toweringflat

On Sunday the BBC aired the official Olympic hand off between Beijing and London.  But before I can go into any brief recap of the closing ceremonies, let me begin with the tediousness of having to watch London Mayor, Boris Johnson, the IOC President Rogge, and his Chinese compatriot, Liu Qi's attempts to wave the flag without having the material wrap itself impotently and lifelessly around the staff.

And what of Liu Qi's speech, which I was very keen to get my hands on. The 2008 motto 'One dream one world' seems such a farce when we consider the source. Or perhaps it makes a lot of sense coming from a communist regime; when the Chinese government says one dream, then all of its’ people, and the rest of the world, should take note and line up to its' credo.

I had a very hard time not screeching every time I saw the official Olympic tag over the last two weeks. How can a country with so many human rights violations stand dead center on the global stage and proclaim with deadpan sincerity 'one dream one world'. Should China not get its own domestic affairs in order, before asking the global audience over for tea, let alone the Olympics.

A particular favorite passage in Liu Qi's speech was when he uttered that "The Beijing Olympic Games is a testimony of the fact that the world has its trust rested upon China". I am sorry, but I think this would be an oversimplification of the truth, or rather a gross misjudgement of individual sentiment. China should not misjudge the fact that Americans watched the 2008 Olympics in record numbers. Watching does not suggest an awareness of the host's political and social actions. Watching does not equate support, let alone trust. At this point in time, I would rather invest my trust in a dog than the Chinese governmen. China still has a lot more work to do, beyond Pyrotechics, cheerleaders, and lip synch to convince me that they are worthy of my trust.

It's officially taken two days for me to lose the afterglow of holiday. In fact, it took one day and one hour, but who's counting. Cornwall is a distant memory as I recalibrate myself to being stationary at a desk and breathing recycled air for ten hours. I can feel my neck and back slowly settling into a hunchback position, and I have to wonder why we do this to ourselves.

On Monday morning a ride with a philosophical Hungarian cabbie had me questioning my gnome-like working ways. He exited the corporate world and entered the less glam arena of cab driving, because he wanted to have full control of his working time. He told me he didn't envy me as all of my work is subject to the scrutiny of others, and ultimately has to satisfty another person's whimsical standard.

He went on to describe England as a country of Barbarians with an unofficial count of 30 million alcoholics. I can only imagine what cabbies see on late Friday and Saturday nights. He shared that he was amazed by some of the signts on public transport and that the appalling nose-digging he observed was a throw-back to his nursery school days. According to him continental Europe and the Mediterranean warranted our consideration. As we neared Paddington I came quite close to boarding the express train to Heathrow.

But instead I follow the listless wave of early morning commuters and got the tube to work. And I continue to master my 21st century labourer pose.

 

I cannot begin to describe my excitement at the notion of stepping away from work and London for ten days of blue seas, white sands and the lull of waves rolling in and out of the surf. That is at least my mental vision of Cornwall, which may be proved entirely wrong. Such is the desperation of Babylonbdon urbanitis.

So while I would like to sit here and write about my dream last night and walking along a corridor where each room revealed a different performance, all musicals but with different thematic variations, the ever so popular humans as barn animals wagging their tail at the audience, or a circle of people knitting as they sing hymns, and finally the ashen faced general and his soldiers singing quite somber-serious indie rock, I will have to excuse myself from the table for some serious dose of holiday pill. Toodles for now.