Olympic highlights you just can't beat

An opening ceremony post-mortem gets Terri Psiakis right into the Olympic spirit.

So many highlights, so little time. Two-thousand-and-eight drummers banging on under strobe lighting was an epileptics delight, no? And what great planning: they were drumming with glow-sticks, meaning they could go straight to the nearest nightclub after the gig.

I admired the precision of these performers. I was also in awe of the inanity of the commentary team when these 2008 drummers went full steam: “Even if you were deaf you’d know there was something very big about to happen here.” Yeah. Seeing 2008 of anything tends to suggest that.

In the first twenty minutes I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the audio commentary of the Channel 7 camera operators and technicians, which somehow accidentally made it into the audio that we heard at home. Not only did it give me an insight into what’s involved in broadcasting such an event, but it made me feel like there was a small chance that maybe they were trying to pull off a moon-landing as well.

The little Chinese girl who ‘sang’ and flew through the air was gorgeous but was I the only one who thought she looked a bit glazed? I’m tipping she brought a surge of nostalgia to Nikki Webster, who was probably thinking, “Enjoy it while it lasts, kiddo, because one minute you’re entertaining a global audience of millions and the next you’ll be showcasing your cleavage for FHM.”

Meanwhile, the guys with the fluoro tracksuits made me panic for two reasons. One: because their pants were pulled up so high it looked painful, and two: because I honestly thought that where there was that much fluoro involved, someone was bound to burst into Pump Up The Jam.

The only part of the ceremony that didn’t trip my trigger involved Sarah Brightman’s duet with Chinese singer Liu Huan. Brightman might be bang up for a good old Olympic sing but I still haven’t forgiven her for inflicting Amigos Para Siempre on us with Jose Carreras at the 1992 Barcelona closing ceremony. Surely there’s another woman out there who can belt out a tune? Seriously, I don’t care who it is. My challenge for London in 2012: piss Brightman off and let the Pussycat Dolls have a crack.