I love the Olympics!

There, I've said it. Me, who has never so much as watched a whole Olympics before. Even living in the same village as a past Olympian didn't pique my interest for the Games.

But  I've spent the last two weeks glued to the television.When did we get so good at sport? I'm sure the last time I watched we regularly limped home in 6th place, with the exception of the rowers who always seemed to do well and I cheered with the best of them when Sir Steve Redgrave, still the greatest Olympian for me because he excelled at his sport while battling ulcerative colitis and Type 1 diabetes, won his fourth gold in the Coxless Four.

Maybe because it was a home Games, maybe because we were watching it all in our own time zone, but from the magnificently fantabulous Opening Ceremony to the last note of the Closing Ceremony, I was transfixed.

I cried when Mo Farah won his second gold and cheered myself hoarse when Jessica Ennis won the Heptathlon. I jumped around the room when the rowers came home with so many medals and had the wonderful experience of being in Ed McKeevor's home town at the very moment he won his gold in the Canoe Sprint. I watched the beauty of the dressage, and  peered through my fingers at Tom Daley and the divers, not because I have no head for heights but because I have a low tolerance level for men in budgie-smugglers. I fell secretly in love with Usain Bolt and punched the air with Bert du Clos when his son beat Michael Phelps in the swimming. If I could, I'd grow sideburns like Bradley Wiggins.

The media would have us believe that we couldn't put on an Olympic Games; the transport network would collapse, the athletes would all miss their event while they were stuck in traffic jams. Al Quaeda would definitely launch an attack and so they droned on like modern day prophets of doom. But we stuck it to all the naysayers and gloom mongers and put on what is widely agreed to be the best Olympic Games of the modern age. Even The Australian grudgingly admitted it was probably better than Sydney 2000, and that was a fabulous event, although in fairness I only watched the closing ceremony. It was probably the best advert for all that is good in this country, for our wonderful people, our slightly quirky sense of humour, our eccentricity and the beauty of our country.  I had no doubts about it. If nothing else, we can put on a good event. Look at the Queen's Jubilees, the Royal Weddings, we have lots of experience.

But to top it off by coming a very easy third in the medals table, from a country that is supposed to be the fattest, laziest and drunkest in Europe according to, oh yes, the media again, was just pure joy.

The only downside for me, not surprisingly, was the football. I caught the last few minutes of the GB-Korea match and the unedifying sight of the GB supporters booing the Koreans every time they came up to take a penalty. I was quietly pleased when the Korean knocked them out. This behaviour was definitely not in the spirit of the Olympics. I was unaware of the controversy beforehand, with Northern Ireland and Scotland refusing to allow their players to take part in a combined team and the Welsh players refusing to sing the National Anthem. I was delighted to read in the papers today that there will be no Team GB football in Rio. Hooray I say!  Strangely enough, Welsh and Northern Irish athletes had no problem competing for Team GB in other disciplines. Is it any wonder I hate everything about football?  Even the women's team players seemed crass and vulgar compared to the other athletes.

Three days after the end of the Games, I am in full Olympics withdrawal mode. It did wonders for our national spirit in these recessionary times, giving us something to focus on apart from politicians and the economy. For two glorious weeks, nothing else mattered as we cheered on our national athletes, many of whom had overcome lack of funding and made huge personal sacrifices to be there. They are our new role models and long may it continue. More Ennis and less Kardashian would make me a very happy girl.

Let's hope that the legacy of the Olympics continues and we can build on our stunning success and get more young people into sport. I'm pushing The Boy to work hard at his rowing so I can be the Bert du Clos of the Rio Olympics!

Dear Monsieur Hollande...

As we go into the second week of  NotTheParisOlympicsYetAgain 2012, I can't help but think that maybe the French president, Francois Hollande, is rather wishing he'd kept his mouth shut when he visited the games last week.

As he joined David Cameron for one of the handball matches, he couldn't help but gloat over France's superior medal tally, rather patronisingly commenting that he would put France's medals into a 'European' pot so us Brits could be proud to be Europeans.

What a difference a week makes. With Team GB sat in third place in the medal tables, comfortably separated from France by a country which eats dog - as one spoof news website said - it is probably Monsieur Hollande who will be begging for Britain's superior haul of medals to be added to his European pot. Smugness never befits a politician and has a funny way of coming right round and biting you on the derriere. 

We don't need to be proud to be Europeans, Monsieur Hollande. We're very proud to be British. Go Team GB!

Were are all zee French medals? Zut alors, zay win ze Tour de France
and now zay whoop our sorry derrieres in ze medal tables

My own little bit of Olympic history

 I thought I'd start this post by sharing with you my American cousin's e-mail that she sent to me shortly after the Opening Ceremony of the London 2012 games. Patty had been at the 1948 opening ceremony as her dad, my grandfather's cousin, was head boatsman for the US Olympic team. Patty had been on a cycling holiday in the UK and ended up at the Games by accident, when a friend who had tickets fell ill.  She still has a movie her mother made of the Ceremony. What a wonderful slice of history.

"... I spent 4 hours with you last night in London via TV.  What a performance!!  However, I couldn't help contrast it with the 1948 opening ceremony when it was ALL the athletes, real doves released, and only one torch bearer bringing in the flame -- Roger Bannister, I think.  There might have been some speeches, then the athletes came in country by country led by boys (scouts I think) carrying the country flag.  (These little boys stood in front of each country throughout the ceremony, fainting regularly in the terrific heat -- 95 I think.)  I am going to watch Mother's movie (I had it transferred to DVD) of their 1948 trip and I hope it has some of the opening ceremony on it.  The best part for me was outside Wembley Stadium mingling with all the athletes prior to the ceremonies as we tried to find Daddy.  We never did find him.  One of the gorgeous Irish athletes in his green jacket was quite taken with cousin Grace as she was a beautiful 6 foot girl.  We were so lucky to get to the opening ceremonies.  The old buddy of Daddy's in whose home we stayed in Windsor -- along with Mother and an Aunt Violet -- had precious tickets to the opening ceremony and then he came down with a terrible attack of gout and couldn't attend so we all got to go -- Mother, cousin Grace, friend Sally and me  (we three had just finished our 8 week bicycle trip throughout the British Isles).  Wonderful memories."


Our family has had a long association with rivers and boatbuilding, my dad's side of the family being one of the foremost builders of Thames Lighters. 

Photo of Thames Lighters with the family business
in the right hand corner. This is at the National Maritime
Museum although we have a better copy at home

There is a photo of their boatyard in the National Maritime Museum and  a road named after them in Southwark, where much of their business was based. 

Patty's dad, George, was the son of an itinerant boat builder from Teddington in Middlesex, who went on to become the head boatsman for Eton College, hand building racing sculls for the  college rowing team, later helped by George and his brother Richard (Dick). In 1910, Dick won the coveted Doggett Coat and Badge race, believed to be the oldest continuous sporting event in the world.  It is open to six competitors each year who are watermen, making their living on the Thames. Winners received a red coat and matching breeches as well as a large silver badge, almost the size of a dinner plate.  In the early 1900s, a victim of internal politics and rivalries at Eton, he lost his job and although his position was offered to his sons, in a show of loyalty to their father, they turned the offer down. With little work around they decided to emigrate to one of the countries of the Empire and although Australia was a favourite due to the popularity of rowing, they opted instead for Canada which had a ready supply of cedar for building the boats. 


After a hard couple of years working at logging sites around British Columbia, they accepted a commission to build a racing shell for the University of Vancouver. Soon word spread that professionally built racing sculls were available in British Columbia and before long they were contacted by the University of Washington rowing coach, Hiram Conybear, and asked to build 12 eight seater shells for the Varsity Rowing Team (known as the Huskies).  They called for their father to help and he arrived from England only to find that Coach Conybear could now only afford to build one shell. Stuck for work again, George went to work for Boeing, while Dick was asked to build racing shells for Yale University, a position he kept for the rest of his working life. Meanwhile, in 1922, George was able to return to his true passion, building the best and fastest racing sculls in the world for the University of Washington in Seattle, where the family still lives.  He is responsible for many of the innovations of modern rowing such as sliding seats, lightweight oars and a unique steering system that replaced the old tiller.

The US team edge out the Germans to win Gold
in the 8 man event at the 1936 Berlin Olympics

After an unbeaten season, the University of Washington 8 man crew won the national qualifiers for the 1936 Berlin Olympic Games. The Germans were hotly tipped to win, but in a boat that George had designed especially for the Games, and in front of a crowd of 100,000 spectators, the US team came from behind to beat the German and Italians and win the Gold medal. Adolf Hitler was apparently not very happy. The boat, named the Husky Clipper, still hangs from the ceiling in the University boat house dining room.


The next Games were held 12 years later in 1948 in London and George was not only head boatsman for the US team but was also appointed coach of the four man (quad) crew. So that's how Patty ended up at the Games. George's crew won Gold in their event and, although the eights was won by the University of California, they were at least in one of his boats.


More gold medals followed at the Olympics in 1952, 1956, 1960 and 1964 before George retired from professional boat building in 1970. His son, Stan, coached several successful US Olympic rowing teams himself and in 1984 co-founded a Rowing Foundation in his father's name, to promote the sport in the Northwest of the US. It is now home to 8 rowing clubs and over 400 rowing enthusiasts and champions young rowers.


Today, although they have largely moved away from the handbuilt cedar boats to more modern fibreglass ones, George's boats are still considered some of the finest in the world. In 1999, George was voted one of Seattle's 25 most influential sports figures of the 20th Century.


The Boy has just taken up rowing and has taken to it like a duck to water. Must be the family genes. Maybe one day we'll see a member of George's family rowing one of his boats in a competition.


So there you have it. My own little bit of Olympic history. Not only that, it is this history that has reunited our two sides of the family after nearly 90 years. Growing up I had always heard the story of George and his racing shells but in 1910, when George and Dick emigrated, communication was so much more difficult and his side and my side of the family lost touch. It was while researching my family's Thames Barges that I came across the website for George's Racing Foundation. I got in touch and shortly heard back from Stan and Patty. Despite their advancing years (and I'm sure they won't mind me mentioning it) we have exchanged e-mails for the past few years and between us filled in a lot of our shared family history. Stan very kindly sent me a wonderful book he had written, his memoirs of a life in rowing, which sits proudly on my coffee table.  I'm often amazed at the strong family resemblance between us.


We found some amazing coincidences.  I've walked past their grandfather's old house in Teddington many times, not knowing of the link to our family history. Not only that but I moved to a little village on the Thames, not believing there to be any family connections at all. In fact, we'd been living in London and I had never even heard of  this particular village before.  I later discovered that George had grown up just down the road and had gone to a little village school where my own children went to nursery some 90 years later. And George's wife was called Frances Huckle, which was the same name as my best friend from primary school. A relation? That would be a coincidence too far!


I'm very proud of our family links to the Thames, to rowing and to the Olympics and it has been lovely to share Patty's memories of our little bit of Olympic history. We'll both be glued to the action at Eton Dorney, where, for our family, it really all began.

George Yeomans Pocock, master boat builder, who
changed the face of modern rowing. Taken in 1959
in his workshop

Bringing up Bébé

The whole question of children and child rearing has been very much on the agenda in the past weeks. Firstly, the press has leaped on the new book 'French Children Don't Throw Food' by Pamela Druckerman, a middle class American living in a middle class suburb of Paris, whose limited experience of French children seems to have made her some sort of childcare expert.  Of course, anyone who has actually brought their children up in France, i.e. outside Paris, knows that French children do throw food, and quite regularly, as long as maman isn't looking.

The pertinent points of the book are don't breastfeed as formula will help bébé sleep through the night, ignore your children and let them amuse themselves, that way they learn to be patient, don't bother to teach them to read, that's what school is for, stick them in a creche from birth and give them a good slap if they misbehave. There, I've saved you £15!  For a very amusing précis of the book read this. Of course, it all sounds deliciously 1950s but then, that's what most British expats say they love about the country. It's like Britain in the 1950s - racist, intolerant, sexist, polio-ridden? Oh, apparently that's not what they mean.

Strangely enough, Ms Druckerman chose a different title for the book in the US. It's called Bringing Up Bébé probably because The Satanic Seed of Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkeys Don't Throw Food wouldn't fit on the front cover. And strangely enough, the book doesn't seem to have been released in French. I wonder why?  It's interesting how book titles get changed. That other tome which has been widely used to batter British women over the head, French Women Don't Get Fat, is actually called Those French Women Who Don't Get Fat. Puts a slightly different angle on the whole premise doesn't it.

To be honest, having lived in France for 5 years, and seen that French children are, sadly, exactly the same as any other and they do throw food, I'd say don't waste your money on Ms Druckerman or her book. There's a reason why on Air France flights, the seats around people with babies and toddlers are designated 'low comfort' and are allocated last. And as someone wryly observed, 'the only trouble with French children is that they grow up into French adults'.

Earlier on in the week, ex-Apprentice, Katie Hopkins, caused outrage among the mummy mafia in a debate with Katie O'Donovan from Mumsnet on BBC breakfast. The subject was whether or not babies should have to pay for tickets to the Olympics.  What they were saying aside, it was hilarious. Katie Hopkins is always controversial, it's how she's made her name, and, although I don't often agree with her, she does make me laugh. She argued that babies shouldn't be at the Olympics anyway and that why should her Olympic experience be ruined by someone else's screaming baby? Sadly for Mumsnet, I can't actually remember what the other Katie did - or said. So does Katie Hopkins have a point?

To me, the idea of sitting in a crowded stadium somewhere in the a**e end of Old London town would be as much pleasure as a root canal filling without anaesthetic.  I hate crowds, hate public transport and have a very low tolerance threshold for the public in general so the whole discussion was a bit moot anyway. Looking at what was being said on Twitter, people were generally split 50:50 between those who felt that babies, and indeed small children, shouldn't be allowed at the Olympics anyway and those who encouraged every mother and breastfeeding mother in particular to go and grab the seat next to Katie Hopkins.  An athlete made an interesting point. Some of the events rely on complete silence for the start and a crying baby or stroppy toddler could be very distracting. As this athlete said, when they've trained for years to get to the Olympics, should they have to risk all their hard work because someone's child misbehaves.

Very few made the point that perhaps an Olympic event is not the best place for a baby or a toddler anyway. I would certainly never have taken mine. They'd have been bored rigid sitting watching people swim up and down a pool or run round and round a track and I would enjoy it far more without constantly fretting over a cranky child.

I don't subscribe to the idea that children should be seen and not heard but I do believe they should know how to behave in public. It's not society's job to fit round my children, it's my children's job to fit into society, to know what is and isn't acceptable and to understand that the world doesn't revolve around them and they must respect other people's feelings. I never subscribed to the 'enfant roi' school of child-rearing and I think, by and large, mine have turned out pretty well. They never had tantrums, were never allowed to scream and carry on in supermarkets, had to sit at the table at restaurants and went to bed at set times so that my evening was child-free. I'm not saying it's the right way, just that it was the right way for me. I'm not particularly maternal and have a very low threshold for misbehaving children, my own included, so if the whole motherhood thing was going to work for me and they were going to make their next birthdays, then they had to learn to fit into my life rather than the other way round.

A café in North London, fed up with the poor behaviour of some children while the mothers and nannies sat around swigging on their lattes, recently told them that they would be banned if their offsprings' behaviour didn't improve. They were incensed. But why should other patrons have their quiet enjoyment spoiled by misbehaving children climbing all over the furniture. Why should they have to listen to cranky children whining?  Why do some mothers think it's acceptable to let their child's whining continue unabated just because they are immune to it?  I've even seen women changing babies on the tables of cafés. They may think that little Daisy's s**t doesn't stink, but I can assure you it does! And it's unhygienic to boot. There are baby coupons available for changing pads suited for public restrooms---not public tables

When we moved to France we soon realised what a poor image British children have in France. It was immediately assumed that ours would have no table manners, would expect to be waited on hand and foot and entertained continuously. I'd like to think we put them right a little bit on that.  I don't think their reputation is really deserved but so often I'd see British families on holiday with their children running riot and the parents too lazy to do anything. 

Which brings me back to the Olympics. Should it be a baby-free/toddler-free zone? Is it a suitable environment to take a baby or a toddler to? Should some sports be child-free because of the risk of distracting the athletes who've trained for years to get there? If you had tickets and a baby or toddler would you take them?  What say you?