My London 2012

London 2012 ended with the closing ceremony of the Paralympic Games Sunday as we said goodbye finally to a fantastic summer of sport. The Games, these games, were always going to be a little bit special, for me anyway, than other games just for my ability be part of the Games, in so many ways.

I knew it would be that way from the day London won the final shortlisted contest to hold the games, against Paris, beating the chic French capital which had a sensible and sustainable plan for using existing world class sporting facilities and exploiting its experience of holding world class sporting events. London's bolder plans, would involve reviving a dilapidated part of East London, but not before first tearing it down. That part of the East London district of Stratford was my home. That put me right in the middle. But at first, what I was in the middle of was a real mess!

Even as my own neighbourhood was spared the demolition ball, my relationship with the Olympic park that was being constructed nearly across the street from my home started badly. Initially the view of the Park was of nothing more than a barren expanse of rubble and mud. Oh, and don't mention the noise, the roaring and rumbling of construction vehicles in and out of the gateway and down our street.

But you take the good with the bad. In time the views of this rising phoenix improved, and you couldn't forget that the site was providing employment and economic activity at a time when words like the housing bubble and credit crunch entered our vocabulary. But the likely prospect of gentrification rared its head, lovely new condos started going up just down the road from public housing estates. Housing not aimed at East London's well established working class. Landlords bought up existing housing with dreams of making an Olympic sized killing.

As he economy tanked, the media turned its attention to the the (inevitable) cost over-runs and the general extravagance of holding the Games in such bad times. As the Olympics approached issues like the failure of the outsourced security firm to provide enough security guards for the Olympics focussed the media hype-machine on London's likely inability to organise the Games. Anyone who wasn't then obsessed with the possibility for terrorist attacks and general Armageddon had to worry about the simple things in London life that are about to be a little more difficult during the games. Even Transport for London, the people who run the trains were telling us it might be better if we could sometimes walk.

Then something special happened. The big clock at Stratford Station counting down the years, months and the hours to these games counted down to zero. Somebody said 'Let the games begin!'. I think it was the Queen, in fact fresh from jumping out of James Bond's helicopter. I was really her, I'm sure. Anyway, the best thing to actually happened to these games is that finally they were actually taking place.

16 wonderful Olympics days followed by 11 days of Paralympic Games, after a short break. Unprecedented television coverage for both sets of games including the ability to choose to watch just about any sport going on at any time. That's paradise for those obsessed with Takwando, Wheelchair basketball, or who could forget the beach volleyball. So, which team won again?

Helping Britain to fall in love with their Games was the fact that British athletes did so well, finishing third in both the Olympic and Paralympic medal tables. Oh, and when I say Britain, I refer to a country that I wasn't really sure existed until now. Of course we know Britain as a island household where a dysfunctional family of English, Scottish and Welsh nationalities reside, but given common Scottish disdain for anything English and English disregard for the rest of Britain I was amazed at the unifying ability of these Games. That was no more clearly evidenced by the newest fashion statement, the Union Jack now proudly placed anywhere where it could be seen, such as on a t-shirt on the top selling official Team GB gear. The Games brought the Union Jack out of the closet, and showed a country newly pleased with itself clearly not still embarrassed by that 300 year colonial empire thing.

Consider also that the three most popular sports in this nation of nations normally are, in the following order: football, football, and football. Other than the hype over David Beckham's NOT being selected to Team GB we were all amazed when the country's nation's obsession turned to sports like sailing where Britain were winning medals instead of losing on penalty shootouts.

As for the Games naysayers, well if they persisted they must have either had not much to say, or no one was listening. If pessimism was really the national trait of the British it was hard to see it now. Even the early summer soggy weather let up. The Games were great, well organised, and bearable even for Londoners who just wanted to get on with daily life, save a few minor inconveniences. That was the minor price to play in return for the festival atmosphere that descended upon London the last half of the summer, with thousands of flag-waving visitors from all corners of the world. I have yet to meet an Olympic or Paralympic Games hooligan.

There were those outstanding Gamesmakers, a gimmcky name, I thought at first, for the 70,000 volunteers who really do make the games happen and they made these Games what they were by directing people, high-fiving people and just making us remember, for a few weeks anyway, that although we're Londoners, we could try to speak to each other and maybe even to say something nice. Anyone who thinks they know should have seen us during the Games. You would hardly recognise the place. The good cheer among citizens was like nothing I had seen since the 2007 London Underground bombings. The theory then, was that it takes a disaster to bring out the best in Londoners. The 2012 Games, much to many people's surprise, was something well short of a disaster and the effect that it had on the city, nothing short of a miracle.

My one regret is that I had to leave my Stratford home, priced out of the area by a greedy landlord who will one day rot in hell. But I made it back there, anyway. Not as a local resident anymore, nor as a challenger to Usain Bolt's 100 metre record in the main stadium but as a journalist and a volunteer where several athletic performances lived up to the billing of 'inspiring a generation'.

But like all good things London 2012 has come to a end, leading people to turn their attention to 'legacy'. Stratford is now a bizarre social mis-match of gentrified areas located next to slums. But both rich and the poor are left with amazing transport links and some of the best sports facilities in the world. Some of the venues will remain open as training venues for elite athletes, future stars and ordinary guys like me just fighting to stay in shape.

The Games will return, first the winter games to Sochi in 2014, then the next summer games in Rio two years after. Then to other places where they will surely touch the lives of others the way like they have touched me in London my home for many years. You see, whenever the Olympics arrives practically in your own backyard, and you see the way that it changes the collective mood of a moody nation at a difficult time in its history, you understand then that you have just experienced a once in a lifetime event. And then you can only wait for the next one.