Pride

I am so incredibly proud to be British right now. Granted, this is my adopted nation and I will always, always be a Saffa deep down (I can't help it: my accent refuses to budge). But this is where I live now and I love this country. And at this moment, the culmination - the forthcoming Paralympics notwithstanding - of a fortnight of emotions coursing through our collective CNS, my heart is bursting with pride and utter joy.

The pomp and ceremony of the opening ceremony, the glamour and celebration of the closing one - and everything in between. How fabulous were our athletes? But more so, the welcome London gave to its visitors. British stoicism? Pah! Personified in the closing ceremony, it seemed that the world put its differences aside for half a month and united in a shared moment of glorious sporting achievement. (I said "it seemed"; I'm not naive. Though, like Lennon, I dream of a world without borders.)

Right now, the world is united at the hippest pah-tay ever. Oh to be there. Oh for the feeling to continue forever. Perhaps we should oust the politicians and allow the natural order - the musicians and artists and sportspeople and the rest of us - the honour of running our world.