this is my nothing

The Olympics is everywhere, from newspapers to buses, travel update emails, drink cans and every other advert on the telly. With just over a month still to go, the hype is beginning to feel a little suffocating, and I can already feel the first tendrils of antipathy creeping their nefarious way into my brain.

The problem is that years of vacuous reality TV shows have resulted in a Pavlovian response such that when I am subjected to this much hype, my natural reaction is to start grinding my jaw and automatically ignore any mention of it. Thus it’s entirely possible that by the time it does come around I will studiously ignore it.

It’s something I’ve become quite good at. Whenever the latest Britain’s Got the X Big Brother in Essex show is befoulling our country’s media, I develop a pair of invisible, metaphorical blinkers. I’ll be flicking through the paper, and when I get to the inevitable 4-page spread about whichever fame-fucking retard is currently disproving evolutionary theory, my eyes blur automatically so not a single jot of the inane fuckwittery enters my brain. My fingers move so fast turning the page that if it were an Olympic sport I could probably almost definitely get to the quarter finals and be knocked out on penalties after a wank-weak performance no doubt enhanced by ridiculous expectations.

Apart from 25 minutes of The Voice that I was forced to watch because I was at a friend’s house and I wanted to get drunk and I was waiting for them to get ready, I haven’t seen more than the time it takes to change channels of any of these shows for about 5 years. It’s probably my single greatest achievement to date. 

I don’t want that to happen with the Olympics. I want to enjoy the Olympics. But I don’t want the Olympics shoved down my throat every five minutes like a binge eating bulimics fingers, because I will rebel. It’s my nature. It’s what I’m good at. 

So please someone, anyone: can we not have the Olympics plastered everywhere?

Oh, unless it involves Jessica Ennis. More of her. In fact, get her on some reality talent show and I will be solidly stuck to my sofa for every mind-numbing, soul-evacuating second of it.