the way he has built an entire career towards this moment.
No one was more surprised than me that I did actually manage to undertake some sporting activities last week, but I've yet to report back on my holiday activities in full, and as an historian (if you count a 2.2 in Contemporary History from the University of Sussex as qualification of this) I have huge respect for chronology.
There's a bigger legacy on the horizon, one which was not a part of the initial plans but has long been a frustrated dream that is now on the brink of being realised: tilting London's centre of gravity a few degrees to the east...
In the weeks leading up to the Paralympics the air was filled with a familiar, silent contradiction. The predominant line focused on how inspiring it was going to be, seeing athletes perform and overcome, despite their disabilities. At the same time, a ComRes poll found that sixty-six percent agreed that "people with disabilities are often regarded as second-rate citizens".
Last week, I went on a bit of a holiday. But there's no rest for the wicked, nor for those attempting to have a crack at every single Olympic sport, so I return with more tales of my sporty exploits, for which I know you will be grateful now that the actual real Olympics are over and we have to go back to talking about the economy, winter and all other things depressing.