Oh look, it’s a blog post about the Olympic opening ceremony. If you don’t want to know what happened, look away now. And crawl back under the stone you’ve obviously been hiding under since the UK very nearly COMBUSTED WITH PRIDE on Friday night.

Let’s face it, that was better than we expected, right? Us Brits aren’t particularly good at an awful lot, apart from showing resilience in the face of July rain. I don’t mean we’re useless, but on the whole we’re never really anything better than ‘average-to-good’ are we? And that’s exactly what most of us were expecting as we settled down with a cuppa/pint/takeaway meal of another country’s cuisine at 8.50pm.

And then the camera panned to sheep, and we all held our heads in our hands as we imagined the Chinese laughing and pointing at us in perfect unison.

But suddenly, the sky blackened and Kenneth Brannagh went all ‘sexy Brunel’ on us and these big ol’ chimney pipes emerged out of the long jump pits and everyone shut up. Apart from Trevor Nelson, but let’s not get onto that now. And over the next couple of hours Sir Danny Boyle had us laughing, crying (just me and my Dad then?) and recoiling in horror at the child catcher. He even gave the world a bit of an ‘Up Yours’ as he reminded them that the WWW is one of ours. (To that point, I heard that an NBC commentator rather ironically telling the audience to Google Tim B-L if they hadn’t heard of him).

I had one eye on Twitter during the ceremony, and am flabbergasted that for the first time ever Sir Boyle managed to create an entirely positive feed. He won not only the respect and praise of a nation, but also THE INTERNET.

The story of our country was magnificently regaled, history and music and culture and emotion wrapped up in a delicious Olympic stadium-sized ball. And for the first time, we felt that calling ourselves Great Britain wasn’t so much a hyperbole than a fact.

Oh, and the flame kicked the ass of every flame ever lit.

Even the one by that guy with a rocket strapped to his back.

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