One day like this

For two glorious weeks in the summer of 2012, I saw the world at its best in the safe, clean and joyous place that was London’s Olympic Park.

“A man is coming down the steps towards the field of play wearing his country’s flag and very little else. What do you do?”

Quick as a flash, Barbara, 70-something, said:

“I’ll wrestle him to the floor in a rugby tackle.”

We all laughed, and applauded Barbara for her audacity. But the trainer advised her that it would be better to leave the wrestling to those trained in restraint – so that she wouldn’t be sued if any tackle was damaged.

This scenario was one of many discussion points raised in the rigorous training for Games Makers at the London 2012 Olympics. I’d wanted to be a Games Maker since attending the 2002 Commonwealth Games in Manchester. The folk there were kind and helpful, and knew their stuff.

Watching the Olympics from Tokyo is bittersweet. Some fabulous performances, but without spectators, the host nation is denied income, and the opportunity to show off its hospitality. I loved being part of the welcoming team in London.

I was assigned to Common Domain in Olympic Park, which meant everywhere that wasn’t an arena. My team leader called it the ‘glue’ that held everything else together. A large part of our work involved directing people to toilets or McDonald’s or to facilities that were staring them in the face. It was never boring. We patrolled different zones each day, and each had their own special features.

Blue zone

Blue zone was the ticketing and security area at Stratford Gate, where people came into Olympic Park from public transport and went through airport-style security. There were so many police and armed forces that this would have been a good time to commit a crime or start a war elsewhere. They were fun to have around, and made us feel very secure when visitors were abusive and/or the worse for vodka.

Some people arrived with tickets for the wrong day or the wrong venue. They included a group of young men from Brazil who had tickets for the football. In Newcastle-upon-Tyne. It was heartbreaking telling them they wouldn’t even get there in time for the final whistle.

The constant ‘Bip! Bip!’ of handheld scanners was occasionally interrupted by the ‘Uh-oh’ of failure. Tennis star Greg Rusedki was just putting his belt and watch back on after the security check when I had to tell him that there was a problem with his ticket. He waited patiently and without fuss while I consulted my team leader. She was from the same part of Montreal as him and they hit if off immediately. I later saw him coming in further up the gate. Sadly, I didn’t hear what happened to the guys from Brazil.

Green zone

I spent one day scanning tickets on Greenway Gate, where people came in on private transport paid for by the sponsors. I scanned one ticket for William Gates, then looked up to find myself face to face with the founder of Microsoft.

Other celebs who came through this gate included the second man on the moon Buzz Aldrin, and rugby legend Lawrence Dallaglio. They were charming, but others were not. Why were people with £720 corporate tickets incapable of smiling or saying thank you?  I much preferred the happy family atmosphere at Stratford Gate.

Red zone

Red zone was was the area around the Aquatics Centre, the Olympic Stadium and the Water Polo Arena.  Many people dropped their tickets or Oyster cards in this area, and I spent a lot of time shouting “Excuse me!” and chasing after them.

Visitor questions included:

• “Thirty minutes’ walk to the Velodrome? You’re joking, right?”
• “What’s that big red thing that looks like a helter-skelter?”

“It’s the Orbit. It’s a sculpture designed by the artist Anish Kapoor. And yes, it looks like a helter-skelter but they don’t give you a square of coconut matting at the top.”

[Update: the Arcellor-Mittal Orbit has since been retrofitted as the world’s longest tunnel slide.]

Across the Park the landscaping and planting were amazing, particularly the wildflower meadows around the Stadium. Every year (thanks to my friend and garden designer Buzy Lizzie) we plant a small meadow of our own at home to evoke memories of 2012. You can too, with seeds from Pictorial Meadows.

The athletics stadium was in Red zone. I was working there on ‘Super Saturday’ when, in the space of 44 minutes, Greg Rutherford, Jess Ennis and Mo Farah secured three gold medals in track and field.

My neighbour recalls the atmosphere inside the stadium:

“It was an unforgettable 44 minutes, initially cheering, then shouting and finally screaming the athletes on. Afterwards I was aware that I was screaming and yet no one close by was aware because everybody in the crowd was making so much noise. One could literally feel the roar of the crowd. Truly amazing.”

It was electric outside, too. Eight of us gathered together squinting into one smartphone as events unfolded. We could hear the crowd and hear the Mexican wave of sound as Mo circled the track. The stadium looked like the spaceship in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. If it had left the ground, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised.

Homeward bound, the spectators hugged, thanked and high-fived the Games Makers. It was a magical evening.

Yellow zone

Yellow zone was my favourite. It was a playground, a meeting place and a photo-opportunity.  People draped in the flags of different countries strolled arm in arm. In this little bubble of peace, all was well with the world.

On a soft multicoloured pavement we called Spotty Bridge, Games Makers challenged visitors to play stepping stones – getting across using only one colour panel. We got down and dirty for giant games of Twister. Right hand on green – left hand on yellow – right foot on pink – ooops! bum on orange.

In 2012 the selfie wasn’t quite a Thing. Entrusted with cameras from huge SLRs to smartphones, I must have taken more than 700 photographs of visitors. When newsreader Peter Snow asked me to take a picture of him and his wife, I asked for one in return!

The most stunning thing about Yellow zone was that although it had the largest McDonald’s in the world there was not a scrap of litter. There were loads of sorted bins, they were emptied regularly, and the cleaning and waste team were almost catching litter before it touched the ground.

Pink zone

Britannia Row in the pink zone was a great place to find food that wasn’t McDonald’s. But not a great place to sit down and eat it with your family. I tried to be polite:

“Sorry, sir, you need to move. In about 10 minutes 16,000 people are going to be rolling out of the hockey arena, right through here.”

“&^%%&&^”

“Well, we speak many languages in Olympic Park, sir, but that isn’t one of them. But that’s up to you. I can’t force you to move.”

I summoned my secret weapon, one of the Met’s finest horses. The family moved their lunch spot, sharpish. The mounted police force was very popular, with lots of people asking to have their pictures taken with the horses and the officers. They helped to channel people safely. But they did present a problem for cleaning and waste!

My colleague Paul picked up the megaphone:

“Ladies and gentlemen. As part of London 2012’s commitment to the environment, we have here a special exhibition of country smells. This horse poo is Olympic-standard horse poo, so do not step in it as it will dissolve your shoes. As this horse poo has been generously donated by the Metropolitan Police Mounted Division, your tax money has paid for it. So do enjoy your poo. If you really like it, LOCOG will be selling it on ebay after the games”.

The horses were stabled in the London Borough of Newham and provided 4.3 tonnes of poo for the local flower beds.

Closing ceremony

On the last night of the Games, Yellow zone became backstage for the parade of performers and athletes. I high-fived Sir Chris Hoy and got smiles and waves from Rebecca Adlington and the Brownlee brothers.

We moved to Red zone to listen in on the stadium. I hadn’t heard The Who belt out My Generation live since they were four young men at the Orchid Ballroom in Purley in 1966 and Keith Moon’s drumstick hit my friend on the ear. I was delighted that the two surviving members hadn’t lost their touch.

Someone handed us some corporate grub and we woofed down smoked salmon and many portions of  Bertie Bassett Liquorice Allsort cake.

Then we heard God save the Queen and the Olympic anthem and the stadium went quiet for the speeches. We heard a big long cheer – we didn’t realise till we saw it on the TV that this was for the Games Makers.

At last it was time for the fireworks. Well, I never need to go to another fireworks display in my life. Stunning. And the concourse was so empty, it was as if it was just for us.

All over. Hugs. Could we all pack up and go home? Not quite. A man had a heart attack in the middle of one of the main exit lanes. The defibrillator team arrived almost immediately. Quickly, we had to hold white-knuckled hands in a row and divert the crowd into the other lanes without spooking them.  For about 20 seconds, till the police horses arrived, the only word in my head was ‘Hillsborough’. I really thought I was going to die in the crush.

Afterwards, I turned to my colleagues and said: “Well that’s what we were trained to do!” Sure, it had mostly been two weeks of smiling, being helpful and answering questions, but in a moment of crisis we did the right thing. But I’m disappointed that I never had to wrestle a streaker to the ground.

Play > One day like this > Elbow

Elbow were flavour of the month in August 2012. They composed the theme tune First steps for the BBC games coverage, and One day like this seemed to come out of every window, loudspeaker and car radio. “Throw those curtains wide!” They sang. “One day like this a year would see me right.” It certainly did.