save the surprise

Ever since last autumn, when I was meeting and texting and texting and arranging with Danny Boyle's production manager, who, by the way, is nothing like Kevin Thingy on Twenty Twelve - he is SO NICE and SO COOL - for a film shoot they were doing on our garden square (I'm the secretary, and this went on for a few weeks - see 'gorgeous george'), I've known that timing was tight because Danny was also 'doing the Olympics'. At the time, that meant nothing to me - I can't bear crowds, and knew that, come summer, I'd be getting out of Dodge.

But it didn't occur to us when we moved our annual late July to mid August Long Island beach holiday to later in August, that we'd be here. And - why am I always surprised when this happens? - I never thought I'd go from all blase to truly buzzed, before it's even begun.

Especially because I LOVE a good surprise.

I used to think - when I was a girl, a teen - that the world was divided between those that are 'deep' and those that are 'shallow'. Somewhere in my twenties, I changed that to people that have a sense of humour, who can get a joke and more importantly, laugh at themselves, and those who not only can't, but create drama. And while that division holds, I have in recent years realised that Trust Trumps All.

My latest World Division is between those who love a good bit of gossip, and those who can keep a secret.

So when my husband woke me with the news that 10,000 invited guests (the number is actually 60,000 - the 10,000 is the number of performers) are still managing to keep a secret about the secret of the opening ceremony that Danny's got up his sleeve for tomorrow night (see Telegraph), I discovered #savethesurprise. Note to self: twitter isn't always about @humblebragging: it's really incredibly moving to read this hash tag. It's heartening to know, for example, that one woman LOST A FRIEND ON FACEBOOK rather than reveal the surprise.

I can't imagine what it is, but my imagination is now running wild.  And while I'd love to quote tweets for you here, this post is long enough. And while my friends are watching the torch pass in various parts of Great London, I'm catching up on the brilliant Twenty Twelve and kicking myself that I've missed so many episodes on series two. And pinching myself that we live so close to Hyde Park.

Photo - as before - by me, backstage at Holly Fulton, LFW. It was a staged surprise, posed by another photographer in the 'first view' scrum. But I prefer the real kind of surprise, and am blown away that so many people are honouring one man's wishes, and keeping this one. God Bless the British spirit: it's so.. Dunkirk.

This song, by the way, still gives me goose bumps. After all these years.

 

Getting really teary following this live: I think it's the music that's killing me. To watch: click here.