A seasonal competition: which phrase will BBC commentators utter most over the next fortnight: a) ‘winter wonderland’; b) ‘mountain magic’; c) ‘oh, bad luck, Great Britain’? The Winter Olympics have begun: bobble hats, fur-collared greatcoats, frostbitten noses and hour upon hour of various forms of sliding. The media battalions easily outnumber the 2,500 competitors; the security army outnumbers both put together. Turin’s sublime pelmet of Alpine spires will be crawling with security snipers and sharpshooters as if it was a film-set for the latest 007 blockbuster. I know the hardy Scots love their skiing, but I’m a soft southerner (or rather, a wet westerner) and I am mighty relieved not to be there for once.
Some strongly fancy the chance of a Brit medal or two this time; I’ll believe it when I see it.
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