August 5, 2012

British and Proud: That’s an Actual Thing Now

Let’s face it – sporting events just aren’t what they used to be. If they were, I’d be a dead cert for multiple chocolate-gold medals.

My mother reliably informed me growing up that my triple cartwheel victory celebration was “really quite something”. It would have put Usain’s bolt to shame.

My regulation turquoise shell suit / Alice band / long white sock / plastered knee / Jelly shoe combo was á la mode and doping tests only became an issue when Milky Bar Buttons made it on to the banned substance list.

Just one kiss from my lucky mascot Kermit and I was set. There was no stopping me.

Some dude named Indiana Jones taught me how to tackle the obstacle course. With a little help from some super adhesive Hubba Bubba bubblegum, I nailed the egg and spoon race. By keeping both feet firmly in the far corners, the sack race was also mine and having adorned the entire contents of my mother’s wardrobe several times before – the fancy-dress race was not a problem either.

Had it not been for Sarah-Jane Shufflebottom’s left ankle, I would have secured gold in the 3 legged race too. We came 5th.

Of 5. I was utterly inconsolable and couldn’t bring myself to speak to her ankle for the next 6 days.

Swimming never featured heavily in our school sports days, mainly due to a total lack of fundamental facilities. My selfless offer to loan my inflatable paddling pool to the school for the afternoon was cruelly rejected by headteacher Mr Williams for health and safety reasons.

It only had 8 punctures.

Even so, I’m pretty sure I could have shown Michael Phelps how it’s done. For a start – I learnt to swim in my pyjamas.

So with red, white and blue ribbons in my hair and a genuine (made in China) London 2012 key-ring in my hand, I raise my glass small plastic cup of over-diluted orange squash to all of Team GB. You make me proud to be British. As soon as the egg and spoon race is acknowledged as a legit Olympic event – I’m yours.