HAVE you been enjoying the Olympics? We certainly have at Newton Towers.

Every morning, we munch our breakfast in our pyjamas, while others perform more strenuous activities on the small screen. The Games provide a continuous backdrop as we go about our daily business, moving wallpaper in the background, occasionally distracting us from pressing tasks that will just have to wait until the medals have been won.

Swimming, diving, cycling, hockey – we have cheered them all on. This morning, the bikini-ed ladies of Team GB took a medal in the beach volleyball; I had to check they were in sun-drenched Paris rather than Tahiti with the suffers.

The death-defying BMX trials stopped me in my tracks – surely it hurts when someone lands from that height and at that velocity? Indeed, BMX has been named the most dangerous Olympic sport, with over one-third of cyclists suffering injuries during competition. 

Taekwondo follows closely behind, with 30 per cent of athletes injured. Daughter took up the martial art, inspired by the Tokyo Olympics; here's hoping she doesn’t decide to go into BMX racing next. I can only withstand so many trips to Treliske A&E, and most of those have already been used up with childhood broken arms.

I absolutely loved the opening ceremony, designed to show off the host city to the full and celebrate everything France has contributed to the world, from hot air balloons to revolution. It helps that I adore France - social media channels and certain mainstream media outlets criticised the event for being too, ahem, French; as far as I was concerned, it could never be French enough.

Having been on the French exchange while at secondary school, and spent a couple of years out before and during university (studying French, bien sur), I developed an enduring, all-consuming passion for the language, the people, the geography, the food, the culture. As for the music, from the classic chansons made famous by the likes of Piaf and Aznavour, to the 1980s pop prevalent in the charts when I first visited, these remain the soundtrack to my life (especially when washing up).

So I was thrilled to hear snippets of my favourites, especially Alexandrie Alexandra by Claude Francois and Desenchantee by Mylene Farmer. I appreciate these might not have been recognised in most UK homes, but my enthusiasm made up for any lack elsewhere.

Other highlights included the Marseillaise sung from great height on the rooftop of the Grand Palais by mezzo-soprano Axelle Saint-Cirel; and Celine Dion, giving a barnstorming performance of the Paris Olympics theme, Piaf’s Hymne a l’amour, at the Eiffel Tower.

“She isn’t even French – is that the best they could do?” asked a friend of a friend on Facebook. In her defence, Canadian Dion speaks French as her first language, her album D’eux is France’s best-selling CD of all time, and she’s a global force of nature. Her appearance was especially moving given a recent illness which prevented her from singing.

I can’t wait to see what the closing moments have in store. My only regret is that this means the Olympics will come to an end, and the positivity that has emanated from our screen for the last fortnight will be over, and we’ll be back to the doom and gloom that has made up the rest of our news.

Escalating world conflict. Yet another well-known TV face being erased from the archives having pleaded guilty to awful misdeeds. Appalling violence and vandalism around the UK, directed principally at immigrants and asylum seekers - ostensibly in the name of three young girls whose lives were cut brutally, unjustifiably short, but in truth a criminal display of alpha-male opportunism driven by ugly and exploitative narratives.

It’s a shame the Olympic Games only take place every four years. I feel the world could learn a lot from the values at their core: gamesmanship, camaraderie, acceptance and love, a celebration of the things we have in common and those that make us different. We all share one planet, and it’s much easier when we get along.

“ISN’T Jelbert’s in Newlyn?” asked the Other Half. Well, duh. Of course it is, I replied, while sweating a little at the thought he actually reads my column and digests everything I write about him and Daughter.

“But it says Newquay here,” he added. Well, damn. I guess on that particular day, my fingers were working faster than my brain. I was able to fix this online easily enough, but obviously not in my beloved print edition; once it hits the page, it stays there, ink on paper, for the week if not inperpetuity.

So I apologise to anyone who has made a special trip to the north coast in search of the finest vanilla ice cream in the west; I hope you found something to cool you down, even if it wasn’t from Jelbert’s.