It's raining. The downpour we expected last week, which threatened at one stage to douse Beijing's elaborate Olympic opening ceremony, has finally arrived. We should be glum but, actually, it is a relief after the baking hot days we have had since we got here. Having said that, walking in the rain here is akin to taking a hot shower, but I will bet the road cyclists competing yesterday would have settled for a bit of this. A third of the competitors dropped out as temperatures hit 40ºC. It was unbearable for those of us slopping around in flip-flops, never mind being asked to ride a bike up hill and down dale for 150 miles.

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Through the gloom, I can see the Olympic flame burning high into the sky above the dramatic "Bird's Nest" Olympic Stadium. It looks even more dramatic against the grey skies of Beijing.

There were a few hearts in mouths, I can tell you, when it came to the critical moment in the opening ceremony when Li Ning, China's former gold medal gymnast, finished his "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" run around the top of the stadium and stopped to light the giant torch. Ning's identity was kept secret right up until the last second when he rose spectacularly into the air above the cheering crowds, holding the torch aloft.

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Actually, his missus didn't know he was going to do it either. Apparently, the secret was so secret, Ning had told his wife that he was only going along to the opening ceremony to make up the numbers, so she was as surprised as anyone when he suddenly appeared in the skies above the stadium. The crafty devil had been rehearsing for a month with an action movie choreographer, who taught him how to perform that spooky run in the sky.

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The man who had fingers and toes crossed, though, was Huang Qijun, the designer and manufacturer of the Olympic torch. It is one of things you don't think about, but even the Olympic torch is high-tech these days to ensure it doesn't blow out. And, of course, the biggest moment of risk and embarrassment is in the final seconds when the huge stadium torch has to be lit in front of a billion pairs of eyes. If it goes out then, it is red faces all round.

But Qijun has been revealing that nothing was left to chance. He accompanied the torch on every leg of its journey from Greece to Beijing and the final flourish in the stadium was the result of more than 7,000 simulated test runs. The team from his company recreated wind conditions, airflow and timed Ning's journey around the stadium at just short of five minutes so they were sure there was enough fuel in the torch.

There is a nice postscript to this story, though: Qijun had a personal copy of the torch, which was named Xiangyun, meaning lucky clouds. But after the devastating Sichuan earthquake, he auctioned it and gave the money to the relief fund. More than that, he held up work at his factory to despatch 200 workers to take gas cookers and a truck full of rice, wheat and eggs to cook for the victims in the worst affected areas. That sort of story restores your faith, doesn't it?

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The tension that had this place tighter than a Chinese drum seems to have been washed away with the rain, I am happy to say. The Chinese authorities were so wound up about their opening ceremony, they were fit to burst, poor loves, and having so many world leaders and dignitaries around didn't help, with each one - not least President George Bush - demanding maximum security.

But the morning after the long night before was much more pleasant and quite a few athletes were out and about in Beijing taking advantage of a brief day off before the action starts in earnest. Quite a few surprised the locals by doing some shopping, buying souvenirs before they become so immersed in their sports, they probably won't know what planet they are on, never mind which country they are in.

A few fell victim to the VIPs, though, late last night when they went for a tour of the Forbidden City. If you have ever watched Bernardo Bertolucci's lavish movie, The Last Emperor, you will remember the fabulous scenes from the extraordinary walled city at the heart of Beijing, which was home to the country's emperors for 600 years. There is a mix of palaces set in courtyards and private quarters that give a fascinating glimpse into the lives of rulers who were absolutely cut off in splendid, isolated luxury from the people they ruled.

Athletes were trundling around late on Saturday with their maps and guides when suddenly soldiers appeared from nowhere and stopped everyone moving. Doors slammed and perplexed tourists were caught like rats in a trap, unable to progress through the city or go back. One colleague, who had just taken the first sip of a cup of tea, was thrown out of one of the cafes at the centre of the complex and herded into a side terrace. Nobody knew what was happening until a local guide revealed that one of the VIPs was visiting, so the whole area was in lockdown.

While the VIPs enjoyed their guided tour, the athletes and tourists were corralled, sweating and footsore, waiting to be released from their temporary lock-up. Fortunately, whichever VIP it was didn't look for too long and then everyone was free to start admiring one of China's most famous monuments.