It’s the end of the world as we know it

Well, that all went surprisingly well, didn’t it?

Hang your cynical head in shame, because I’ll tell you something: London 2012 was a spectacular success.

Forget for a moment that Russell Brand sang ‘I am the Walrus’ and Liam Gallagher was, well, there. Forget the fact that you were anxiously looking at your watch from 10.30 onwards last night wondering if this thing would ever end. And forget, most of all, that the way it all ended wasn’t quite as good as the way it all began.

The fact is, few of us have witnessed a better couple of weeks in this country and we have well and truly waved our cheap plastic flags in the face of anyone who dared to question that we’d have the gumption to put on such an event.

OK, so it would have been nice if we could have achieved 30 golds, if only to leave us with a nice round number, but we can’t really complain with the 29, whilst at least some credit has to go to those who muscled in on the act with a silver or bronze. And all with the backdrop of a Mayor who dances to The Spice Girls, a Python who dabbles in a bit of Bollywood and a Bean who demonstrates remarkable dexterity with an umbrella. Now that’s what I call British.

The problem is, what do we do now? I suppose the flags will go back in the drawer, the bunting will be taken down and we’ll have to start shaking our fists at one another once again rather than holding hands in communal celebration. We’ll look at the Leisure Centre flyers dropping through our door, will picture ourselves pedalling away with all the ferocity of Chris Hoy and will briefly, just briefly, think about signing up. Then, as the theme music to Coronation Street kicks in, the only pedalling we’ll do will be stepping on the pedal-bin lever, opening the lid to deposit the flyer, while we whisper ‘honey, I’m home’ to the sofa and settle down with a bag of cookies to work on our curves.

Or, perhaps not. Perhaps this really will change things and we’ll all be jogging down the street, shooting pigeons and show-jumping on the backs of unsuspecting Labradors. Perhaps – and it’s a big perhaps – someone somewhere will get out a calculator and will realise that spending lots of money on this sort of thing will actually save us money when people stop needing to be wheeled into the local A&E for thousands of pounds of treatment that a few brisk walks to the shops would have prevented.

And when you’re reading that Daily Mail and are tempted to join in with the moaning about immigration, just remember two names: Mo Farah.

Maybe, just maybe, it won’t be the end of the world as we know it but the start of a whole new one (cue the song from Aladdin…). Now, wouldn’t that have made the last two weeks worth it all?