Skifall

Well, I'm back at work and back into The Outside World. I'm still coughing a bit and getting a bit breathless if I walk too far, but otherwise feeling pretty much back to full Roryness.

The Winter Olympics really is a bizarre collection of events. Some are life-threatening plummets downhill at speeds more akin to motor racing; others are weird dance displays. I still don't like any sporting event being settled by judges, because regardless of how well determined the rules for grading are, it ultimately comes down to someone's personal opinion. If you ask me to list my favourite songs today, and then ask me again tomorrow, the songs will probably be in a slightly different order. I have a suspicion that you could show an Olympic Ice Dancing judge exactly the same routines a month after the Games and have them rank them differently. So I'm not sure how you can ever feel truly satisfied with your results because you don't know if the voters simply didn't like your outfit, or maybe got distracted by a wasp just as you performed a perfect triple salchow (or something). 

I can't get my head round the speed skating. There's something odd and unnatural about the way they glide on the straight bits, then scamper sideways round the bends, all the while hunched over at a weird angle that looks like some kind of torture position.

RC 8-2-22