Now we know what he really feels ...

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Being over in the UK - aka Pound Land - for the moment I'm more than usually aware of the ghastly machinery of the British media. Thus, this morning, the nation wakes to newspapers proclaiming "now we know what you feel" after Andy Murray's (for me, at least) toe-curling dissolve into tears before the cameras. Do we? Or at least beyond a few of the most predictable sentiments anyone in a similar position would muster. Give me Ivan Lendl, any day.*

What is it about this country which seems to vampirically crave such moments of vulnerability while also lapping up ghastly docu-dramas of near-fatal accidents, traffic pile-ups, police swoops and Come Dine With Me licensed viciousness?

But, of course, Andy is 'one of us' - although no one seems to be quite clear who the 'us' are. He's not English and the Scottishness seems rather doubtful, too, given he's spent many years living abroad. And well done Tony Hawkes for pointing out this morning that yes, Murray is a role model for young British players, but let's not forget he went to Spain to train.

Now Wimbledon's done attention switches to the Olympics and I'm even more determined to avoid anything to do with this charade. The build-up TV sequence is telling: animated athletes running, diving and cycling with those kinds of cyber-polished anatomies typical of computer games. For what is this Olympics - and, increasingly sport in general - but a kind of Frankenstein experiment in manufactured humanity (by which we should understand athletes and spectators)? If anyone wins an event will it be down to the true principles of the Olympian ideal or who has the most sophisticated equipment, the highest financial investment, the most successful brain-washing by sports psychologists and trainers? It's now generally agreed that events such as sailing and cycling are way beyond the budgets of many countries to compete given the level of technology being used. Is that right?

And broadening the argument, also on this morning's radio was an objection to Heineken being the official beer sponsors for The Games. The objection wasn't about beer being allied with sport, rather that this particular beer is so generically gassy and tasteless. Why bring in an international conglomerate when London boasts many small independent breweries? Why not inspire visitors from across the world to sample some of Britain's finest? The answer? Well - you know why. This is Pound Land, after all.

And finally, let's see how this one plays out: the London residents who are going to court concerning missiles that will be located on the roofs of their apartment buildings in case of terrorist attack. No one seems to have posed questions such as: high grade weaponry in dense residential areas - what if something was set off accidentally (remember those Riots)? or: doesn't this make these people potential targets? or: if you do shoot a plane, where will it come down? Hmm ...

Twenty Twelve is now available on my version of BBC iPlayer and funny as it is reality is increasingly so unbelievable as to outstrip such attempts at satire.

Next up: Bob Diamond. I wonder what he really feels?

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It's always fascinating to watch the camera between points scan the crowd for faces. Indeed, who - or what - dictates the selection? ( a) Minor/major celebrity, b) Wimbledon has-been, c) politician, d) Posh & Becks, e) friends/family of player - especially the girlfriend, f) Kate & Pippa plus the now de rigueur close-ups on any sweet little kids belonging to the players - cf. Euro Final & the Spanish soccer-dads, and, if all else fails, f) Cliff Richard and/or humorous glimpses of Ordinary People).

A belgianwaffle award goes out to Ivan Lendl who - to our knowledge - maintained an impassive expression throughout the entire tournament. I'm sure he was feeling a lot but has sufficient nous and sense of decorum to keep his feelings for himself, Murray and the locker room.