The ceremony warmed up as it went along — or, rather, got less frenetic and became more grand. They added in a UNICEF appeal, which felt like a cheeky bit of enlightened hijacking, since these spectacles can often feel like a vast sum of public money being burnt every couple of years.
Still, though, I felt uncomfortable about the tired old “skinny brown African children” appeal being trotted out — partly because it’s condescending, partly because there are children here in Scotland whose families are forced to go to food banks, and partly because, as I’m sure so many other people feel, I’m burnt out on the “Let’s solve this forever” appeal, then everything reverts to banking and debts and war — as typified by the presence of Her Majesty the military figure and her arms-dealing government.
My biggest concern, wincing then relaxing in turns throughout this show (“Please don’t be awful! Oh, thank God that part was only half-awful. Hey, that bit was beautiful!”) was that people would draw a line from this presentation to the Scottish Independence referendum in September, as if a weak, twee, or clumsy bit of sports-theatre had anything to do with whether or not we’re fit to — or deserve to — run a more just country for ourselves.