Watching the closing ceremony of the Olympics on Sunday night will endure for me principally because of one devastating revelation; it became apparent that Boris Johnson and I share the same dance teacher.
Actually that’s not strictly speaking true as my disco prowess is essentially organic, unique some might say, but it is eerily close to the libidinous style of our capital’s Mayor. He did dispel one myth though, that the fairer sex put as much by art of boogie as us chaps are led to believe, lest BJ, as he will always be affectionately known in my heart, would have had seriously less geschlecht.
I imagine if we’d have seen the games’ other organiser (there were only two, I’m assured), Lord Coe, trip the light fantastic, he would have indeed been fantastic. Something akin to Fred Astaire meets Ashley Banjo at a crunk party (I have literally NO IDEA what I’m talking about at this moment, but I heard a young person say the word crunk once). My point is it would be polished, timed to perfection and undertaken with a sober mix of gravitas and the inclusive Olympic spirit.
And given the shape he’s managed to maintain since his competitive days, there would have been some swooning as his hips swayed enticingly to the music, too.
But it’s no coincidence that all history’s great double acts had a straight man and a funny man (I’m generalising I know, I’m sure there have been some great female double acts too. Seem to elude me just at the moment though. Answers on a postcard please) and this is obviously the case with Lo Coe and Bo Jo. It’s the chemistry you see, two halves of the same coin and all that, one created to complete the other and vice versa.
So with that in mind what have we learned from the Olympics? What is the takeaway lesson, the legacy we’ve heard so much about?
Clearly it is this. If you want to stage a successful, inspirational event, change the perception of your country on a global scale and be utterly spiffing into the deal, but you’ve got a rather serious disposition, find a fop-haired buffoon to pair up with.
Alternatively if your ambition is to achieve a similar feat but you’re a slightly overweight fop-haired buffoon, then you really need a stoic, dependable sort of a chap on your side. Simple really.
£9bn well spent I’d say. And for once I’m not being sarcastic.
Well done chaps, you’ve done us all proud.
PS. The sport wasn’t bad either, the little I saw of it. Never really been my bag though, if you know what I mean.