It’s been a couple of days since the world was gripped with what in some circumstances would been termed a medical disease, but what Boris Johnson came out with as a term of happiness, Olympomaina.

Even if you don’t give a sh*t about the whole thing, apparently you must get excited from start to finish whether you like it or not, so in what has become the Ooh Sometimes tradition, here is a round-up of the past few days with the occasional f*ck joke thrown in.

First up, the sad news of course, that the Official London Olympic Prostitutes still have not turned up in Stratford yet. This is due to the ladies in red being held at customs and the officials stating that they needed to be “interrogated fully”. So instead of the family friendly STD-ridden filth we were all hoping for, everyone instead watched a pretty light show at the Olympic Park.

They must have practiced walking all day.

The Opening ceremony was enjoyed by quadrillions of lifeforms, all singing, dancing and celebrating the fact that lots of people had come to London to win pieces of metal for effectively choosing going to the gym as a career.

Highlights included a field, James Bond sitting and walking a bit with the Queen who jumped from a helicopter, the NHS where all dancers contracted Legionnaire’s disease from the broken air conditioning, various Mary Poppins clones attacking J.K Rowling and Kenneth Brannagh dressed like Abraham Lincoln (Vampire Hunter) for some reason.

I know how you feel.

Also Rowan Atkinson was bored at a piano, then nodded off and did a fart joke.

Normally there would be a far more vivid description of what went on but at the time, I was taking advantage of the fact that everyone would be indoors watching the box, and was on a fast train away from the Capital, casually tweeting from time to time about what I thought was going, in-between drinking heavily and watching episodes of Archer, therefore I had in fact missed all the wonder of the ceremony.

Oh, if only there was a catch-up service where you could watch it at any time…

A woman I was responding to about the fact I was travelling and not watching, while mocking said event had stated it was poor planning on my part and that I was missing one hell of a show, a sentiment which seems to have been echoed by a number of people on Twitter that evening.

So after arriving in sunny Shropshire, and owing to the fact the television was already on the ceremony, I sat down with a cup of tea and caught the end of the show and therefore feel fully capable of describing fully what went on.

So pretty.

There were some people riding bikes with wings on, The Arctic Monkeys singing something like they were busking on the underground, waiting for someone to acknowledge their existence.

There were a couple of speeches from important people in which they made sure we didn’t dope because drugs are bad mmkay. David Beckham was on a speedboat with the Olympic flame, and then some next-generation kids used said flame to set a load sticks on fire.

Finally Sir Paul McCartney made a sound like a broken cat-flap.

Danny Boyle, director of such things like the Slumdoggy millionaire and the Frankenstein, had put together lots of stuff designed to show the world that Britain is not like China, and it worked as people thought he should be knighted for it all.

However, it seems not everyone agreed as the American media overloads at NBC made some changes to the coverage.

Basically what happened for those in the US, but not for the rest of the world, NBC replaced the “memorial wall” tribute section dedicated to those who died the day after London was announced to host the 2012 games with a bloke called Ryan Seacrest who had interviewed another bloke called Michael Phelps, who is good at something Olympic related probably.

They had also decided to “time-shift” (is that a Doctor Who thing?) the whole thing so they could make money from advertising, which makes it all OK. The BBC will reciprocate at the next 9/11 memorial by interrupting with an interview with the world’s largest light bulb collector.

Another fallout from the money-making adventure that is the Olympics, is that the venues so far have been slightly…emptier than expected.

Is anyone there?

Large blocks of seats were left empty in “sold out” events such as the swimming, basketball, and knitting. It seems the seats were left empty due to the wonderful obligation to let corporate sponsors, the media and the dysfunctional “Olympic family” to have the good seats at the front, and leave them empty if no-one turns up to fill them.

Naturally for the coverage of the games, it’s not going to look very clever that it appears that everyone wandered off to get a non-branded sandwich and have a coca-cola branded poop, so the London 2012 organising committee (Locog for short, which sounds like a crap breakfast cereal) promised an urgent investigation and had immediately blamed aforementioned Olympics people, the weather, the parents and rap music for it all happening.

UK Culture secretary Jeremy Hunt, whose name also sounds funny (think about it), said the empty seats were “very disappointing” (after all, the seats are plastic and hard on your bum after about 2 minutes) and suggested the seats could be offered to members of the public. Well they could. Honest they could.

He then also broke another bell.

It’s also nice to know for the things people do want to see, that up to half the seats will be taken by the Olympic sponsors and family members, which makes paying at least £600 for closing ceremony tickets all the better when you’re at the back.

Oh, and there was also some sport that went on, some people riding bikes, some beach volleyball bit where men around the world rampantly masturbated over the women players, and then some swimming.

Yes, you can really tell the Olympics have arrived. Just don’t dope.