Over the last few years I have made no secret of my frustration about the Olympics. As soon as the monstrous Westfield shopping centre opened in Stratford, I suddenly realised it was never about regenerating an impoverished area of East London. Clearly, it was more about creating a cash buffet for big business which would 'regenerate' by simply forcing out of the area those who could not either compete with McDonalds, or afford M&S groceries. The various sponsorship scandals (Chip-gate, Visa-gate, Crisp-gate, etc.) only served to harden my prejudice, while the targeting of local businesses by the IOC for daring to decorate cakes with Olympic rings made the whole thing frankly unpleasant. Come the start of the games, I tuned in with a certain sense of foreboding. That foreboding was not a fear that I would hate it though - but a fear that in spite of myself I would in contrast like it. Because although I have always felt somewhat underwhelmed in t...