...when you've got the British Transplant Games?
All those yellow and black temporary AA signs that sprung up overnight. First double deckers, with odd things on the front display ("Fishing"), teetering round unfamiliar backstreets, stopping at council sports fields to let off crowds of tracksuited competitors, who look rather more like you and I than their Olympic counterparts. It's like a Half Man Half Biscuit song come to life, or rather like the true spirit of amateur sport in action. Hooray!
It is wrong to want to celebrate it by heading down to the weekend events with a pint in one hand and a fag in the other?