Now I know what was missing from these Olympic Games. Jokes. Irony. Self-mockery. All those things that humanise. Not that the Beijing Olympics have been anything less than great, but we have lacked that sense of human proportion in the way it has been presented. All just a bit too loud, just a bit too boastful.

So the entrance of a London bus into the closing ceremony was a very cheery, jolly statement, especially after seeing the Chinese Liberation Army arriving in huge numbers throughout the morning and the Olympic Park jumping with slight but very severe soldiery.

So the bus arrived, on time for once, and the spell of monolithic spectacle was briefly broken. For eight minutes London had the stage to send out the message that the Games are coming to London in four years, and it's all terribly lovely. It's a bit of a tricky gig: you have to upstage the hosts without appearing to do so.

Boris Johnson had just received the Olympic flag from Guo Jinlong, Mayor of Beijing, and he waved it about in a merry fashion, a man with a wonderful talent for making the concept of smartness absolutely meaningless. After that, it was bus time and if you missed it, there'd no doubt be another one along in a minute. So we had a bus stop and a brolly dance to show that we know all the jokes about London and are prepared to top them, with a lollipop lady, a zebra crossing and other idiosyncratic bits of London. Then the bus opened up as I rather expected it might, and up came Leona Lewis to sing. She was followed by Jimmy Page, looking, as ageing rock stars often do, as if a life of mindless hedonism is ideal preparation for a graceful old age.

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They performed Whole Lotta Love. At least, I'm reasonably confident that's what they did, because what else would they do? But the acoustic in the stadium is like a giant bathroom, and they may well have been singing Pop Goes the Weasel. I hated Page and Led Zeppelin even when I was of an age to enjoy children's music, but it seemed to go off all right. The Chinese are very keen on noise.

After that, David Beckham rose up as well, accompanied by a rather gorgeous fiddle player. Becks grinned sheepishly and kicked a football into the athletes of all the nations and, well, that was it. The eight minutes were up, and the bus has gone. We had, the media guide informed, been shown that London is “the coolest place on the planet”. Memo to all those involved in the “selling London” side of the Olympics: to claim that you are cool is an infallible sign of the lack of cool.

And so a great Games comes to an end, and everyone in London can get back to bellyaching about how inconvenient the London Games will be and how expensive and how we're all going to Tuscany until it's over. This eight-minute slot is just a brief distraction. It was a nice moment, quite jolly in its way, even if you believe it is the duty of rock dinosaurs to go extinct.

I remember how in Seoul, Barcelona gave us a demonstration of flamenco, pretty enough but hardly convincing proof that they would hold a superb Games four years later. In Atlanta, the Aussies gave us inflatable kangaroos, and embarrassed the entire nation, but the Sydney Games were superb. In Sydney, Athens gave us temple maidens — again, pretty enough, but soooo wrong millennium.

What matters rather more is that at these Games, Britain showed the world that it is right up with the genuinely cool guys when it comes to playing sport. Britain finished an almost ludicrous fourth in the medals table, with 19 gold medals and 47 medals in total. Only China, the US and Russia finished ahead, and they have more people to call on. Britain is a small nation punching above its weight, winning medals by class, know-how and adroit use of funding. It's all rather hard to get used to: something of a change from Atlanta in 1996 when Britain won a single gold.

These gargantuan, megalomaniacal opening and closing ceremonies don't matter in sporting or in any other terms. They are just a projection of image, and are invariably too long, too dull and far, far too loud. Would it were that all opening and closing ceremonies lasted eight minutes.

No matter: onward to 2012, when a great Games will emerge like Venus from a sea of whining and politicking. By that time, we might just be in the mood for another Games, and I have no doubt that they will be a thing of wonder and beauty. Before that, the Opening Ceremony must be sat through. Bring on the morris dancers.