A Good Ending

I watched the majority of the closing ceremony of the Olympics last night and whilst I was disappointed in it, I was also glad about that.

This sounds a funny thing to say I know.  Why on earth would I be glad that the closing ceremony wasn't anywhere near as good as was expected?

The answer to that question is that for me, the bad ending restored the balance of things.  I'm British.  We never expect everything to go well and, in my case at least, I don't trust something when every component goes exactly the way that it should.

I went into this Olympics I suspect much like many others in the British Isles.  Sceptical, wary and praying to hell that we wouldn't show ourselves up.

What happened in fact was that the opening ceremony was more than I could have ever expected it to be.  The games were carried out well and with decorum from the majority.  All of our athletes did us proud and we won more medals than we had ever expected.

Pride has been restored to the country and we experienced that wonderful "joining together" that us Brits are famous for doing, but so rarely do.

If the closing ceremony had in fact been just as good, I have a feeling that in time, we would have all have forgotten just how wonderful these two weeks have been.  Do you know why?  Because we wouldn't have trusted our memories.  Being the cynical creatures that most of us are, I believe that in a few months the memories would have been clouded.

Now though, we have our badly ending ceremony that will let us keep our memories the way we remember them now.  We can keep those glorious two weeks of celebration, hope and joining together.  They will stay in our memories now, because everything wasn't perfect.  Nothing that is really really good ever is.

 

It will probably sound strange to those of foreign climes, it may even sound strange to people from Great Britain, this thinking may just be may own.  But hey, it's my blog with my own thoughts.

GREAT Britain

I’ve watched more sport this weekend in one go than I think I ever have in my life.  Athletics, gymnastics, swimming, tennis, you name it and I’ve probably watched it.

I’ve never really been a sports fan apart from Formula One.  Suddenly this weekend I found myself cheering people on in sports I had never seen before, talking tactics on the 100m sprint and half way through the Murray/Federer match looking up tennis rules so I could understand what was going on!  By the end of the weekend “God Save the Queen” was practically running through my veins and I was more proud to be British than I ever have been.

You can say what you want about Great Britain.  Yes, we are usually a nation of moaners.  We expect the worst to happen and presume that it will.  We are self deprecating and constantly pick ourselves to pieces.  We are allowed to do this.  It’s our right, we live here.  But God help someone on the outside who tries to take us down.

It is exactly one year since the riots occurred and the spirit the supporters have shown in Olympic games really shows how far we have come since then.  I think that the riots happening shocked all of us and made us wonder just how fractured as a nation we had truly become.  The clean up organised afterwards was the first sign for me that people were standing together and refusing to let us fall apart. 

One thing Great Britain is truly good at, although it has been some time since it has happened, is joining together as one.  There can be no better example of this than when Jessica Ennis was in the final stage of the Heptathlon running in the 800m.  I have never in my life seen, heard or felt anything like what happened that night.  The roar of the stadium which grew and grew, the overwhelming feeling of pride and support for one of our own, it was truly unbelievable and something I don’t think I will ever forget.

You will always have the idiots of course, like Tom Daley’s Twitter troll and the Daily Mail (no explanation needed is there?).  Overwhelming though this weekend our sports men and women and the supporters both in the stadium and watching at home have stood together as a nation and reminded us that Great Britain truly is great.   We need to remember this feeling and carry it on.  Be proud to be British.  

What's in a Name?

Changing your name is a lengthy process, full of millions of letters and in the case of passports and driving licences, lots of money.

I have been thinking for a while now of changing my name.  Well, when I say changing it, what I actually mean is reverting back to the name on my birth certificate.  Given the time, documentation and money involved, as well as the emotional ramifications, this decision has taken a while to reach.

I was eight when my dad died and just over a year later my mum remarried.  Although I was happy to see her resettled, and he was and is the best stepfather I could have hoped for, from then onwards I felt disjointed.

Maybe it was the little girl’s way of thinking, but I remember at that time feeling that I wasn’t a proper member of a family anymore.  When the holiday tickets used to arrive each year with the different names on it felt strange and wrong.  Like I was a leftover from an old relationship. 

When I reached 11 after talking about how I felt it was decided that I would change my name to the new surname.  Given my age I didn’t need to bother with change of name deeds and I didn’t want to go down the adoption route, so I simply started using the new surname.

Years down the line and now I’m 33.  Whilst I understand my reasoning for wanting to change my surname when a child, I now miss my old surname.  I miss the connection it gave me to my dad and I’ve found, that although I call myself by my stepfather’s name, I still think of myself in terms of my dad’s name.

I don’t need the sense of belonging like I did when I was a child.  Taking back my former name is in a sense reconnecting with my younger self and that is something I want.  So much of my life went awry after my dad died and now I think I have finally dealt with all that, I want a new start with the old me.

So, after I have a long talk with my step father, whom I love a lot and want him to understand, I will be going back.  

Hello Vicky Cooper.  I’ve missed you, a lot.