Dad was 15yrs when he went to the 1948 London Olympics. A train to blitz damaged london, walk up to Wembley stadium and buy a ticket on the door. The Games were a sign of hope of recovery. We didn’t think London would be able to host them. We had humility and hope.
Dad’s a spritely 80yr old. He walks the 4 miles to the local Post Office to pick up his pension. He’s webmaster for 3 websites, one for:
- his village.
- a group of retired engineering professionals.
- an engineering historical society.
Dad’s built computers and can program in many languages. He’s no technical pansey, he likes to try things out. Dad’s always insisted that all his children have to be Engineers. Engineering skills are fundamental survival skills and they bring joy – solving problems elegantly, beautifully. Obviously I’m biased, but I agree with dad.
- he’s old
- London is difficult to get to
- he’s lost interest in sport
Dad’s not going because of the ‘Hoohah’ around the sale of the tickets and the whole organisation of the affair. In their current form the Olympic games have lost their beauty of celebrating athletic prowism. This beauty may still be there but sight of it is lost amongst all the other dross it’s dressed in.
Dad did start to try and buy tickets but was too annoyed by the lack of common sense in the process the ticket sales people had put in place. It lacked the wisdom of simple engineering. I too gave up in the process. One thing shines through for me
I love my dad
And like him I’m disappointed in how the London version of the Olympics have evolved since 1948