Beaming

Another four years have passed, and it's fair to say my Olympic dream is well and truly over - assuming that the wick had ever realistically been lit. Flickers of hope had been at their brightest during the Nadia Comăneci years. Let's see (quick diversion to ask Mr Google). Mid-seventies, I must've been about 12. Twelve and full of Olympic hopes, I'm not sure if the dreams were colour or black and white, as I can't for the life of me remember when we got our first colour telly

Flicking ribbons around the living room, sticking my chest out and thrusting out my buttocks I was the Kiwi Nadia, I was the Kiwi Olga. I was a  natural. Unfortunately with a distended puku which had nothing to do with hunger, I thumped and thundered around the house. Dad might've made the odd comment about foundations and the house but parents are prone to exaggeration. I should know, I am one.

The particular event I thought I was born for was the beam. Not sure if it's called the beam, but it's that big bit of wood on legs. My beam was the back of the couch. It did not fair well, and I think in respect for the couch, I will not divulge any further details.Suffice to say, it was the never quite the same again. And I wonder how many couches around the world faired over the excitement of Nadia's achievements.

So now, we look agog at the latest London spectacle. We ooo and arrgh in all the rights spots. It was after all a very oooo'able and arrgh'able event, it is worth the accolades and comparisons.

But where did the last four years go, and as I have no gold clinking together to show for it, what has happened to that great big bit of time? And where will we be in 2016.

I wonder what Nadia is doing now, and if she ever wrecked a couch? I'm off for a little cyber bothering.