Sebastian Coe reviews the Olympics

And so, the greatest show on earth, has finished.  It was tense, it was emotional, and it was damned expensive, but when my stylist finally held up the mirror, so I could see the back of my head… well, words fail me.  It was just beautiful, and I didn’t pay a penny towards it either, which was a nice bonus.  No point being a Lord, if you can’t dip into the nation’s coffers every now and then.  As my medal count proves, I was a pretty nifty athlete back in the day, and I didn’t give any quarter to anyone.  Now I’m the top dog, I get given quarter of a million just for scratching my arse.

So, London 2012, then.  It weren’t bad, to be honest.  First of all, twenty is my favourite number.  Secondly, going to other countries is annoying.  Half of them don’t speak English, and the other half are nearly always French.  I remember all the hullabaloo beforehand, where everyone was moaning about congestion on the roads, and delays on the Underground.  I wanted to witness this for myself, and I tell you, everything was fine from where I was, up in my helicopter.  Every time I looked down at the ants below me, wearing their Union Jack hats as they queued up for an ice cream, it gave me a warm glow of satisfaction, knowing that they were all thinking of me.

The women’s beach volleyball drew some impressive crowds, and even the most casual of observers will quickly see why: the sand.  All that crushed rock is just perfect for one’s walk-in aquatic aquarium, and my Finding Nemo clown fish will love it.  What with them only having five-second memories, they’ll never get bored of bobbing around, looking for discarded gold medals.

*Sigh*  Now that the party’s over, going back to work will be hell.  I got a text message from David Beckham, earlier.  He was all excited, saying he thought he saw his wife on the TV during the closing ceremony.

Ah well, I can’t wait for Rio 2016.