Olympic Crumpet

I might have experienced Disappointment of Olympian Proportions at the overall theme of the opening ceremony of the London Olympics; but I also experienced the great Joy that overcomes one only at international events such as the Olympics and the World Cup, that comes from that ‘World United’ feeling. Kenneth Branagh and Rowan Atkinson in particular impressed me, God Bless them. In the face of thousands of screaming people and dignitaries, not to mention the gazillions around the world who were tuned in, they played their parts calmly and expertly, as though ministering to a crowd of four 3-year olds, leaving me with the conviction that they have truly earned their stripes as top world actors. And roping in the conductor too! Unbelievable. The musicians were super professional, as were the main ground history enactors and the children! The parade of many nations, half of whom seem to have come into being since I was last in school (I mean, SERIOUSLY –doesn’t “St Vincent and the Grenadines” sound more like a Pop/Rock Band than a PLACE?) was as unerringly heart-warming as ever, all of leading up to a finale that I can honestly say is without compare. The petal motif of the Olympic flame-lighting ceremony is AWARD-WINNING. Period. It’s been a while since I was so moved and impressed, and I thoroughly enjoyed the feeling!

More selfishly, however... can I just say how HAPPY I was to see the MEN! So happy was I, in fact, that I freely admit to battling to quietly contain a series of multiple-orgasms (Mum was with me), as Beautiful Smiling Man after Beautiful Smiling Man FLAUNTED themselves before the camera. As of last night, the section in my Bucket List pertaining to ‘Places I Must Visit’ has doubled.  I was happy to note that Greek gods still exist. There was an Italian hunk or two, some Island men I will be personally stalking online (or in person –Tonga, here I come.) And while it should be clear to all, sundry, and his friends, that I do not typically go in for blonds, there was the oddity of a blond Algerian in the mix, who made me feel like I may go there for a looong visit –you know. To see the sights. Via Morocco.

But, surprise surprise, it was the Middle and Eastern European men that really had my womb skipping beats. Long-and strong-legged, tall, clear-eyed, and dark-haired, with plainly visible jawline –plus a distinct separation between head and shoulders, due to the presence of (increasingly vanishing) graceful necks... HOT. Add a genuinely happy, beautiful smile, and I was a goner. I mean, who could ask for more? Some of them I would be happy to gaze at for years... if they promised not to open their mouths and spoil it for me, as I’m under no illusion that I’m likely to be discussing the merits of Henry James with a sportsman. Happily, I’m resigned to the fact that one can’t have everything, and having a husband I can gaze at endlessly for 60 years, (in between pregnancies) might actually make me happy! I mean, could use everyone else for any needs of lofty conversation that I may have. After all, nobody ever died wanting to have one more intellectual debate; but plenty have, very peacefully, gazing at their loved ones.

SO! The Olympics have begun, and onward to many weeks of shameless man-gazing... err... I mean, record-breaking! Over tea and literal crumpets, naturally. Now THAT’s Happiness!