What was that? I seem to have watched something. But what? And did they really rehearse that? Was that a thing that was meant to happen?
I distinctly remember being promised Kate Bush by various people on Twitter and Facebook. That's the actual Kate Bush I was expecting, not a fucking recording of Kate Bush while interpretive dance happened on the sidelines. I bloody hate interpretative dance. I'm sure it's very skilled and that but it looks shit. It just does.
So we were promised Kate Bush and The Who, and we got a recording of Kate Bush and the fat one from Kaiser Chiefs doing something by The Who. It's true that we were promised the Spice Girls and there were five raddled looking old women standing on top of some taxis for a bit, so I suppose that happened. You could almost feel Vicky Beckham's resentment. What will the Scientologists think of her now they've seen what she really is? A karaoke backing singer for a band that has Geri Halliwell in it. Bahahahahah.
The best bits by far were John Lennon (dead since 1981) and Freddie Mercury (dead since 1993). That apparently is the best we can do. Two dead guys and Eric Idle.
I'm trying to remember back to the beginning, I think Suggs was on, sounding pretty ropey. Love Suggs, but not sure he's up to it. And then one of those interchangeable boybands. The one with the lad that all the middle aged women are inexplicably shagging. He looks about 12. I'm assuming he's legal but he looks like his balls are yet to drop. So that was weird.
Then, oh yeah. Annie Lennox. I do love her actually. And I like the song. But it's from Bram Stoker's Dracula, you know, the film that came out in about 1902. What was that? Why? Who chose this? Who directed this? Could they not have got Boyle doing both? Would that have been so hard?
In the spirit of the Olympics did they get a group of kids with special needs to choose the line up? I mean, you can go too far with the inclusivity you know? But then this is a city that has a fucking clown for a mayor so maybe this is what goes down in London. Maybe it's all a big ironic hipster thing that anyone outside of South London just doesn't get.
Maybe we ran out of money? We only had a fiver left over for the closing ceremony so we borrowed some black cabs and put an ad in Time Out for acts. Pretty sure poor old Geri hasn't had anything to do for a long while and Brian May will turn up at bloody anything. George Michael is doing some kind of community service probably and Jessie J wasn't born when Freddie died, so she just thought she was singing for the old granddads in the backing band.
I mean fucking Jessie fucking J. Singing in Freddie Mercury's place. And they thought that was a good idea? REALLY?
I dunno kids. Maybe it's a good thing. We've had this unnerving two weeks of national pride and a collective consciousness. I've, well, felt things. I've felt so proud of people I've never met. I've cried when they've won their medals. I've felt surges of total wonder at the tenacity of human endeavour. I probably can't handle it for too long, you know? It's just not in my psyche. For a couple of weeks we've persuaded ourselves we're American. But we can't keep it up. You know it. I know it. Macca knows it.
I was worried that tonight would leave me in a blubbing heap. Scared and unsure without the Olympics to watch. I thought that the montages would be too much for me to deal with. A moment in time that I'd never experience again. I get nostalgic very easily. I can get sad about a TV series finishing. You should have seen me when Battlestar Gallactica ended. InCONSOLABLE. But as soon as The Wanted or whoever they are started bouncing around like monkeys on amphetamines, I was alright actually. All emotion just sort of disappeared.
A numbness enshrouded me all the way through the Spice Girls - although I was briefly excited at the thought that one of them might fall off their London cabs (question... would Vicky B have shattered like a porcelain doll, it seems possible, so dead eyed is she) - right up till this moment. The flame is going out right now and, oh, there's Take That. Can they save it?
Actually yes, a little bit they can. But that might be because that song makes me a bit wibbly and also I'm aware that Lord Barlow has suffered a loss in the last few days which makes him doing this brave, frankly. And then, then, in the last few minutes the Royal Ballet came on and Darcey Bussell flew in from a phoenix and oh now The Who ARE there. And I think it's been saved at the last minute for me...
OK, so I won't return to total nihilism...phew. It was close there. I will allow myself to remember the Olympics with warm fuzzy feelings and, yes, a little bit of pride.