The wind was ferocious, and the rain spiteful as it lashed down during yesterday’s heavy showers. I got somewhat damp dashing between the car park, the loathsome parking meters, and the hospital out-patient reception area. Although there was only one doctor in the ophthalmic clinic, my wait was minimal, and my appointment on time. The outcome was very satisfactory; the condition necessitating the visit has cleared; I will not need another appointment.
While waiting, I got talking to a couple; we were about the same age; at least we all had grey hair. The conversation meandered to the recent Olympic Games; it was reassuring to hear my own views echoed about money wasted; that the opening and closing ceremonies were crass, with the closing display being even worse than that which opened the charade.
Now we learn that the millions of pounds borrowed from the National Lottery‘s Fund for Charitable Causes to build the Giant Arena in London’s old dockland, may not be payed back in the two years promised by those big names involved. It may take ten or more. Were they just being naive, optimistic or telling porkies while smiling through those flashing teeth?
Meanwhile, the coffers are empty for the struggling Arts Council and all those seeking its financial help. Their beneficiaries don’t have the solace, or cushioning, of sports personalities who reap even greater rewards from commercial advertising after a winning performance.