Sunday 29th July

The day has finally arrived - our first day of proper Olympic sport. I say first day but on Saturday we drove out to West Byfleet to watch the Men's Road Race. It took us a while to find somewhere to park and then find a spot on the roadside to see them pass. Considering the race takes place over a distance of 150 miles it was incredible that it was so hard to find a spot. But we found a gap on the kerb and saw about 50 riders flash past in two groups. Is that it then?  Luckily we were able to cheer the policemen, doctors and support cars who went past a bit more slowly to take the applause. So then it was a dash home to watch the rest of the race on the telly.

The BBC have 24 dedicated channels to cover all sports. When I was a kid I used to stay in front of the TV for the duration of the games (when it was in our time zone) and pretty much watch the whole thing. Now even the most ardent Olympic nut has no chance of absorbing all the coverage.  The BBC coverage of the Road Race however was a bit shambolic as they had very little information on the timings between different riders and groups on the course.  I later find out from my source at LOCOG that the lack of info is to do with the fact that spectators are using Twitter so much it is blocking the signals!

The fancied GB team (sorry Team GB) were in the chasing group (the peleton!) and are at least 5 minutes behind the leaders when they zoom past us in Byfleet. After a few laps of Box Hill the gap drops to about a minute and the commentators announce that the race is all over - it is Cavendish's for the taking.  It’s the “commentators curse” because from then on the British challenge starts to fail and our first medal hopes are dashed. It wasn't supposed to be like this!

So on Sunday morning we make our way to Woking station on our journey to the Excel centre to see some table tennis. It is a lovely sunny day but as we board the packed train the heavens open.  Fortunately our events are indoor.  We take the jubilee line to North Greenwich and line up for the Emirates Airline - a cable car ride across the Thames. It is pretty gusty and the clouds overhead look ominously black. But we make it across without incident - no screaming from Mrs K.

We go through airport like security at the ExCel and look for somewhere to grab something to eat. Its my first complaint of the day regarding poor signage at the venue and also on the map provided by LOCOG – where are all the food options?

We are very fortunate to see Paul Drinkhall (the GB hope) play in the 2nd round and conquer his Singaporean opponent with relative ease. He gets great support from the full arena. There are 4 matches going on simultaneously but the partisan crowd are only watching the Brit. This is the Olympics so it is an eclectic international field of competitors but I can’t help notice that about 50% of the players  look Chinese – even the ones from Poland and Spain.  We watch the Spaniard lose his first game 11-0 and then the next two games in quick succession.  His opponent is from Slovakia and is wearing his shorts pulled up to his crotch as so many of the players seem to like to do.  This match in front of us looks like it will be completed very quickly.  But from there the 50 year old Spaniard somehow crawls his way back into the match and starts to win points, eventually taking it 4-3.  If 50 year olds can compete in the Olympics there is hope for me yet - Mrs K urges me to join a Table Tennis club.

The 3 hours pass amazingly quickly and we are off in our search of the Olympic park.  We are herded with everyone else towards the South Arena rather than the much more convenient North Arena entrance.  We later realise that this will lead to a walk of not much less than a mile to a DLR station called Pontoon Dock.  As we walk through the South Arena we get to see the vast array of catering options that we missed earlier on.  Mrs K is not impressed and vows to take control of map reading – God help us.  We cross a bridge and enter “The London Pleasure  Gardens” which doesn’t seem quite right.  “The London Dive” would be more accurate – a collection of dilapidated stall and attractions.  We are urged to step out of the queue for the DLR station and take advantage of the entertainment but it has started raining again and we press on.  At the station Mrs K finds a 20 Euro note just lying on the ground.  No chance of identifying who it belongs to so she decides it is hers.  But then she is waving it around whooping with delight just inviting attention from the previous owner. I suggest she put it away.

Our driver-less DLR train is soon on its way to Stratford.  The announcement tells us to stay onboard until Stratford International but at Stratford (previous stop) about 90% of the passengers disembark.  What do they know that we do not?  We stay the course and get at off Stratford International – no harm done.

The Olympic Park is vast.  It reminds me of Disney except without Mickey and not so many screaming kids.  Everyone just seems to be so happy, despite the gloomy black clouds.  It is time for refreshment and again I have a slight problem with the lack of signage.  But we spot the largest McDonalds in the world and join the queue.  The girls are travelling up this evening but apparently have found their way into the Westfield shopping centre next to the park. They are making their way to meet us but unfortunately head off in the direction of the other McDonalds on the other side of the Olympic Park.  By the time they arrive, Jason and Alex have met us and their Big Mac and fries are a bit cold.

We make our way to the 6500 seat Copper Box which will host the Handball event.  Our seats are courtside in the corner and we have an excellent view of the action.  Handball is an amazingly fast game and very rough.  We are very lucky to be watching Team GB vs. France (World Champions and Gold Medallists).  Team GB are only here because we are hosts and we have only had a national team since 2006.  So in football terms think Brazil vs. Brentford.  A commentator courtside warns the exuberant GB crowd not to expect too much but when GB score first we dare to dream.  Unfortunately the French team, noticeably bigger guys, start to take control and at the end of the first half, Team GB is 21-7 down.  In this sport the keeper has very little chance of saving anything and the GB keeper definitely confirms that.  His arms and legs are spread wide but the French find it no problem to pick their spot – most of time underneath him.  Frustratingly the French keepers seem to have a knack of getting in the way of our shots.  Not far into the 2^nd half our best player (Larsson – a traditional British name) is sent off.  No one is sure what the offense could be given that rugby tackles seem to tolerated most of the time.  Later on I watch the replay and it is an incredibly harsh decision – Larsson appears to clip the heels of a Frenchman during a breakaway attack.  It could have been an accident and even if it wasn’t, it is very harsh.  GB lose 44-15 which is the largest losing margin of any match so far in the competition and from what I can see is the biggest margin since Yugoslavia beat Kuwait in the Moscow 1980 Olympics. But who cares?  The GB crowd stand to applaud our guys, especially the one that got sent off.  All Olympic heroes.

Hats off to Boris – our journey home is smooth though it is nearly 1am when we are greeted at home by Cosmo and Archie.

Tuesday 31^st July

We are at the Olympic park again and everyone is still in a remarkably good mood but the pouring rain and early start is taking the shine off a bit for me I must confess.  There is a small army of volunteers who seem to be in a permanent state of cheerfulness.  I wonder what kind of person would feel the urge to stand in the rain with a large foam hand to point the way to the Olympic Park? Mrs K has expressed an interest but it is only because she likes the look of the Olympic volunteer trainers and would like a pair.

We (Sian and I) are here for Basketball and left home at 6.30. We take our seats just a few minutes before kick-off (?) first buzzer (?) whatever. This is another impressive arena, holding 12000 spectators. The cheap seats are almost full but there are quite a few empty rows in the VIP sections. We are watching a battle of superpowers - Russia vs China. I decide to support Russia.  Sian is on hand to explain the finer points of the rules. Its staggering how many supporting officials you need for a game of basketball. Football take note.

For some reason we have to put up with American style stadium host commentators who boom into the mike and organise singing, mexican waves and a kiss cam. The camera falls on a girl asleep in her seat. The crowd cheers. She had an early start too.

On Sunday at the Handball the Keen women were both fascinated and amused by the sweat-moppers who are frequently called on to the court to clean up patches of sweat.  It is a major undertaking with sweaty players falling all over the place and the boys are kept fully occupied.  No bead of sweat is left un-mopped.  At the basketball, things are a bit more relaxed and the moppers a bit more refined. Basketball players don't sweat as much and certainly don't fall over quite as much. Those boys will be able to tell their grandchildren that they mopped up the sweat of Olympic Gold medallists. What an honour. And the Keen family watched them and cheered them. More heroes.

Russia are on top from the start and simply outclass the Chinese, winning 73-54.  Next up is Spain vs Australia.  We listen to the national anthems of Spain and Australia and I realise that we must have missed them for the first match. Shame, I love the Russian anthem. This game is lower quality than the first but much closer in score so no less entertaining.

Sadly Andy Murray is calling us so we have to leave at half time. It really is a hike back to Stratford station and we have to fight against the tide of people arriving for the afternoon sessions. Sian is worried about chafing but luckily all Keen women come well prepared and after a quick visit to the ladies she is fully prepared and up for the task.

It turns out our timing is perfect – we arrive in our seats on Centre Court just 5 minutes before Andy Murray takes on Nieminem of Finland in the 2^nd round.  Not much more than an hour later both players are on their way back to the changing room – Murray has breezed through with an ease we don’t normally see at Wimbledon.  Holly and Mrs K saw Venus Williams before we arrived but given that we have Djokovic vs. Roddick and Sharapova vs. GB’s Laura Robson to look forward to I am not too disappointed.  Roddick has no answer for the majestic Djokovic.  Robson does better and takes her grunting Russian opponent to a tie break in the first set but after that it one way traffic – another GB contestant bites the dust.

It has been a long day.  Being an Olympian spectator is hard work.

Saturday 4^th August

It’s Golden Saturday. Six gold medals. Wow. Jess, Mo and some cocky ginger haired bloke did well in the Long Jump too. Mo’s win was the highlight of the evening. And aren’t we pleased he didn’t roll into his mate’s spit when lying on the track?

In the afternoon, we had watched the Quarter final football match at Wembley between Mexico and Senegal. The stadium was about 90% full I would guess and the largely GB crowd were in good spirits, really getting into the match from the off. OK, we had some Mexican waves but the atmosphere was really good. The crowd cheered all the 6 goals with great enthusiasm but the biggest was for Senegal’s 1st goal to get them back to 2-1. Eventually Senegal’s errors at the back were the difference with Mexico winning 4-2 and going though to the semi final. If only I had worn my sombrero.

Sunday 5^th August

I felt like a kid at Disneyworld for the first time. The mood in the Olympic Park is absolutely electric after the 3 GB gold medals from the night before. Just to be in the stadium feels like a massive privilege – we are so lucky.

Our seats are looking straight back down the 100m track – a different angle to the normal TV view but we are right on top of the action. We also have the cauldron just to our right and it is almost like we can feel the warmth of the flames.

We enjoy watching the activity around the stadium including the remote control mini cars which are used to fetch the hammer and the officials who put out the hurdles with almost military precision. I have promised myself that I will enjoy the 100m final and not miss it fiddling with my camera but I get some pictures of the semis.

In the final, when Bolt goes over the line, some distance ahead of Blake, I glance at the clock and see 9.54. A new World Record? No, it was 9.64 and then revised down to 9.63 – a new Olympic record. Bolt celebrates in his usual style right in front of us.