Those of you that know me, know I am not or never have been a great fan of the Olympics disrupting the greatest city on earth purely for the benefit of the same chosen few that benefit from everything at our expense.

Months of early-morning dance rehearsals all come down to this. Immune to 80,000 noisy ticket holders outside, all we hear are instructions from Gina, our Manc director and segment chartist, on our in-ear radios. It's 9.57pm on Friday 27th July 2012, and we're about to be watched by an expected more than a billion people for the Opening Ceremony of the London 2012 Olympic Games.

The 2012 London Olympic games were born in the melting pot of multiculturalism. As we were reminded on Friday, the tragedy of 7/7 happened on the day after the announcement of the success of the London bid. The London games arrived in 2005 with the London bombings. Thankfully, we have come a long way since then.

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.

From teasers and early coverage of rehearsals for the Olympic opening ceremony (turning the stadium into a representation of rural Britain, complete with sheep and all that), I must admit I was expecting a continuation of that story, a sequel to the sickly-sweet pageantry of the Jubilee complete with miles of bunting.

So by now most agree that Beijing had money but the London Olympics opening ceremony had soul, and that it was gloriously, quirkily, quintessentially British.

So, I think I have just about recovered myself from last nights Olympic Opening Ceremony, it was a late one......as I watched the ceremony in the jam ...

Hearing the words, "The Queen will pass this room in five minutes, I'm going to have to block your door and not let you out for a short period, if you need the loo could you go now please?" was rather surreal. Almost as surreal as hearing, "The Queen left half a bottle of gin, anyone want some?"

For the past four years, ever since that bus exploded in the Beijing stadium and Catweazle played a guitar while the world's most famous custodian of haircuts booted a ball who knows where, we as nation have been moaning about the Olympics.

It was bonkers, and brilliant, and I completely loved it. For once, I am very, very happy to admit that I was wrong.

A few weeks ago I was one of those Scroogey, miserable types who got all hunched and huffy whenever anyone mentioned the Olympics. I'd scowl and look at the floor and mutter about the cost, or the traffic, even though I don't live anywhere near the capital.

The Olympics opening ceremony is a difficult gig. Unmentioned in any of the hype - pre, post, or during the interminable thing itself - is that 90% of it consists of people walking past wearing funny, though not especially hilarious, clothes and taking pictures of each other with their smart phones.

Danny Boyle and all his team played an absolute blinder. And you know the best thing? Olympic Breakfast starts in less than six hours!

Danny Boyle will etch himself on my life and the lives of millions in the UK.

Having never watched an opening ceremony to any Olympics, when a friend told me about open auditions I was excited but certainly didn't understand the enormity that was to follow.