marksimpson.com

I’m still in shock after watch­ing the han­dover to the Lon­don Olympics in Bei­jing. Please tell me it was a bad dream and that on your goggle-box you saw some­thing much less horrifying.

The Mayor of Lon­don Boris John­son looked like he’d put on his worst suit — sorry, some­one else’s worst suit — and slept in it all the way to China.  Adding to his impact, he gen­er­ally behaved like some­one from a Home for the Ter­mi­nally Bewil­dered on a rare day out.

As for the show the Brits put on, fea­tur­ing a mor­ph­ing red Lon­don bus, hordes of annoy­ing dancers — it looked like a Cliff Richard film directed by Brent Coun­cil, but less fun.

And then the cli­max: David Beck­ham pop­ping out of the top of the bus like Saman­tha Fox out of a birth­day cake, to the tunes of ‘Whole Lotta Love’ warbled by crummy TV tal­ent show win­ner Leona Lewis in crino­lene, stuck on the end of a pole like a dodgy Christ­mas decoration.

How the world went wild as he showed us his lat­est cos­metic surgery! (My tranny friend Michelle tells me he’s had his eyes done, the upper bags — and I never doubt her judge­ment about these things).  Before expertly kick­ing a ball into the wrong part of the stadium.

It was a com­plete and utter dis­as­ter and embar­rass­ment.  A com­edy of errors with no redeem­ing qual­i­ties whatsoever.

Wel­come to London.

No, really, you’re wel­come to it.