I’ve been trying to put a name to the feeling that’s mine right now – and all of London’s. Not to big myself up, or minimise the impact of London 2012 and the phenomenal achievements of the Olympians and Paralympians. But there’s something in the air that I’ve been trying to feel, own, and put into words. Without sounding ungrateful. Or like a next-project-obsessed workaholic.
OK, so I may be both of those things. At times. But this feeling is like the puckered balloons the day after a mega party. The dust-covered peanuts you find down your sofa weeks after a dinner party. And the sense of having loved (all the guests) and then lost (when they all leave) when you’ve worked so hard and wanted to make every detail a winning, talked-about one. Which parties generally are, and they certainly were for the million people I had to say ‘excuse me’ to, on a way to a meeting through central London at lunchtime yesterday. A million people lined the streets to salute the London 2012 stars.
But my individual deflated feeling, in the midst of all this post-Olympic partying, started with the certificate arriving for my MA. Continue reading