Pictures speak louder than words, but I have a headache so I wish they’d shut up.


I may have bagged the shit out of the torch a mere few blogs ago, but that doesn’t mean I hold the same disdain for the actual Olympics, the part where incredibly fit people with incredibly fit bodies compete against each other to see who can run, jump, swim, throw heavy shit far and beat each other up better than anyone else in the world. No, that bit I like.

So I went off to the women’s handball gold medal match. We don’t really have handball in Australia. I first saw it four years ago watching the Beijing Olympics. I thought it was cool, sort of like basketball, only faster, rougher and with some crazy leaping technique to shoot a goal that just fascinated me. Apparently handball is huge in Europe. Looking around the crowd, apparently handball is huge amongst lesbo’s in Europe too.

Now before you get on your PC high horse, I wouldn’t call myself a lesbian, but my girlfriend would, so technically I’m allowed to say lesbo. Kind of like in Australia how if you’re descended from Mediterraneans, you can call yourself a wog, but coming from someone else it could be taken as offensive, depending on the context. Then again, that’s why the word “skip” was invented, so they could get us back by calling us a kangaroo. Personally, I look like a wog but I’m descended from Brits, so I got to play on both sides of the racial lines when I was a kid. Yeah, that’s right, I was promoting cultural integration from the playground. Besides, with all those exotic salamis and amazing cakes, the wogs had the better lunch boxes to share from, but I guess we never learnt that till we grew up and our taste buds developed past vegemite and cheese.

Where was I? The Olympics. Yes.Well. It was as expected; crowds, queues, extortionate prices and the above mentioned fit people running around proving that they are in fact as fit as they look. I wasn’t going to write anything about it but I thought shit, you live in London, you write a blog, you should at least acknowledge its existence. So since I love a bit of people watching, or maybe because I’m not feeling well, which I suspect has something to do with all the empty bottles strewn across the kitchen bench, I think today I’ll just shut up and let my pictures speak for me (although my smart-arse captions might beg to differ that that’s what I’m doing).

Here’s how I saw the 2012 London Olympics…

The Face of Britain

Mr America

Due to typical British understatement and decorum you may not think it, but this little English fan is actually going crazy for her favourite team right now

The Norwegians on the other hand are taught from infancy to just let it all hang out.

I think they’re jealous of my new camera

It’s handball, not karate! Haaaaaand baaaaalllll.

Winners are grinners

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