I worked on the advertising campaign of original Olympic application. To win the bid London had to prove that the UK Olympics would mean progress, not just in sport but for the nation. Ten years later I wonder if the billions of pounds that have been lavished on the games meant a step backwards rather than forward.
Just a few hours ago I was all ready to write a piece damning the Olympics Opening Ceremony. I had read the Guardian's guide to watching the coverage and I was suitably apprehensive. The only question was how I was going to execute the slaughter.
Why exactly are the vast majority in favour of the monarchy in this age of democracy? Has the Queen brainwashed the entire nation? Economically, there seems to be no need for a monarch.
I'm a little disappointed because I've just failed a sample paper from the Life in the UK citizenship test, even though I'm a British citizen.
Two decades on, it's hard to imagine the BBC and others operating a blanket media ban similar to the one twenty years ago. Many would argue that the Thatcher ban backfired, and actually made viewers pay more, not less, attention to McGuinness and others. Perhaps that's why it's never been tried again since.
Last Friday's solution to the latest hand shake dilemma has laid the path for Wednesday 27 June 2012 to behold to the world a monumental handshake between Martin McGuinness and the Queen. A watershed event that will unequivocally change minds and lay an indelible landmark on Northern Ireland's long and winding avenue that has been the peace process.
The Prime Minister David Cameron has revived the Medal of the Order of the British Empire for Meritorious Service... or, to the common man, the British Empire Medal. Although it has always been awarded in other Commonwealth countries, former premier John Major decided to scrap it during his tenure at Downing Street on the basis that it was helping fuel a class-riddled society.
Like many people, as a boy I was repeatedly transfixed by a Saturday morning's viewing in which my parents' TV screen seemed like a window to a bygone age. Massed regiments of foot soldiers, brass bands and regimental standards provided magical scenes.
Now that the dust has settled and the rain has stopped, let's look at the past few days that have been such a boon to the Far Eastern makers of red, blue and white cheap plastic fluttering tat. There must have been container ships full of the stuff, advancing across the high seas since the turn of the year.
Judging from the media coverage of the Diamond Jubilee celebrations you'd think that the entire British population are ardent monarchists. Critical, dissenting voices were mostly ignored and sidelined. Journalistic balance and impartiality was supplanted in favour of fawning sycophancy towards the royals.
How have we become a nation that presumes doing 'work experience' alongside the river Thames in the pouring rain for an event that happens once in a blue blooded moon will in any way lead to a valuable career?
Personally, I view the Royal Family much as a football-sceptic must view the hype and fervour generated by England going to a World Cup. I take minimal interest in it, do not fully understand what the fuss is about, would rather my nation devoted itself to more important matters, and will probably only tune in if it went to penalties. Which it has not done since 1649.
The celebrations from the Jubilee weekend are still fresh in our minds and will live on in our memories and affections for years to come. Buckingham Palace and the Royal Household put on a jolly good show for not just the British public but for the wider world to show that we Brits know how to celebrate in style.
In a day full of Jubilee TV, Gary Barlow: On Her Majesty's Service achieved the honour of being the most nauseating show of all yesterday.
So, we're in a recession, we have high unemployment, our neighbours in Europe are in a crisis that seemingly has no end, in Syria men, women and children are being raped and murdered, so what our parliamentarians need to spend their time doing is renaming the clock tower at the Palace of Westminster.
Adamski and I are at the supermarket on Wednesday evening. We're about to have tagliatelle at his gaff, so we're here for fresh Parmesan and napkins. He's flummoxed and indecisive at the remarkable range of serviettes on offer, including the special edition, Diamond Jubilee Union Jack jobs.