The London Olympics, presented in analogous form as a night on the tiles.

This night on the tiles could be one that you dread; there are going to be a lot of people you don’t know there, and quite a few people that you don’t like. But there are some you do like, and the blond haired buffoon who seems to be doing the organising is generally good for a laugh, plus it would be very rude indeed to just avoid going. So you resolve to go along with it and give it a go, reserving your usual excuses if you need to leave early due to chronic boredom.

The first thing you do is head to a surprisingly nice pub, with some entertainment on; this pub could be called Opening Ceremony. This is a very enjoyable experience, with much to watch and discuss, even if some of it is just bonkers.

Then there’s the taxi to the next establishment, and while nothing too fun, at least all the travel just works, despite the usual concerns about moving around on a busy night.

The next drinking spot is again a lot of fun; it’s called Home Nation Doing Well, and everyone seems to enjoy themselves in a nice harmless fashion. Bit too much crying for my tastes, but that’s OK.

Another hour, another place to stop, this time Going to Events yourself, in my case this had a horsey theme and a general feeling of being both sunny and bloody wet, but still a laugh.

Next up: Ireland’s Record – best ever performance. Much drink was had.

And then some fucker insists that we all have tequila. Nobody really wants it, nobody ever enjoys it, and everybody feels better for it. However, it’s still forced upon us, this bottle of cheap Closing Ceremony. And it leaves a bad taste in the mouth, after an otherwise decent time.