Smash hit

Desperation set in and we stalked out along what is charmingly called the Third Ring Road, sweating, tired and now suffering a humour failure of Olympic proportions. By now it was past 10pm and the chances of seeing the 2012 ceremony, never mind this one, were looking slim. But then, lo and behold, there was Club Bud nestling behind some trees. Blessed relief. Well, it was for the boys because I don't drink lager, essentially an odd confession since I had spent an entire evening struggling to get to a party given by a brewer of lager.

Never mind, we were in time to see the last of the teams marching into the stadium although we still haven't worked out how a pipe band got in on the act. Craig Lord, our swimming correspondent, reckons bagpipes were invented in China; I'll believe anything of the Chinese, although I'll bet they don't know how to play "Gordon, where's your troosers". We joined a group of young Chinese people who gasped and applauded every moment and could explain to us who the central figures taking part were, right up to that splendid "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" high-wire lighting of the Olympic flame.

***

Hunger had set in, though. A midnight dash for taxis and the search started for somewhere we could get food. We found somewhere soon enough, The Den, a rowdy bar populated, it seemed, almost entirely by Irishmen.

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And so, a word of thanks to the leader of the merry band of men from Dublin, who so kindly bought us all a drink in between explaining that one of their group of 20 was the father of Ken Egan, the young Irish boxer fighting on the first day of the Games. He had been unable to get a ticket for the fight, an injustice so great that all his mates had got together to fly him over so that they could buy him tickets on the black market, paying way over the odds. But the huge cost of the whole enterprise, flights, tickets and all, meant they couldn't buy any tickets for themselves.

But they were content with their pints of Guinness, having pulled off an act of extraordinary generosity that had allowed their mate to realise a dream that was born when Ken Egan first started out as an amateur boxer as a nipper in Dublin. Paul Egan will be happily at ringside, bursting with pride when his son steps up to represent Ireland at the Olympic Games. I have a feeling his mates will be following events on television - but still in The Den, I will bet. Good luck to them all.