Only in Paris could you bookend your day with a malicious plot to sabotage a global event with an out-of-shape middle-aged man painted blue wearing little else but a bunch of strawberries over his nether region. The morning’s arson attacks on the French railway network, clearly designed to intimidate, threaten and destabilise the greatest show on earth, shook confidence in this Paris Games to the core. With the global order in a fragile state, many have feared this will be the most dangerous Olympics ever.
But rising above the fear was a three-hour spectacular of artistic achievement which went to levels never before seen at this scale. An audacious and, at times, outrageous celebration of one of the world’s greatest cities and rich cultures. It was camp, naff and wondrous.
It poured rain relentlessly. Those who had forked out thousands of euros for a seat were forced into plastic ponchos. Soaked-to-the-bone athletes literally abandoned ship to return to the dry and warmth of their cardboard beds at the village.
The night veered from the clichés of a huge cancan line performed by Moulin Rouge cabaret dancers, of a headless Marie Antoinette, the haunting Phantom of the Opera and Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables , to the defiant rebuilding of the burnt-out Notre Dame, modern Parisian fashion and multicultural faces of France, complete with house music. There were ballet dancers on the roof of the Louvre, breakdancers along the quays and on boats. Performers were clad in h.