The closing ceremony. Emeli Sande gets three more opportunities on a global stage to prove she can sing in tune. All of them wasted. The Who talk about their generation again (they've been yapping about it for almost half a century now - what's left to be said?). Madness's house is still in the middle of their street. Annie Lennox, wearing Ann Summers gothic-lite, plastered inexplicably (and bawling unpleasantly) to the prow of a vampire ship. Liam charmlessly intones Wonderwall. George Michael does his relieved-not-to-be-dead-from-pneumonia dirge.
Who'd have thought I'd be so happy to see the Spice Girls? There is proper excitement as they whiz around the stadium, standing on the roofs of taxis like Spicy charioteers. And they sound good (take note, Sande).
I check in with myself. Is this really happening? Yes, it is.
Freddie. If only you'd been there in person. You'd have torn us a new Stadium.
The flame is extinguished. Darcy Bussell does a metaphorical dance. Coe does some words. Rogge does some anti-charisma (he's like the safety curtain coming down).
And finally, it's all over.
Let's hope a generation is inspired (preferably not The Who's...).
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