I’m in my own Olympics, dodging tourists on the tube.
Looping in and out, slipping through gaps - waiting for the perfect moment to move.
Just miss the camera lens dangling around their neck as they stand, hands on hips, staring blankly at a map.
I’m counting the number of logos slapped on cars, on signs, on clothes.
Thousands of volunteers beam and cheer as we line up to see the shows.
I’m stretching high above the crowds to glimpse the dreams of a golden few that sky above the rest of them, waving flags for the world to view.
I’m in my own Olympics, I’m negotiating my pace.
Fast to wake up and then walk part way, I’m planning it all – just in case.
I like this chilled out London – I don’t really mind the change, I just let things flow and smile to myself as the tourists wander the wrong way.
The world will shrink back to normal; as all the dreamers sink back to their daylight achievements.
So I’m holding on tight until the tickertape falls, the seats become empty and they’ve run the last race.
But for now at least, I’m in my own Olympics -
And I'm beating London to the last bit of space.