What Is The Point?

Or, more emphatically, what is the fucking point? This question I infrequently ask. I don't know whether that's a reflection of my lack of concern or my generally high level of optimism or my distractedness.

The answer is of course, the sharp bit at the end. I worked this out - like the constipated mathematician - with a pencil.

I generally ask this question when I am tired and frustrated, or failing to communicate, or when I feel I have made some effort which is not being appreciated. Today I am asking it of the entire Olympic bid nonsense. Whether my home city of London gets the Olympics or not, I say: Fuck the Bid.

What is the point of moving from a drought of sporting facilities to a glut? It's not like the sports that will be featured are going to be played by anyone in Hackney, not unless they include Squatting or Drinking Diamond White or Begging. Olympic structures and buildings will be like the Millenium Dome, costly, over-sized, bombastic, but instead of isolated neatly by the Thames and ignorable, spread over the entire East End like an outbreak of huge ugly techno-warts. Much as I like cycling, I don't want to see London Fields eaten by a monster velodrome.



I'm one of the lucky millions who will see their local taxes rise to pay for these great big white elephant sporting facilities, which we won't ever get to enjoy anyway, because, as we all know, the world ENDS in 2012. I am planning to be a long way away from London by then, and especially from Hackney, which after all, lends its name to the word, "Hackneyed" meaning over-used, or jaded.

What is the fucking point of instilling this overweight, heavy-handed optimism, when all it does is lead to a greater degree of disappointment than you had when you were simply resigned to your fate? And what is the point of all these "Backing the Bid" stickers and posters when very shortly, they will be a ubiquitous, embarassing, visual reminder of another national failure?