I went to the Olympics yesterday. Unfortunately the Olympics didn't come to me.
Soon after London's Olympic bid was won, when plans and schedules were being drawn, the marathon course was pledged to Tower Hamlets. We'd get the last few miles, after three loops of the City, on a long arm out to Stratford and the Stadium. All the way along the A11 from Aldgate to Bow, a road rechristened High Street 2012 in anticipation of greatness. Better still, the world's finest distance runners would be jogging past my front door - how bloody exciting was that? Who'd not be out on the streets to cheer them on?
Bow Road, one o'clock. If the Olympic Women's Marathon is due in E3 imminently, you'd never guess. The number of pedestrians milling on the pavement is unusually low. Traffic's light, much lighter than you'd normally expect. We're less than a mile from the Olympic Stadium, but the impact of the Games is merely a ripple this far out. This being London it's initially hard to tell whether an international event is taking place up the road, or if it's just the locals out shopping. But look carefully and there are a few clues. A Japanese trio walk towards the Bow Roundabout, Co-op carrier bags in hand. Volunteers in beige trousers brush past, lanyards flapping. Ugly grey Samsung phone ads hang from every lamppost. A blonde walks up from the Park, Union Jack wrapped around her middle. Something's up, something's definitely going on.
You might expect crowd barriers to have been erected, but there are none. It's all to easy to cross the road from one side to the other, but take care not to step in the giant puddle outside the Nat West. It was chucking it down earlier, indeed the spectators in the City got utterly drenched, but the sun's now come out and Bow Road's gleaming. English Heritage are to thank for much of the clean-up. They pumped over a million pounds into the restoration of various frontages along the marathon route, include one long parade here in Bow. The beehive above the Nisa supermarket has scrubbed up well, and the Georgian house by the bus stop has been rescued from near-dereliction. All this so that High Street 2012 looks good on the telly as the cameras whizz by. Not long now.
An Olympic BMW glides by. It might be the advance guard as the women approach, but following behind is the National Express coach to Lowestoft, so probably not. Down at Bow Church DLR, a cluster of staff in pink tabards are guiding folk into or away from the station. One's still wearing his poncho in case the downpours start again, the others are braver souls. A Kazakhstan athlete in blue/white-branded tracksuit enjoys a sneaky cigarette by the litter bin. Trains are running every five minutes, which is unheard of on a Sunday, but we locals have this excellent service to look forward to for at least the next month. There's still no pre-race of influx of spectators, but maybe it'll come.
Bow Road's businesses and organisations have swung into action to tempt passers-by inside. An opportunistic mobile phone stall has popped up outside the Noor barber shop, selling electronic trinkets and gizmos. The congregation at Our Lady and St Catherine of Siena have opened up their hall and garden for drinks and food, plus live BBC coverage of the Games, although it's not clear that anyone's taken them up on the offer. Bow Baptist Church have been out on the street this week giving away free water, but they're inside holding their weekly service at the moment so passing thirsts go unquenched.
They're having trouble with the shutters at the Kebabish Takeaway. They've jammed, by the looks if it, so a man's been brought in to do some urgent welding before lunchtime trade can begin. Up a side alley, almost completely hidden from view, a very different form of food outlet is open for business. The Bow Arts Trust recently opened a new eaterie - the Carmelite Cafe - where a barista named Beanbeard waits to serve swish espresso and cake. Only the chalkboards on the pavement give hint to his existence, with the upbeat pleading messages changing daily. It feels strange that coffee culture has finally hit my corner of town, but it may have hit too early. The evidence so far is that Bow's not ready for espresso and Victoria sponge, and the lack of marathon spectators isn't helping.
The leading pack of ladies must be only a couple of miles from the finish by now. But there's almost nobody here. A police officer wanders by, staring at the ground. Four mates deposit their cycle hire bikes opposite the laundrette, then wander off into the estate. A lost-looking couple sit alone on the benches outside the Bow Bells pub, around the corner from a fading banner for the Torch Relay. That passed this way a fortnight ago and the pavements were rammed with people assembled to watch the flame go by. Evidence enough that the Tower Hamlets community is right behind the Games, and that a marathon through these streets will be wildly, rapturously supported.
It's a quarter past one. The designated time, long set in stone, has finally arrived. The weather could have been grim but the sun is shining and conditions are perfect. The road clears completely, in a way it never does on any normal Sunday, as if marshalled by an invisible outrider. Surely the timing truck and TV cameras can't be far behind. Surely this must be the athletes approaching. Surely the East End's not been trumped in favour of somewhere deemed more worthy of the international spotlight. I wait at the kerbside as the clock ticks round.
Meanwhile, six miles away on The Mall, the marathon reaches its thrilling climax. Bastards.
I didn't go to the Olympics yesterday.
Withdrawal symptoms have set in.
To fill the gap, let me try to answer some of your questions.
Olympic Park Q&A
Do you really need 2 hours to get through security?
No, that's a myth circulated to try to equalise the spread of visitors through security checkpoints. I've now been to seven different events, some in the Olympic Park, some elsewhere, and never once had to queue. You might be in unlucky in arriving at the same time as everyone else and get to wait, but there are so many scanning tents that security normally takes 2 minutes rather than 2 hours.
Would it be quicker to get off at Stratford or Leyton (or indeed West Ham) for the hockey?
Not West Ham, that's at least a 40 minute walk to the top of the Park. The walk from Leyton is signed but very quiet, so quiet that the pop-up market along the way is haemorrhaging money. Expect about 20 minutes to the Eton Manor Gate, then another 10 to the hockey stadium, which is about the same total as from Stratford. Assuming you're not arriving at the Park at a busy time, and purely because the walk's much more interesting, I'd suggest Stratford. But if you want a guaranteed arrival time, choose Leyton.
I was surprised by how quiet and poorly signposted the walk from Hackney Wick station to Victoria Gate was.
That's because they'd rather you didn't travel this way. But if you know where you're going then the Victoria Gate has the very shortest queues of all (and 50 bored Games Makers with almost nothing to do). It's quite a trek into the Olympic Park, especially starting from the cycle racks in Victoria Park, but I enjoyed entering this way.
Any suggestions as to when we need to arrive to be seated in good time?
Best arrive too early rather than too late. The warm-up within each venue tends to begin about 30 minutes before the session starts. Around 20 minutes before each session they outline the rules of the sport you're about to see. Miss that and you may be in the dark if yours is one of the lesser known events. There is absolutely no point in being in your seat more than 40 minutes early, whatever your spectator guide says.
Any suggestions as to when we need to arrive to be seated in good time?
I've seen rather too many people wandering into events late because they underestimated how long it would take to reach their venue. The Park is bigger than you expect. In brief...
» Stratford station to Stratford Gate - 5 minutes (and, on a good day, another 5 through security)
» West Ham station to Greenway Gate - 20 minutes (including security)
» Stratford/Greenway Gate to the Orbit/Aquatic Centre/Stadium (bridges A and B) - 5 minutes
» Stratford/Greenway Gate to the Spotty Bridge/Stadium (bridges D and E) - 10 minutes
» Stratford/Greenway Gate to the Copper Box - 15 minutes
» Stratford/Greenway Gate to the Basketball Arena/Velodrome/Riverbank Arena - 20 minutes
That's walking fast. If there are crowds, or you're walking slower, expect longer.
Do you know if Day Passes are really available to the Park?
Sorry, no. There were never very many Day Passes on sale, and to get one you had to be online back at the end of May. If you were reading this blog at the time, I did point this out. LOCOG aren't allowing Day Passes during the second week of the Games because there are already two hundred thousand spectators in the Park and they can't cope with more. Your best bet for getting inside the Park is to try to buy a Paralympic ticket. Again, the best time to do this was last year, but all is not lost if you go looking now.
Do you have any info about the current situation re the selling of 'recycled' tickets for £5 at box offices inside the Park?
There were a few earlier in the week, sold from an orange booth near the Velodrome, as people (inexplicably) left the basketball and hockey before the second match in their session began. But the queues for those resale tickets were ridiculously long, and those waiting were probably wasting their precious hours inside the Olympic Park with very little hope of success. I understand no such system will be running in Week Two. Blame LOCOG for the resales debacle. They entered the Games period with absolutely no coherent ticketing strategy for filling empty seats, hence the seats stay empty.
Any hints on where to fill up water bottles?
There are lots of places to fill up water bottles, generally anywhere there's a cluster of toilets. If you're unsure, ask a Games Maker, they'll direct you. Annoyingly the official Olympic Park map doesn't include toilets, even though they're in relatively few locations. Two good spots are near the Orbit, another two are outside the Basketball Arena. Water fountains always come in threes, although most people only use the central tap rather than the two low-squirters to either side. As a general rule, there are fewer water fountains within the venues than there are in the main body of the Park, so fill up before you enter.
Have you found anywhere worth buying lunch from, or should I just bring my own?
Depends what you mean by a decent lunch. Personally I think the food's underwhelming and overpriced, but I appear to be in the minority. I'd bring a packed lunch (minus liquids), and then if you find something better you can always eat that instead.
How do you get to use the mobility buggies?
Just ask. The volunteers are only too willing to help you out, and they'll transport you from the gates, to the gates, to the venues, whatever. The departure points are marked on the map, and there's at least one buggy park in each quarter of the Park. Just make sure you arrive at Stratford, not West Ham.
It says that for the closing ceremony gates open at 5.30. Does that mean we cannot go into the park anywhere for a wander round before then?
The only events in the Olympic Park on Sunday 12th August are the Water Polo finals, the Handball finals and the Closing Ceremony. Sporting spectators will be ushered out after their afternoon sessions, leaving a restricted corner of the Olympic Park for Closing Ceremony attendees. You'll be able to mill around the Orbit and enjoy the 2012 Gardens, but you won't get access to the northern parklands.
Is the Javelin a viable escape route?
Probably yes, unless you're leaving the Park late in the day. The Javelin can only cope with a few thousand people an hour, which means long queues outside when more than that turn up. Stratford International DLR is an excellent escape route, though it won't take you into town. If you can get inside Stratford station, the regular Greater Anglia trains to Liverpool Street will almost certainly have seats. And there's always West Ham, which has been remodelled to withstand crowds that haven't materialised, so (if you don't mind a long walk out) head there for an easy choice of District/H&C/c2c/Jubilee.
What's the best way to get tickets?
Request them 15 months ago, like the rest of us did. Sorry.
I went to the Olympics again yesterday. This time I took my Dad to the Dome to watch the trampolining. This time there were medals. Let me tell you about some more of the sports I've seen.
Trampolining - the venue: North Greenwich Arena You might know it as the O2, but during the Games that brandname has been airbrushed away in favour of the entirely neutral North Greenwich Arena. The venue's owners must be both loving and hating hosting Olympic events, because footfall is huge, but they've not been able to host any other events for weeks. The restaurants inside are still open, indeed they're still open to non-ticketholders, but all potential diners have to pass through airport-style security before their aperitif. Here as everywhere else the Games Makers are magnificently cheery. One even insisted on taking a photo of me and my Dad each sporting a pink foam pointy hand (sorry, that's for the family album only). The last time we were both here, back in 2000, we sat on the ground while millennial acrobats tumbled above. For 2012 instead we sat in the gods, while matchstick acrobats tumbled below. The banking in the arena is steep, but the view down's pretty good so long as you're not sat behind an American in a comedy hat.
Trampolining - the event: Men's Trampoline The Olympics even offers medals for bouncing. Trampolining's been in the Games since 2000, with the men's event on one day and the women's on the next. The entire competition takes place in one session, with sixteen qualifiers performing two routines each, then the best eight battling for glory in a final round. No British trampolinist made the grade, so the crowd were able to be successfully unbiased through the entire two hour afternoon session. Each routine has to contain ten skills - that's ten consecutive bounces after an initial series of springs to gain height. It's all over very quickly. A minute on the trampoline is all each athlete needs, with the crucial key moves expressed in twenty seconds flat. The trampoline's massive, although the target area in the centre is only about the same size as a front door which isn't big when you're descending at speed. Indeed, not everybody made it. Some competitors edged too close to the edge and crashed and burned, their coaches holding out a safety mat to break the fall. At this level of competition one mistake destroys your score, and off home you go. But when it all works, the athleticism is amazing. Double somersaults, even triples, combined with spinning flippingoutstretched spins. We didn't need the ten quid commentary gizmo to know when an athlete had done well, indeed its purchase seemed pointless given that each video replay came with full description. It soon became clear that China, Russia and Japan would dominate the event, especially the young Chinese gymnast with the unintentionally comic name of Dong Dong. He smashed the qualifying round and levitated through the final before walking off, grinning, with gold. And so it was that Dad and I ended the day standing for the national anthem of China, and we can now tick off "watching an Olympic medal ceremony" on our list of life's achievements. [seven photos]
Hockey - the venue: Riverbank Arena At the top end of the Olympic Park, where there used to be a pentecostal church, bus garage and traveller encampment, that's where thevenue for London 2012 hockey is located. It's a huge open-air arena, with a subsidiary practice pitch located alongside that only aerial photographers spot. The most striking feature is the bright blue pitch, coloured so that the ball shows up better, surrounded by an even brighter pink perimeter. Sunglasses may be required. The view all the way down the Park is equally spectacular, if you're sitting high enough, with the Aquatic Centre, Orbit and Stadium poking out above the top of the southern grandstand. There's zero protection if it rains, as it did partway through my visit. At the first hint of falling water the entire crowd reacted by rooting in their bags for waterproofs and brollies, though thankfully this didn't last long else anyone sat behind an over-sized golf umbrella would have cursed. If hockey inspires locals to sporting glory, this is one of the venues that's being retained, shifted across the A12 to its permanent location at Eton Manor.
Hockey - the matches: Spain v Australia, Netherlands v Belgium The stands weren't full when the first match in the session began, partly because the Arena's such a long walk up the Park, but most probably because bully off was at 8:30am. Spain and Australia came out for the shaking of hands and their respective anthems, then spread out across the pitch for the match proper. The accuracy with which these men could hit and receive was impressive, else the ball would regularly have flown off into an unmarked space and the game would have been mostly stop and start. With each thwack of the stick the playing surface threw up a fountain of water, convincing proof that the blue pitch wasn't painted grass but some artificial skin. We spectators had little idea of the relative abilities of the teams, but the five nil whitewash soon proved that Australia were the more talented side. Belgium versus the Netherlands was a much tighter match, and also supported by considerably more spectators from the respective countries. BestMate and I were sat amongst a smattering of Belgians, mostly families, cheering loudly but never raucously (except when their lone goal was scored). The Dutch were more in evidence, both in colour and in voice, with entire banks of seating seemingly coloured orange. Even when it rained, out came orange ponchos and up went orange brollies to maintain the illusion. As this second match neared conclusion the Belgians substituted their goalkeeper with a forward, so desperate were they to pull back into contention, but that backfired when they conceded a further goal and the final whistle saw them three one down.
Handball - the venue: Copper Box It's not a thrilling name, although the venue is a box covered in copper so at least it's descriptive. From the outside it doesn't look much, which may be why they've erected three giantmirrored letters out the front to liven things up. But inside it's a riot of colour, thanks mainly to the banks of seating whose colours seem randomly arranged like the pegs in a giant game of Mastermind. The surrounding walkways are compact, and also brightly signed, with a food concession in each corner for spectators to sneak off to during competition. The balcony round the pitch is easily accessible from the front entrance, with a great view for spectators in wheelchairs, while the media get to sit further round at their own bespoke desks. Be warned, it's not quiet in here, with a warm-up guy intent on whipping up the audience and various blasts of music at opportune moments. There's a great atmosphere, which bodes well for the legacy phase when the Copper Box is turned over to the local community. It's to be the only permanent indoor arena retained in the Olympic Park, combining sporting facilities with a gym and café, and is (though you'd never realise now) ideally situated for Hackney Wick station.
Handball - the wooden spoon match: Team GB v Argentina I've seen several team game matches at the Olympics, but only one involving the host nation. Great Britain versus Argentina in the men's handball was a match heavy with unspoken subtext, although in the wider context of the Games nothing more than an obscure sideshow between the two weakest teams in Pool A. The crowd were wildly partisan throughout, even from the moment the two teams strode in from the changing rooms. Flags erupted from the stands, cheers rang out around the arena, and armchair sports fans offered shouts of encouragement to the GB team. Hopes were high at the start of the match, not least because few present realised we'd won neither of our previous matches. Things looked fairly close to begin with, as every British attack was applauded, and our goals raised the roof. Handball's a very end-to-end game, with players throwing and bouncing the ball around the edgeof the D-zone before either hurling at goal or losing possession. It soon became clear that we were doing the latter more than the former, and the Argentine team edged into a slim but persistent lead. That didn't stop the cheers, and the crowd's increasingly over-optimistic hopes. The fifty-something couple behind me never stopped urging Our Lads on ("Come on Team GB!") or offering advice ("defend, defend!"), despite their vocal input having zero impact apart from contributing to the overall hubbub. By the second half the margin between the two teams was unassailable, but the flags still waved and the encouragement remained strong. It struck me how much the country has united behind Team GB, resolute in unflinching support, blinkered by the quest for medals. I can't get into it myself - I lack the euphoric empathy needed to be swept along by Olympic competition. So when the match ended and we were 32-21 down I wasn't downhearted, nor indeed disappointed, merely pleased to have attended another amazing Olympic event.
Today's one of the busiest days in the Olympic Park, as the Athletics finally kicks off and two additional stadiumfuls of spectators pour inside. But can the Park cope? It's been busy enough these last couple of days, especially at lunchtime and in the early evening inbetween sessions. With a hundred thousand more bodies milling around hunting for food, entertainment or the exit, there'll be a lot more pressure on the main routes between the venues. Up on the tarmac walkways an army of Games Makers are attempting to establish a "Keep Left" policy. It's worked well thus far, and has also prevented too many collisions with oncoming mobility vehicles. The network of footpaths nearer the river has also coped well, not least because most visitors haven't discovered they can walk this way. But there's an unexpected pressure point amongst the landscaped gardens, because people will insist on walking where they shouldn't.
The parklands aregorgeous, definitely a highlight of the main Olympic site. But the number of paths through is limited, and the number of entrances few, which means visitors are starting to wander where the designers had assumed they wouldn't. People don't want to walk along the lengthy zigzag path from the wetlands, so they've been cutting up the steep grassy slope instead. People don't want to walk the long way round to enter the big screen area at Park Live, so they're traipsing through the flowerbeds instead. People who want to reach the giant rings opposite the Basketball Arena don't want to go round the long way, so they're walking straight up the escarpment through the undergrowth. There aren't a huge number of tramplers, don't get me wrong. But it only takes one person to shortcut off the path and all those long months of cultivation are quickly wrecked.
The Park's designers haven't helped themselves in several respects. Several paths take the long route, so the shortcut across the flowers looks mighty tempting. Some of the paths in the Park are dead ends, so perhaps it's not surprising when people decide to continue. The big screens have insufficient lawn space, so spectators are trampling the bedding plants to get a view. One long semicircular lawn near the bandstand has only one entrance, so it's entirely understandable when people decide to head onwards through the vegetation at the far end. Some of the planted beds have low groundcover which is precisely the sort of thing you might walk across in woodland, so why not here? And once one person's walked the wrong way the path grows, and bad behaviour spreads.
LOCOG have started taking preventative action. Additional rope barriers have been added to deter the creation of desire line footpaths. Chains of metal barriers have been erected along the edge of over-tempting flowerbeds, decorated with orange or pink banners for concealment purposes. Signs have gone up saying "Please respect the Landscape so that others may enjoy it", although quite frankly they're a bit obtuse, and most visitors won't realise precisely what they're being asked not to do. When standing at the top of a slope with a trampled-down track ahead, who'd know that this isn't a deliberate footpath. More direct signs reading "Do not walk on the flowerbeds" would be ugly and intrusive, but their absence risks creating a slowburn eyesore.
I realise now how fortunate I was to see the gardens on their first morning - pristine, untouched and unsullied. Back then a number of Games Makers were dotted throughout the parkland, seemingly doing nothing, but they've since been withdrawn and now there's almost no supervision. It's a shame to see the Olympic Park Gardens being disrespected by visitors who don't seem to realise what they're doing. Don't worry, it's only a minor issue at the moment, and the 2012 Gardens in the southern half of the park are barely affected. The parklands arestillabsolutelygorgeous, a true triumph of the Games, but the degeneration can only increase.
The gardeners will have a chance to repair their creation in the hiatus between the Olympics and Paralympics. There also appear to be fresh flowers waiting to bloom at the end of this month, so later visitors should still see a blooming great show. My fear is for the legacy phase, when this becomes Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, open 24 hours a day to the entire local neighbourhood. There's no way that ornamental flowerbeds and planted slopes can survive unsupervised public onslaught, not when they look like genuine access cut-throughs. Let's hope the planners find a solution when the north end of the Park reopens in a year's time, else the Games' bequest to the people of East London may be a masterpiece that peaked last weekend.
I went to the Olympics again yesterday. I invited Blue Witch to the handball at the Copper Box. We watched Team GB play Argentina. You can guess how it ended.
I've now spent more than 40 hours in the Olympic Park. I'm aware that this is slightly excessive. However, if there's anything you'd like to ask, any tips you'd appreciate, or any nagging questions you have, fire away in the comments box and I'll try to answer them later.
I went to the Olympics again yesterday. This time I took BestMate to watch the hockey. And then we explored some "partner showcases".
Several international corporations have forked out a small fortune to sponsor London 2012. I suspect they haven't paid enough, given all the freebie tickets they get, plus their legally-sanctioned stranglehold on all related advertising opportunities. For visitors to the Olympic Park there's no escape, as eight of the Olympic sponsors have their own pavilions on site. Once you've been to your event, and eaten, they hope to entice you inside on the basis there isn't very much else to do. But are they worth a visit, or should you go and enjoy the gardens instead?
Here's my unbranded guide to Partner Showcases in the Olympic Park, ranked from best to worst.
Gold) Park Live Presented by Major Airline Park Live succeeds because it's about sport. Indeed, it's the only place in the entire Olympic Park to keep up with what's going on in the rest of the Games. In conjunction with LOCOG, a giant two-sided video screen has been plonked in the centre of the River Lea, with spectator space on two landscaped lawns on either bank. There's something similar in Hyde Park and Victoria Park, but they have tacky marketing sideshows attached, whereas here it's just grass and flowers. If Rebecca's in the pool and you've not got tickets, you can watch her here. If Bradley's getting a medal, you can watch him here. OK, so every now and then the action cuts away to adverts for Major Airline, but nowhere near as often as you might expect. OK, so presenters insist on stalking the crowd and trying to whip up enthusiasm, but again, not so often. Staff hand out Union Jack plastic mats to sit on, and Team GB temporary tattoos for children, while stocks last. On Saturday there was plenty of space, and the lawns were pristine. By yesterday the grass was rammed, with folk squished into all the contoured lawns, nearly bursting out across the surrounding flowerbeds and cheering every British triumph. To all the companies below, if you'd made your pavilion more about sport than about yourselves, you might have been more successful.
Silver) Fizzy-drink Beatbox It's the most eye-catching pavilion in the Park, a whirlwind of red and white rectangles swirling around a central cylinder. The Fizzy-drink company asked two up-and-coming architects to design it, and the gamble's paid off. They've also hired a cast of hundreds - mostly unemployed drama students by the looks of it - who get to squeeze every ounce of acting ability into chivvying the crowd along. You'll spot them around the Park in their red t-shirts, often congregated in groups doing silly things. On Saturday morning the Beatbox was desperate for customers, but there have been queues to enter ever since. Yesterday afternoon's queue was 50 minutes long (if you see the entire corral full, assume an hour). The redshirts keep visitors entertained throughout their wait (which is no mean feat when most are under the age of 10), by milking the fact that worship of Team GB is the country's new religion. The Beatbox is based around a song by Mark Ronson which sampled sporting sounds from around the world, although it didn't trouble the charts, peaking at number 55. Each small group ascends the spiral ramp around the venue, supposedly assembling the sounds piece by piece, by stroking specially-marked panels on the way up. It's a little rushed, and probably too complex for most youngsters to grasp, but they'll enjoy making the noises all the same. On the roof are two treats. First the view across the Park, and then an opportunity to have your photo taken holding an official Olympic torch. Don't register that photo downstairs, take the code number home and collect it from the website (where it's perfectly OK to enter a false email address). By cropping the download I now have a sponsor-free image of me, in front of the Stadium, holding a torch, which is pretty cool. Each journey through the Beatbox takes about 30 minutes, and ends with with a free bottle of fizz which you're invited to drink at a "party"on the ground floor. This is the least subtle part of the proceedings, aimed at associating the fizzy drink brand with fun, especially in the minds of children. And yes the whole thing's pure indoctrination, but it's done with such bubbly enthusiasm, and it'll keep your kids busy for ages.
Bronze) Oil Company – Fuelling the Future It's hard for a petrochemical multinational to ally itself to sporting prowess, but Oil Company has had a good go. First they've worked out that the public likes nothing better than a big mirror to photograph themselves in, so they've stuck one of those on the front of their stand. Then they've cooked up some mumbo jumbo about offsetting the carbon footprint of your journey to the Games (they were quite keen to sign me up, even though I'd walked). And then they've created a swirly theatre with images of athletes interspersed with deep sea drilling rigs and the like. The gimmick is that the ring of seats rotates, which is entertaining enough for the 12 minutes the film lasts, but no thriller. Bronze only by default.
4) German Car Group Pavilion If you like cars, woo, here are some cars. On entrance you're given a wristband, whose colour denotes how long you'll be forced to wait in the opening exhibit before being allowed through to the theatre. In the theatre they'll show you four souped up adverts for cars, allegedly with an Olympic link. And then you're allowed out and upstairs to view the latest vehicles in the company's range ("please take photos, you're free to take photos, please stick them on Facebook" etc). If you don't like cars enjoy the view from the roof, and the free set of Top Trumps cards on the way out (oh, more cars).
5) TV Setmaker's Full HD 3D Theatre This pavilion has a prime position in the Park, and looks like it ought to be fun. I mean, HD 3D Theatre, that's proper 21st century. Instead queueing takes an age, with 100 people let inside only every 25 minutes. You're given 3D glasses and urged to switch them on, although the glasses are black, the switch is black and the room is dark, so that's quite hard. Then you watch some Olympic-related promotional videos, and and see some of the latest Olympic events in 3D. And that doesn't last long enough. The action then switches to the back of the room where a cheesy salesman attempts to demonstrate the company's new smart TV set. The presentation was so forced that half the audience walked out early, and rightly so. Unless the queue's short, don't bother.
6) Energy Infraco Pavilion – The Magic of Electricity When ushered into a big screen viewing area, you'd hope for better than a film pointing out that electricity is used in the home and aren't athletes great. Out the back, you'd hope for better than a set of information screens about Energy Infraco. The only thing that slightly rescues this exhibit is the opportunity for children to jump up and down and see how many watts of energy they're creating. But much better exercise to take them to the Great British Garden opposite, to be honest.
7) Mobile Company Mobile PIN "Stand here, Sir, and we'll take your photo. Then we'll harvest your contact details, Sir, and you can play with our new phones. Finally we'll let you have a big badge with your photo on, Sir, and hope you'll wear our advert round the Park all day. You will? More fool you, Sir."
8) The Computer Manufacturer Journey Have we stepped back to 1995? A swirly astro-journey video with banal themes. A robot bloke in a red jumpsuit who steps off the screen. An upstairs chamber where you can play sort-of computer games but only if you register your details first. The whole thing's like a bad holodeck episode of Star Trek The Next Generation. Save your curiosity and stay outside.
I went to the Olympics again yesterday. This time I went to ExCel to watch the fencing. I think it's time I told you about some of the sports I've seen.
Fencing - the venue: ExCel There are seven Olympic events taking place at ExCel, mostly the compact indoor knockout sports such as table tennis and weightlifting. Each has its own dedicated section of the exhibition centre, with spectators corralled within until their session finishes. Prepare to be trapped inside with banks of temporary toilets, restricted food options and one drinking fountain. It's not that bad, honest, but after six hours it's not exactly luxurious either. All spectators enter via ExCel's western end, through a security zone where the slalom takes longer than the scan. Exit is from the eastern end, with those travelling to Central London directed to Prince Regent DLR and those for Stratford sent to Pontoon Dock. The latter is a ten minute walk, if you're fit, and several less healthy members of the crowd were cursing they'd been sent this way by the end of it. On this way out you pass (without warning) through the London Pleasure Gardens, where a motley collection of stalls and bars is attempting (and entirely failing) to make money from passing spectators.
Fencing - the event: Men's Individual Foil heats and quarter-finals Fencing's one of those events that people only notice at the Olympics, and then not much because it gets drowned by the bigger sports. Hence the arena at ExCel was filled by thousands of people who weren't entirely sure of the rules of what they were going to see. A useful set of videos run at the start of each Olympic session, outlining the basics, but once the action starts you soon realise you've not taken enough of them on board. It took me some time to deduce that fencing is a "first to score 15" sport, which I could have read in my information leaflet except the grandstands were all bathed in darkness. In contrast the floor was lit up like the set of Tron, with a brightly coloured piste in each corner of the floor. Throughout our six hour session we got to watch four simultaneous fencing bouts, which didn't make for easy viewing. If a cheer went went up, you'd likely not know why. If some incident made a quarter of the crowd gasp, your eye was probably elsewhere. Things were easier when Team GB took to the stage, as the partisan crowd cheered them on to the exclusion of all others. Alas our top medal hope Richard Kruse crumbled quickly, and other plucky Brits weren't far behind. Instead we transferred our support to various international swordsmen of note, notably the dark horse Egyptian, swishing and parrying their way to success. Things would have been much easier to understand if there'd been a commentary, but that wasn't possible unless you paid ten pounds for an electronic gizmo. I'm sure London 2012 are dead proud of their radio-earphone service, but they completely failed to promote it apart from a single illegible poster in the services area and one brief sentence in the warm-up preamble. I thought the little purple boxes the programme sellers were clutching were Cadbury chocolates, and by the time I'd worked out otherwise it was too late to be interested. So I spent six hours in a mostly-baffled crowd, applauding politely, enjoying the spectacle. If you'd have been watching online, with commentary, you'd no doubt have felt closer to the action.
Archery - the venue: Lord's As cricket's not an Olympic sport, Lord's gets to host the archery instead. It's a most impressive venue, not least because the grandstands have been erected on the pitch at the Pavilion End. On a sunny morning you really wanted to be in the southern stand, because those in the northern stand were having to stare into bright glare. I was very fortunate with my seat which was directly in line with the firing archers, unlike at the fencing where I'd been shoved right up in the far corner in need of binoculars. I also got chatting to the random strangers sat on either side, one a Mum with appreciative kids, the other a serial Olympoholic. It was interesting watching the number of empty seats fluctuate across the day. With an "early" 9am start, many people took some time to arrive and the first archers played to a reduced crowd. Numbers built until almost all the upper seats were taken, although it looked like the army had been brought in to fill two dozen at the front. I was surprised how many people drifted away during the morning - maybe four hours of repetitive shooting was too much for them, but that's knockout sport for you.
Archery - the event: Men's and Women's Individual - 1/32 and 1/16 eliminations Normally it's two batsmen stepping out from the Pavilion End, but for the Olympics it's two archers. They emerge carrying their bow, and a spare bow just in case, and two white-suited MCC gentlemen open the wicker gate so they can proceed onto the pitch. Each stands at the firing line while their coach stands several paces behind, with a telescopic viewfinder for keeping track of line of fire. A quiver of fresh arrows is brought out for each round, that's three shots at target, which in this case is located directly 70m across the cricket square. Shots fire at 200kmh, which makes the arrows very hard to see, so the camera pointing at the bullseye is invaluable. It's amazing how many times the competitors managed to score 9 or 10, which we rewarded with applause or a cheer respectively, while anything below a 7 earned a dismayed sigh. The match swiftly equated to a game of mental arithmetic (9, 9 and what will beat 10, 7 and 8?), a subject at which the American commentator proved less than competent. Top seed Im Dong Hyun, who's the world record holder yet legally blind, sailed through against a competitor from San Marino. The crowd contained more than its fair share of South Koreans who waved plastic flags every time he won points, which was often. Other winners included the young, the middle aged, the fit and the obese - there are few athletic barriers to archery success. Definitely my favourite sport so far. [ten photos]
Basketball - the venue: Basketball Arena It's the white marshmallowcasing up the top of the Olympic Park. And it's an entirely temporary arena, due to be dismantled and sent off to the Commonwealth Games in Glasgow ready for 2014. Impressive, then, how much it looks like a proper sports stadium inside, and what a good view most of the seats seem to have. The seating's divided into "us" and "them", with VIPs, players, coaches and high-cost ticket holders in a lower ring, and everyone else higher up. The stands are fairly vertiginous, however, and if you've been ticketed on the top row that's a hundred step climb. Don't expect to come here for a quiet time. Events are marshalled by a loud master of ceremonies who revels in getting the crowd to interact or sending round another Mexican wave. Music also plays a strong part, with a DJ ready to fire out tunes throughout the pre-match warm-up or during gaps in the play. I think the idea is to stop spectators from getting bored, especially those who can't cope with silence for more than a few seconds. Breaks between the quarters are filled by on-pitch entertainment, generally talented kids doing streetdance (and that's in no way as corny as it sounds).
Basketball - the matches: Turkey v Angola, USA v Croatia Only twelve countries get to take part in the Olympic women's basketball tournament, but it still takes an age to complete. They're not necessarily countries you'd expect to see either, and that's certainly the first time I've ever had to stand for the national anthem of Angola. Never mind the geography, feel the quality. These were teams with considerable talents, and considerably tall women too. With players up to six foot five in height, it clearly helps to be lanky, although it's not essential. More important is the killer instinct when throwing a ball, and it's astonishing the accuracy with which players can hit a hoop only 45cm in diameter. This was fast and furious end-to-end stuff, which kept the crowd loud and animated at all times. Turkey were always ahead in the first match, much to the delight of the Prime Minister who was watching from somewhere in the stands. Alas Michelle Obama didn't come to see the USA's women, she came the next day to see the men, but her girls needed little encouragement. Croatia stayed within striking distance until the fourth quarter when the game slipped away, a few too many missed chances, a few too many muffed shots. Not that you care. These are merely the preliminary rounds of a competition Team GB has no hope in, but when you're a spectator in the hyped-up cauldron of an Olympic arena, somehow which team wins briefly matters.
Bow Road, one o'clock. If the Olympic Women's Marathon is due in E3 imminently, you'd never guess. The number of pedestrians milling on the pavement is unusually low. Traffic's light, much lighter than you'd normally expect. We're less than a mile from the Olympic Stadium, but the impact of the Games is merely a ripple this far out. This being London it's initially hard to tell whether an international event is taking place up the road, or if it's just the locals out shopping. But look carefully and there are a few clues. A Japanese trio walk towards the Bow Roundabout, Co-op carrier bags in hand. Volunteers in beige trousers brush past, lanyards flapping. Ugly grey Samsung phone ads hang from every lamppost. A blonde walks up from the Park, Union Jack wrapped around her middle. Something's up, something's definitely going on.
They're having trouble with the shutters at the Kebabish Takeaway. They've jammed, by the looks if it, so a man's been brought in to do some urgent welding before lunchtime trade can begin. Up a side alley, almost completely hidden from view, a very different form of food outlet is open for business. The Bow Arts Trust recently opened a new eaterie - the Carmelite Cafe - where a barista named Beanbeard waits to serve swish espresso and cake. Only the chalkboards on the pavement give hint to his existence, with the upbeat pleading messages changing daily. It feels strange that coffee culture has finally hit my corner of town, but it may have hit too early. The evidence so far is that Bow's not ready for espresso and Victoria sponge, and the lack of marathon spectators isn't helping.
The Olympics even offers medals for bouncing. Trampolining's been in the Games since 2000, with the men's event on one day and the women's on the next. The entire competition takes place in one session, with sixteen qualifiers performing two routines each, then the best eight battling for glory in a final round. No British trampolinist made the grade, so the crowd were able to be successfully unbiased through the entire two hour afternoon session. Each routine has to contain ten skills - that's ten consecutive bounces after an initial series of springs to gain height. It's all over very quickly. A minute on the trampoline is all each athlete needs, with the crucial key moves expressed in twenty seconds flat. The trampoline's massive, although the target area in the centre is only about the same size as a front door which isn't big when you're descending at speed. Indeed, not everybody made it. Some competitors edged too close to the edge and crashed and burned, their coaches holding out a safety mat to break the fall. At this level of competition one mistake destroys your score, and off home you go. But when it all works, the athleticism is amazing. Double somersaults, even triples, combined with spinning flipping outstretched spins. We didn't need the ten quid commentary gizmo to know when an athlete had done well, indeed its purchase seemed pointless given that each video replay came with full description. It soon became clear that China, Russia and Japan would dominate the event, especially the young Chinese gymnast with the unintentionally comic name of Dong Dong. He smashed the qualifying round and levitated through the final before walking off, grinning, with gold. And so it was that Dad and I ended the day standing for the national anthem of China, and we can now tick off "watching an Olympic medal ceremony" on our list of life's achievements. [seven photos]
The stands weren't full when the first match in the session began, partly because the Arena's such a long walk up the Park, but most probably because bully off was at 8:30am. Spain and Australia came out for the shaking of hands and their respective anthems, then spread out across the pitch for the match proper. The accuracy with which these men could hit and receive was impressive, else the ball would regularly have flown off into an unmarked space and the game would have been mostly stop and start. With each thwack of the stick the playing surface threw up a fountain of water, convincing proof that the blue pitch wasn't painted grass but some artificial skin. We spectators had little idea of the relative abilities of the teams, but the five nil whitewash soon proved that Australia were the more talented side. Belgium versus the Netherlands was a much tighter match, and also supported by considerably more spectators from the respective countries. BestMate and I were sat amongst a smattering of Belgians, mostly families, cheering loudly but never raucously (except when their lone goal was scored). The Dutch were more in evidence, both in colour and in voice, with entire banks of seating seemingly coloured orange. Even when it rained, out came orange ponchos and up went orange brollies to maintain the illusion. As this second match neared conclusion the Belgians substituted their goalkeeper with a forward, so desperate were they to pull back into contention, but that backfired when they conceded a further goal and the final whistle saw them three one down.
I've seen several team game matches at the Olympics, but only one involving the host nation. Great Britain versus Argentina in the men's handball was a match heavy with unspoken subtext, although in the wider context of the Games nothing more than an obscure sideshow between the two weakest teams in Pool A. The crowd were wildly partisan throughout, even from the moment the two teams strode in from the changing rooms. Flags erupted from the stands, cheers rang out around the arena, and armchair sports fans offered shouts of encouragement to the GB team. Hopes were high at the start of the match, not least because few present realised we'd won neither of our previous matches. Things looked fairly close to begin with, as every British attack was applauded, and our goals raised the roof. Handball's a very end-to-end game, with players throwing and bouncing the ball around the edge of the D-zone before either hurling at goal or losing possession. It soon became clear that we were doing the latter more than the former, and the Argentine team edged into a slim but persistent lead. That didn't stop the cheers, and the crowd's increasingly over-optimistic hopes. The fifty-something couple behind me never stopped urging Our Lads on ("Come on Team GB!") or offering advice ("defend, defend!"), despite their vocal input having zero impact apart from contributing to the overall hubbub. By the second half the margin between the two teams was unassailable, but the flags still waved and the encouragement remained strong. It struck me how much the country has united behind Team GB, resolute in unflinching support, blinkered by the quest for medals. I can't get into it myself - I lack the euphoric empathy needed to be swept along by Olympic competition. So when the match ended and we were 32-21 down I wasn't downhearted, nor indeed disappointed, merely pleased to have attended another amazing Olympic event.
Today's one of the busiest days in the Olympic Park, as the Athletics finally kicks off and two additional stadiumfuls of spectators pour inside. But can the Park cope? It's been busy enough these last couple of days, especially at lunchtime and in the early evening inbetween sessions. With a hundred thousand more bodies milling around hunting for food, entertainment or the exit, there'll be a lot more pressure on the main routes between the venues. Up on the tarmac walkways an army of Games Makers are attempting to establish a "Keep Left" policy. It's worked well thus far, and has also prevented too many collisions with oncoming mobility vehicles. The network of footpaths nearer the river has also coped well, not least because most visitors haven't discovered they can walk this way. But there's an unexpected pressure point amongst the landscaped gardens, because people will insist on walking where they shouldn't.
The Park's designers haven't helped themselves in several respects. Several paths take the long route, so the shortcut across the flowers looks mighty tempting. Some of the paths in the Park are dead ends, so perhaps it's not surprising when people decide to continue. The big screens have insufficient lawn space, so spectators are trampling the bedding plants to get a view. One long semicircular lawn near the bandstand has only one entrance, so it's entirely understandable when people decide to head onwards through the vegetation at the far end. Some of the planted beds have low groundcover which is precisely the sort of thing you might walk across in woodland, so why not here? And once one person's walked the wrong way the path grows, and bad behaviour spreads.
I realise now how fortunate I was to see the gardens on their first morning - pristine, untouched and unsullied. Back then a number of Games Makers were dotted throughout the parkland, seemingly doing nothing, but they've since been withdrawn and now there's almost no supervision. It's a shame to see the Olympic Park Gardens being disrespected by visitors who don't seem to realise what they're doing. Don't worry, it's only a minor issue at the moment, and the 2012 Gardens in the southern half of the park are barely affected. The parklands are still absolutely gorgeous, a true triumph of the Games, but the degeneration can only increase.
Park Live succeeds because it's about sport. Indeed, it's the only place in the entire Olympic Park to keep up with what's going on in the rest of the Games. In conjunction with LOCOG, a giant two-sided video screen has been plonked in the centre of the River Lea, with spectator space on two landscaped lawns on either bank. There's something similar in Hyde Park and Victoria Park, but they have tacky marketing sideshows attached, whereas here it's just grass and flowers. If Rebecca's in the pool and you've not got tickets, you can watch her here. If Bradley's getting a medal, you can watch him here. OK, so every now and then the action cuts away to adverts for Major Airline, but nowhere near as often as you might expect. OK, so presenters insist on stalking the crowd and trying to whip up enthusiasm, but again, not so often. Staff hand out Union Jack plastic mats to sit on, and Team GB temporary tattoos for children, while stocks last. On Saturday there was plenty of space, and the lawns were pristine. By yesterday the grass was rammed, with folk squished into all the contoured lawns, nearly bursting out across the surrounding flowerbeds and cheering every British triumph. To all the companies below, if you'd made your pavilion more about sport than about yourselves, you might have been more successful.
Silver) Fizzy-drink Beatbox
This pavilion has a prime position in the Park, and looks like it ought to be fun. I mean, HD 3D Theatre, that's proper 21st century. Instead queueing takes an age, with 100 people let inside only every 25 minutes. You're given 3D glasses and urged to switch them on, although the glasses are black, the switch is black and the room is dark, so that's quite hard. Then you watch some Olympic-related promotional videos, and and see some of the latest Olympic events in 3D. And that doesn't last long enough. The action then switches to the back of the room where a cheesy salesman attempts to demonstrate the company's new smart TV set. The presentation was so forced that half the audience walked out early, and rightly so. Unless the queue's short, don't bother.
Fencing's one of those events that people only notice at the Olympics, and then not much because it gets drowned by the bigger sports. Hence the arena at ExCel was filled by thousands of people who weren't entirely sure of the rules of what they were going to see. A useful set of videos run at the start of each Olympic session, outlining the basics, but once the action starts you soon realise you've not taken enough of them on board. It took me some time to deduce that fencing is a "first to score 15" sport, which I could have read in my information leaflet except the grandstands were all bathed in darkness. In contrast the floor was lit up like the set of Tron, with a brightly coloured piste in each corner of the floor. Throughout our six hour session we got to watch four simultaneous fencing bouts, which didn't make for easy viewing. If a cheer went went up, you'd likely not know why. If some incident made a quarter of the crowd gasp, your eye was probably elsewhere. Things were easier when Team GB took to the stage, as the partisan crowd cheered them on to the exclusion of all others. Alas our top medal hope Richard Kruse crumbled quickly, and other plucky Brits weren't far behind. Instead we transferred our support to various international swordsmen of note, notably the dark horse Egyptian, swishing and parrying their way to success. Things would have been much easier to understand if there'd been a commentary, but that wasn't possible unless you paid ten pounds for an electronic gizmo. I'm sure London 2012 are dead proud of their radio-earphone service, but they completely failed to promote it apart from a single illegible poster in the services area and one brief sentence in the warm-up preamble. I thought the little purple boxes the programme sellers were clutching were Cadbury chocolates, and by the time I'd worked out otherwise it was too late to be interested. So I spent six hours in a mostly-baffled crowd, applauding politely, enjoying the spectacle. If you'd have been watching online, with commentary, you'd no doubt have felt closer to the action.
Normally it's two batsmen stepping out from the Pavilion End, but for the Olympics it's two archers. They emerge carrying their bow, and a spare bow just in case, and two white-suited MCC gentlemen open the wicker gate so they can proceed onto the pitch. Each stands at the firing line while their coach stands several paces behind, with a telescopic viewfinder for keeping track of line of fire. A quiver of fresh arrows is brought out for each round, that's three shots at target, which in this case is located directly 70m across the cricket square. Shots fire at 200kmh, which makes the arrows very hard to see, so the camera pointing at the bullseye is invaluable. It's amazing how many times the competitors managed to score 9 or 10, which we rewarded with applause or a cheer respectively, while anything below a 7 earned a dismayed sigh. The match swiftly equated to a game of mental arithmetic (9, 9 and what will beat 10, 7 and 8?), a subject at which the American commentator proved less than competent. Top seed Im Dong Hyun, who's the world record holder yet legally blind, sailed through against a competitor from San Marino. The crowd contained more than its fair share of South Koreans who waved plastic flags every time he won points, which was often. Other winners included the young, the middle aged, the fit and the obese - there are few athletic barriers to archery success. Definitely my favourite sport so far. [ten photos]
Only twelve countries get to take part in the Olympic women's basketball tournament, but it still takes an age to complete. They're not necessarily countries you'd expect to see either, and that's certainly the first time I've ever had to stand for the national anthem of Angola. Never mind the geography, feel the quality. These were teams with considerable talents, and considerably tall women too. With players up to six foot five in height, it clearly helps to be lanky, although it's not essential. More important is the killer instinct when throwing a ball, and it's astonishing the accuracy with which players can hit a hoop only 45cm in diameter. This was fast and furious end-to-end stuff, which kept the crowd loud and animated at all times. Turkey were always ahead in the first match, much to the delight of the Prime Minister who was watching from somewhere in the stands. Alas Michelle Obama didn't come to see the USA's women, she came the next day to see the men, but her girls needed little encouragement. Croatia stayed within striking distance until the fourth quarter when the game slipped away, a few too many missed chances, a few too many muffed shots. Not that you care. These are merely the preliminary rounds of a competition Team GB has no hope in, but when you're a spectator in the hyped-up cauldron of an Olympic arena, somehow which team wins briefly matters.
