Of course the London cabbies aren’t happy. A bit like the farmers, they reckon there is nothing perfect in this world.
The fellow who picked us up from Heathrow on our way to our rabbit warren in King's Cross, was bemoaning the fact that the Olympics only traffic lane would be as close to the end of the world that you’d ever get.
There were threats of strikes, of Games disruptions through the weather, of security issues. It’s a constant at every Games when naysayers enjoy their moment.
Still, the world continued to function and in brilliant sunshine too – though rain was on its way – as London busied itself for the best Games of all time. They all say that, but this might just be true.
Getting through airports these days is a nightmare, and maybe it was because of the dawn touchdown of the West Australian’s Olympic team but there was never been a smoother transition. Less than 30 minutes from hitting the sun-kissed tarmac and we were on our way to the digs.
Flick the telly on – the remote was remote – and the Brits were bathing themselves in Games glory, and Bradley Wiggins’ tour de force in the Tour de France.
And to set the scene for the coming battle, one of the London papers gave Adam Scott a decent serve for his British Open implosion. One of the headlines read: You wouldn’t Adam and Eve it.
The Poms are on a high, and so they should be. There are bigger fish to fry but beating the Aussies remain high on the agenda.
Aside from the squirrels burying nuts under the sand use for beach volleyball, all the venues are in sparkling condition, ready to host London’s third Olympics.
It should be some sort of a show.