It’s a kind of magic

13 August, 2012 (15:12) | All articles | By: Stuart Fraser

Well, clearly it’s been a triumph. It must have been. When everybody goes all gooey despite George Michael, Kate Moss, Brian May of Queen with the beard of the Brother Who Must Not Be Named on his head and, God help us all, The Spice Girls, it really must have been.

Personally, I thought the closing ceremony was barking loony mad and went to bed dreaming of green-headed Spice Girls dressed as skating nuns bashing Naomi Campbell over the head with a newspaper-model Big Ben while Pete Townshend trashed his zimmer frame and Boris Johnson danced arthritically with the ghosts of Freddie Mercury and John Lennon.

But even that scatter-gun of ageing rock stars, dull karaoke and stunning light effects mixed with a weird car show (A Kaiser Chief! On a scooter! Singing Pinball Wizard!) and truly unhinged dancing couldn’t break the magic spell.

Nope, the Olympics have been declared an official triumph. Not even my dire warnings about encouraging Sebastian Coe and Boris Johnson to wear smug “I-told-you-so” expressions for the next 50 years have stopped the love.

So OK then. I surrender. I won’t mention the wasted billions and the corporate advertising and the millionaire athletes and the overpriced merchandise. The Olympics were a triumph. Alright?

And if you’re going to insist that I join in, then here’s why.

Because the Olympics showed what can be achieved – how a nation can be won over – by public investment. They showed the sheer majesty of what is possible when everybody pools their resources, invests in each other and pulls together. They show what is possible when individual talent and hard work is aided and encouraged by the investment of the state. They show what is possible when people step forward and work together for the common good, as the volunteers did. They have exposed yet again the failings of the private sector when entrusted with anything to do with the common good (G4S, the ticketing). The Olympics are persuading people that we need to invest in sport in education; the gap between private and state schools in funding, facilities and provision has been embarrassingly highlighted and people are not happy. The folly of asset-stripping shared resources like playing fields has been exposed.

The whole deal has apparently, according to this morning’s newspapers, boosted the nation’s morale. The Olympics, in the opening ceremony, showed us that as a nation we are proud of diversity, of caring for each other, of laughing, of pulling together for everybody’s benefit.

So London 2012. A confirmation that the economy needs investment and encouragement. A blueprint for how the economy can recover.  Proof positive that we are best when we work together.

Now can we spend another £19billion rejuvenating other inner city areas – even, gasp, horror, in the north – and see if we can keep everybody smiling?

Or will we again have to listen to people telling us cutbacks, joblessness and gloom are the only way forward?

The Ginger Ninja

We would have been with you a little earlier, but there have been setbacks this morning. Thanks to Brother Bertie, we have a new kitten, christened, by little Tom, the Ginger Ninja, and the little sod is living up to the name.

I’ve been sitting here typing for a while now. An early attempt at this week’s epistle was wiped when the Ninja landed with all four paws square in the middle of the keyboard. Where he came from I have no idea.

There have been numerous interruptions for swearing and cursing after shock-and-awe attacks, including those kitten favourites leg-climbing (I’m wearing shorts), neck-wrapping and arm-attacking.

Management has been cut to pieces by the bugger, so together the two of us look like delegates at a self-harming convention.

It is also hard to concentrate as I can hear the Ninja mewing at the closed office door. I’m expecting to hear the sound of my electric drill at any moment as he tries to break back in.

He can, of course, be very cute, when playing, purring or asleep and he’s bright enough to be perfectly house-trained already. He’s beautiful. He’s delightful with the children, who are adoring him. His swiftness and violence bode well for his future career as Chief Rodent Control Officer here at Fraser Towers. Already, the crazy mad dog is terrified of him.

But the Ginger Ninja and I keep eyeing one another in that cool, weighing-up manner cats and worried humans have. I have uneasy memories of our previous incumbents. Polly adored Management and was fond of Tom when he was a toddler, but to everybody else she was a vicious, evil sadist. Attack was her default option, usually preceded by deceptively pleasant purring – the victim would reach out to stroke her but the arm and hand would disappear in a whirring blur of fur, claws, teeth and blood. (Jehovah’s Witnesses and cold callers soon found out why we were the only house in the area where they’d be asked in). Then there was Webster, the Black Assassin, a beautiful pet to us but death to any other living creature; I lived in terror of him starting on the lambs in the field next door, or massacring the neighbours’ pet rabbits.

What already seems certain is that little Ginger is going to be fun. He’s perched on top of the printer now, watching, purring, plotting. All a cat could want.

 

Comments

Comment from Stuart
Time August 13, 2012 at 9:25 pm

I do apologise – such was the carnage caused by Brother Bertie’s pussy that I clean forgot to signpost you to another great spot by Brother Fiddle: this superb piece by Michael Rosen on the ludicrous Michael Gove – http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2012/aug/06/michael-rosen-michael-gove-report Enjoy

Comment from Bertie
Time August 14, 2012 at 6:09 pm

Ha Ha! Glad to hear the pussy has remembered all his basic combat training. Am sitting in the sun with a bavarian beer just wondering where you got the mushrooms you So obviously ate before having that wonderful dream you started this weeks piece describing? Can I have some?

This week, I have a top tip…….if coming to Germany to sunbathe in the sauna area at the pool, remember to sun cream EVERYTHING!

Comment from One Old Fiddle
Time August 14, 2012 at 11:16 pm

Obviously of sufficent size for the sun to find it.

Comment from Hamster
Time August 15, 2012 at 5:17 pm

hahahaha our Bertie pussy (full sister to Ninja) is surprise, surprise exactly the same. Loves laptop keyboards???? and whilst watch the closing ceremony on Sunday the photocopier starts by itself…. or did it little pussy cat?

Comment from Hamster
Time August 15, 2012 at 5:21 pm

This weeks Hamster Top Tip – do as Brother Bertie says when exposed to the sun – slip, slap, slop to keep your end tip top.

Comment from One Old Fiddle
Time August 16, 2012 at 9:57 am

But not too vigorously…..

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