Living in an hotel is not hard; you accidentally leave a towel on the bathroom floor and somebody moves it, you fancy a bowl of soup at 2am (jet lag, I'm afraid) and somebody brings it. I walked by a man combing some grass yesterday and I didn't even flinch; it may be time for a reality check soon.

The grass belonged to an Olympic venue and when you start getting familiar with these places over the next two weeks on the BBC, it will all make sense, and then you'll start to ask yourself the same question again and again: “Who is going to do that in London in four years' time?” Who is going to comb grass? Never mind that, who is going to stand on a street corner wearing an official T-shirt, without the hope of ever seeing a real-life athlete or even a venue, and smile at people, as thousands are prepared to do.

Barbara Woodward, the deputy ambassador to China, said that the old men in her neighbourhood have been given official T-shirts on the understanding that they are to help people at zebra crossings. Sixty people a week die on the streets of Beijing and anything that helps road safety is welcome. Of course, they are still sitting playing cards in the shade and don't go anywhere near the zebra crossings, but they look good.

Our hotel is inside an Olympic ring of steel. It's a surreal existence; three-lane roads with no traffic save the odd golf buggy, the burr of a police helicopter overhead and the constant wearing of accreditation even when you're on the loo (incidentally, every public facility I've been in so far has had at least two toilet attendants). It's all part and parcel of living the Olympic dream.

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Because the hotel is inside the security check zone, we are “clean”, which means that we can move around freely without having to be frisked or empty the contents of our bags every time we step foot into a new building. I have to say it makes me much more likely to smile at security guards. London organising committee of the Olympic Games take note. To get inside the clean zone you have to empty your worldly possessions on to the table; once you've done that, you can do what you like. To such an extent that after a hard day researching at the office, I decided to wander back to my hotel via the gymnastics hall (the National Indoor Arena) in the hope of watching some training.

I wandered in, unhassled, got lost, found myself in the basement near the warm-up rooms (I say rooms - think Wembley Arena and you are getting close, nothing is small here) and even wandered past a changing-room where a rather handsome male Romanian gymnast was in a blush-inducing state of undress. I was the one who blushed. Still unable to find a way out, I kept wandering, popped my head in the “dope control room”, said hello to some jolly officials and then wandered out of the exit marked “security staff”. I reckon I could have pulled out a leotard and done a routine on the mat before anyone felt the need to question me.

Security was somewhat heightened when we were invited to the Athletes' Village. The official reason was to watch the flag-raising ceremony with some of the Great Britain squad. We handed our passports over on entering the village and went through airport-style security checks; there was no way I was going to be allowed to wander quite so gaily here. The flag-raising was quite emotive, we all stood up and sang the national anthem and there was lots of cheering for the athletes who'd turned up, mainly hockey players, cyclists, gymnasts and archers. Many of the other sports were due to arrive the next day.

Afterwards, we were expecting to have a cream tea and then be sent home. Instead we were offered a tour of the Britain facilities. Which, of course, meant a walk through the village. Now if you can imagine my excitement after getting lost in the gymnastics arena, you can easily picture my face on being told I was going to get a tour of the athletes' rooms.

Team GB have chosen a well-placed block not too far from the enormous dining hall, which can feed up to 6,000 at any one time, and right by the “entertainment block”, where video games and chill-out areas can be found. The food hall is divided up into zones; halal, Mediterranean, kosher, African and so on, and by all accounts the food is excellent.

We wandered into the Team GB block, where Tom Daley, Kelly Sotherton, Andy Murray and Paula Radcliffe will all walk in the days and weeks ahead. The apartments are very nice, simple and roomy without too much fuss; white-tiled floors with red furniture provided by B&Q for Team GB. Some apartments have single rooms, but most competitors will be expected to share. So what happens in the tennis apartment? Does Miles Maclagan, the GB coach, get the single room and the Murray boys share? Not since they were wee lads in Dunblane will that have happened.

It's a great leveller, this place, although some athletes have decided they don't want to come down to that level. Roger Federer is staying in an hotel. Apparently he was bothered too much in Athens by other athletes when he wandered round the village. Maybe the Chinese could spare a volunteer to be a “Roger protector”; one of the four blokes who came to my room at 3am yesterday to fix the loo may be up for it.