The Spirit of the Games.

On tonight’s edition of Winter Olympics from Sochi, they showed a replay of the medal ceremony for the Women’s Skeleton – that’s where some fit young filly lies flat on her stomach on a slidey piece of wood and goes ZOOM… down the bobsleigh track (it’s quite exciting, actually, unlike the men’s ice dancing which is about as exciting as sucking the finger of an old woollen glove with a peg over your nose.) Anyway, the medal positions were as follows:

1. Great Britain

2. USA

3. Russia

(HA!)

What I found a bit suspicious about it was this:

When the big posh bloke with grey hair came out to present the medals, he shook the hands of the American and Russian girls, but he kissed the Brit. Why would he do that? I mean, if he was only going to kiss one of them, why not kiss the Russian who was easily the prettiest? Whatever his excuse for being less than discerning, however, does it perhaps indicate that he’s a bit of a bounder on the quiet? Bit flagrant, don’t you think? In which case, shouldn’t he be in Siberia rather than Sochi?

And another thing: I couldn’t help noticing how much more properly reserved the British girl was than the American, who spent the whole of the time waiting for her name to be called doing a routine from Saturday Night Fever. They just don’t know how to behave in distinguished company, these colonials. I’ll never get the hang of them.

So what’s my favourite event so far, me being a relative stranger to Winter Olympics?

The women’s snowboarding, without a doubt. The girls exhibit a great sense of camaraderie with the other contestants (which is what sport should be about,) they wear big baggy trousers and a parka with a hood, and they’re dead scrummy – even the Australian, who came third.

(Could it be that I’m missing the point of all this, I wonder.)