Of the latter there were two types – the guests and those who had invited the guests. We had two lots of guests during the first few days of the Olympics, one from East Asia and another from India. Bizarrely, the Indians, on their first day, decided that Gordon Ramsay’s buffet was not good enough and wanted to find an Indian restaurant. We pointed them in the direction of a couple nearby that were OK but to in my view, nothing special. They loved it. So much so that 3 out of the 4 days they were in London they ate there. We had paid for the buffet and couldn’t cancel it so I just invited the staff up to the hospitality suite to enjoy it.

The East Asians appeared very young to me – some of them even teenagers but that’s probably me as everyone looks young to me theses days. Our standard hospitality wave had 1 ticket to an event per day when we were panning this client’s waves year ago, they group wanted to have two events which we were able to accommodate. So I was somewhat surprised when each day at least 4 or 5 of the guests decided not to go to an event. They wanted to go shopping instead. It was always at the last-minute we were told so we couldn’t resell the tickets. occasionally a member of staff could use them but not always so it was frustrating knowing the furore around tickets there had been in the press.

We also had a client that had purchased a big chunk of our hotel rooms and coaches but had used the Prestige Tickets that included hospitality at the events. These tickets were hugely expensive originally priced around £4,500 per head (for a ticket and hospitality alone). What was hugely frustrating for me was that they would also have around 5-10 tickets per day that guests didn’t want to go to the events. I asked if we could have any that were not being used as we had staff who were desperate to go but was told that they didn’t want staff sat next to their guests! I even said they wouldn’t use the hospitality just the ticket but to no avail. I think of all the issues that came up this made me angriest because it was such a waste – not of their money, that’s their poor planning, but of a wasted opportunity for someone to go.

There were of course other internal issues like any large and high-profile project like this and most of them were trivial and unnecessary. One of our global senior team had invited some high level clients for a 3 day programme. For some reason, ten days before the start of the games he decided he wanted to give a London 2012 T-shirt to his guests. I pointed out that it was too late as all apparel had to be Adidas and go through LOCOG’s approval which took 10 days. An angry exchange ensued. I eventually sent them artwork for our official London 2012 logo and a list of rules and left it up to them. When they arrived they showed me the T-shirts.  It wasn’t hard to see they were fakes from China and I pointed out, whilst a slim chance, if our guests were caught wearing them in the park they could be ejected. When I say slim I mean infinitesimal but it gave me a pleasure delivering the message. They had also brought some expensive rain jackets that had Adecco brand but the brand was wrong so poor chap couldn’t use them either. Any real sympathy evaporated when he complained that the seats they had for the final night of swimming weren’t good enough and insisted on meeting at 8am on the Sunday to review the Athletics tickets they had for the 100m final that evening. He didn’t believe me that they were great tickets and not up on the second tier. I spoke to the guests and asked what they thought of their Swimming tickets and all raved that they were great. As it tuned out the Athletics tickets were great and my colleague also had the added bonus of being close enough to film the guy who threw a bottle at the start of the 100m final and NBC used it on their bulletin. Strangely he didn’t complain.

To say the country was nervous was an understatement. I was already frazzled and now I had some demanding VIPs to look after. We had 80 guests travelling on coaches to the Opening Ceremony including the owner of Adecco, Frau Jacobs and 9 of her guests. Adecco is a mere $20 bn business and not even the most significant in her family’s portfolio. We also had groups from Germany and Italy as well as a large group from Aviva Asia. UK CEO Peter Searle had also invited some of his business friends and associates including James Caan of Dragon’s Den fame as well as some of our major clients.

I had been in regular contact with all our guests explaining that they needed to be at the hotel very early - 2:45 – because the coaches were leaving promptly at 3. Admittedly it did seem excessively early but all sponsors had been allocated a slot at the Olympic coach and ours was 16:45. Everyone needed to be sat down in the Stadium by 7:30 and it was anticipated that it would take at least half an hour to get through security and was a good 45 minute walk after that. Allowing for the expected traffic chaos (even though we had Olympic Lane access) and the fact that the Olympic Lanes around Hyde Park, Buckingham Palace and Westminster were being closed at 3:30 for the VVIPs (Heads of State and IOC members) leaving from the Olympic Family Hotels on Park Lane (there’s a hierarchy in all things Olympic) you can see why we had to start early.

All was going smoothly until about 2:30 when Barry, our Transport Manager, came up to me looking rather pale and took to one side. LOCOG had contracted a company called TNS to look after all the transport requirements for sponsors. We had to use TNS if we wanted to have vehicles that were accredited to use the Olympic Lanes and parking at venues. Barry’s message to me was simple. TNS had had a complete melt down and half the coaches for sponsors across the board had failed to turn up. The good news was that the three coaches for our Adecco guests had turned up. The bad news was that we had sold 3 coaches to a large client of ours and two theirs had not materialised. They were eventually tracked down to a depot in Slough but about as useful as a chocolate kettle to transport guests to the Opening Ceremony.

I was in the reception of the hotel as our guests were making their way to the coaches whilst two coach loads of guests from our other client, headed by their CEO with a face like thunder, were headed down the road to Bond Street tube. Not quite the VIP treatment they were hoping for but they did arrive earlier than those on the coaches so every cloud. After they had all left I was conscious that Peter was looking agitated. He had a spare ticket and hotel room and had invited one of our clients at the last minute. He had given her all the instructions including to beat the hotel for 2:45. She swanned in nonchalantly at 2:55 as the last of our guests were getting on the coach and insisted on checking in! Peter told her politely to hurry up but she didn’t. He was beyond angry by 3:10 when she hadn’t come down and head to the coach. Our coach host came say asking where she was. Finally at 3:15 she unhurredly appeared from the lift and ambled across the lobby. I’m not one for shouting at clients but I made an exception. I jabbed my finger in her diction and to the consternation of those in the lobby shouted “You need to get on the coach NOW! You have been holding 80 people up for over 15 minutes now move it”. She gave me a look that said she wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. I’ll wait for the letter of complaint.

With everyone finally on their way I headed back the empty lounge for a restorative brew. I still needed to pick up some extra tickets from the LOCOG offices in Canary Wharf that we had bought online. I decided to risk it and go via tube? I expected the network to be packed with people heading to the Opening Ceremony but it was just like any other afternoon and I was back before six.

Me and the rest of the team decided to watch the Opening Ceremony in our lounge and we ordered takeaway Thai food. We couldn’t really have much of a drink because we had to wait for the return of our guests. Like most of the millions who watched it on TV and the lucky 80,000 who watched it live at the stadium we were enthralled by the sheer creative exuberance of Danny Boyle’s show. We hadn’t seen the Queen or Mr Bean bits but I loved the self-deprecating British humour it displayed. After the magnificent but somewhat sel-consciously serious Beijing ceremony this felt very British. No less spectacular but in a different and often tongue in cheek way.

I had worked out the timings and reconned it would be 2:30 by the time the coaches returned with our guests and I was spot on. We had laid on a magnificent late night buffet courtesy of Maze, Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant within our hotel but as expected most people wanted to head off to their beds. I counted 37 guest partaking of the buffet which included a magnificent cold watercress and feta soup. Unfortunately a number of the guests came back cold and whilst there was hit food the soup was a bit of a disappointment. By the time everyone had gone to bed it nearly 4am.

It all started to kick off a few months before. As the lead for all things London 2012 I was nominated by Patrick’s team to manage the whole torch relay programme – in other words be the fall guy. I was given an early insight into the day some weeks before on a conference call with people in Zurich – our HQ. As a sponsor we had been give 10 places on the torch relay. We weren’t given the option of saying where or when and we couldn’t change them. In essence our 10 places were like any of the other 7,990 places. As the London relay was to take place in the week leading up to the Opening Ceremony and there were obvious security concerns, the exact place and times of each torch bearer would not be known until a week before. As you can imagine, this didn’t go down well with the general control freakery of people looking after a CEO. However, I was given some early information that Patrick’s leg would be in Camden. I then found a general map for the route and discovered that Camden would be the start point of the relay on the 26th. Of course, having carried the torch myself, I knew the timings involved and how long before your slot you needed to turn up. Given the relay starts  between 6 and 7 every morning  this would mean a very early start. This didn’t go down well either. I was asked if I could change the slot for Patrick as he wasn’t a morning person! I was also told in no uncertain terms that I was responsible for Patrick’s wife, Betty, and that as it was one of the most important days of his life I had to make sure Betty was there at the point Patrick carried the torch to see him. No pressure then.

I was so concerned something could go wrong that I booked two cars to turn up at 3:30 amIn case one didn’t show. I met Dirk, the cameraman (did I mention it was all to be filmed?) in the lobby of the hotel and mercifully both cars turned up 15 minutes later. We drove round to the Grosvenor House hotel to collect Patrick, Betty and an American colleague Pat who had been coordinating much of Patrick’s various visits to London throughout the games. Thankfully everyone turned up on time and we headed off to Camden in both cars for Patrick’s drop off point at Haverstock Hill School. Both Patrick and Betty were in good spirits despite the hour somewhat belying him not being a morning person although he did mention this.

The cars made good time thought the deserted early morning streets of north London as I had hoped. I was sat in the people carrier with my back to the driver facing Patrick and Betty and after a while, whilst not entirely familiar with north London, I began to sense we should be nearing our destination as per the instructions to arrive at 4:45. But we weren’t. We appeared to be lost and the tension the car began to rise. I had provided the post code and a map to the drivers but obviously to no avail. Eventually the two drivers stopped the cars , got out and consulted. They got back in with platitudes and turned the cars round and headed back the way we had come. We did finally find the school after ten nerve shredding moments looking at the strained faces of Patrick and Betty. We saw to it that Patrick was happy then left him alone.

The next part of the pan was to find the spot where Patrick was to be dropped off for his relay. I had been given some instructions but sadly it wasn’t that clear. From what I could make out it was somewhere just south of Camden Town tube. My family’s experience of my relay was that the police were helpful and knew exactly the drop point. We were dropped off by the tube just as the barriers were being put up. I asked numerous officially dressed people but they hadn’t a clue about a drop off point. I had visions of Patrick’s face a blur in the coach as it drove past us and he was dropped off at some other part of London whilst we looked on stranded.

Just then the UK’s CEO Peter Seale turned up with some American colleagues. He obviously felt the need to support his boss although to be fair Peter’s not a morning person either. Harriet turned up a few minutes later as well swelling the Adecco support. We were relieved and fortified by Starbucks finally opening at 6 but we still had to wait until 7:04 for Patrick’s scheduled relay. The cameraman gave me one of his cameras showing me how to use it. I forgot to say that my other duties today included the filming of Patrick from the finish point of his relay as he passed on the flame. I was amazed at the growing crowd of people so early. Everyone took positions either side of the road and  waited. Well I prayed. Prayed very hard that the bus would stop where I hoped it would and Patrick would step out not some stranger.

Finally the entourage approached including the Samsung, Lloyds and Coke buses and in the distance the gold bus bearing the torch bearers crept forward.  I held my breath. Mercifully the bus stopped exactly where I thought it would and out stepped Patrick. Wearing a relieved grin I rushed the 300m down the road where the morning rush hour traffic had been halted to the consternation of some drivers. I managed to position myself in the middle of the road in front of a bus and from a perfect position filmed Patrick approach the next torch bearer, pass the flame and get on the bus. Job done!

I met up with everyone back at the start point and we headed back to cars where Pat, Harriet and the Americans headed off. Dirk, Peter, Betty and I headed back to the school to wait for Patrick to get back on the coach which he did around 9:15. The day wasn’t done for us yet though. The car took us back to Patrick’s hotel where he changed and freshened up. We said goodbye to Betty while Peter, Dirk and I and waited for Patrick. We then embarked on a mini tour of London branches, all filmed by Dirk, where everyone was delighted to meet Patrick but more importantly, have their picture taken with the torch.

At around 3pm we dropped Patrick back at his hotel while Peter and I headed to our hotel  and our now fully branded hospitality suite and were filmed by Dirk talking about the London 2012 project which was now reaching its climax. After Peter left I grabbed a cup of tea and went down to the windowless room in the hotel basement that was our office for the duration of the games and received an update on the first guests that had arrived that afternoon. It was the calm before the storm!

The whole event really kicked off for me on the 25th July. As a sponsors we had been given 28 tickets to the final dress rehearsal for the Opening Ceremony and I gave them to the people behind the scenes who had helped in some important but invisible way – the legal team that helped with our contracts, some fo the PAs who had to knock their bosses into shape either inviting guests or getting engaged with the games and a few of the marketing team who had helped with ticket distribution (not something I would wish on anyone again). But for me the thrill was being able to get my family to see what I hoped would be a memorable spectacle.

I checked into our hotel, The Marriott Grosvenor Square, which would be my home for the next three weeks. I had a team of 12 working for me at the hotel from Sportsworld – Sue our Account Director, Gill our Aussie Ticketing Manager, Barry our Transport Manager, Clive our Hotel and Food & Beverage Manager along with coach hosts and reception desk girls (why are they always girls?). All of them were brilliant and great characters as I was to find out over the coming weeks as tempers and resources were stretched. We were putting the finishing touches on our hospitality suite which had a bar, two large plasma TVs and Chesterfield sofas and chairs with coffee tables to give the whole place the feel of a comfortable lounge – a home from home for our guests where they could relax after a hard day’s spectating!

I had arranged to meet Karen and the boys at the hotel as we were to be traveling to the park on a coach using the Olympic Lanes! Actually it was Karen, Dan and mini Billy. Our Billy was on a camping holiday with his mates and we had replaced hom with another Billy who was staying with us for a few nights – lucky boy. They all piled down to the hospitality suite and started hoovering the nuts and crisps on offer. At four we were told get on the coaches (thank goodness otherwise I would have had to explain an unexpected increase in the costs of crisps and nuts).

We were joined on the coach by Sue, Harriet, our CEO’s PA  and a few of the Sportsworld team. It was to be a dry run for them ahead of the real Opening Ceremony wave with our VIP guests except there were only 7 or 8 of us on a 50 seater. The coach swung out onto a queue of traffic on Park Lane before but we had a relatively clear run to Hyde Park Corner on the Olympic Lane before turning down Constitution Hill towards Buckingham Palace which was eerily empty after the congestion we had just left behind. The Olympic Lane continued down Bird Cage Walk equally deserted and then after Parliament Square we turned onto Victoria Embankment. As we sped along the lane towards the City we really experienced the effect of the Olympic Lanes. The lane to our left was jammed whilst we travelled at 30mph to the sounds of vehicles on the other lanes honking their horns in anger and frustration. I shrank away from the windows embarrassed by the empty seats in our coach whilst the boys waved and grinned at the angry red faces in their stationary cars.

After our bus driver got lost on the way to the park (a hastily called meeting with Barry the next morning sorted that out before the main event) we finally found the coach park and headed through security which was a breeze with so few people but afterwards. To gain entry to the park we had to have our tickets scanned. The scanners didn’t work - it was all feeling a bit Heath Robinson at this point. But they waved us through with a shrug and we headed towards the stadium with excitement building as we joined the thousands of other spectators.

The stadium is magnificent in tis Lloyds Buildingesque minimalism. I like the fact that its functional and flexible rather than the bloated over designed and engineered Bird’s Nest Stadium in Beijing. I couldn’t help but make the comparison as, with two days to go, I could almost hear the commentators from four years ago saying it was an impossible task for London to emulate Beijing and yet that is exactly what we would all do. London had to do things differently not least because of the financial climate.

The park looked stunning and Karen was struck by the beautiful grass areas which had been sown and let to grow to look like meadows with wild flowers timed to bloom for the games. I haven’t looked but I know our computer hard drive is full up with pictures of flowers after Karen spend much of the time we had before entering the stadium with head and camera in amongst the foliage.

We decided to have some food before we went into the stadium. Sadly (for the boys) the two huge McDonalds on site were closed but the food concessions around the stadium were open. In some ways it was a depressing selection: Fish & Chips (£8.50), Pasties, Roast (?), Bar (serving Heineken only). We decided to have a drink first – bottles of fizzy stuff all round and a pint for me, £17! We then plumped for the pasties as they appeared to be the best value at £5 each. After a long queue we finally made it to the front but they didn’t have two of the pasties we wanted and when our order did eventually arrive it turned out it was wrong – only after biting into one of the pasties. If this was the shape of things to come I was getting concerned.

After wolfing down our food we headed for our seats which were half way up the upper tier at one end of the stadium where the Olympic Bell was hanging (the bell end as Dan said unable to control his mirth – teenage boys!). We were confronted with  the pastoral vista that Danny Boyle had promised and I had secretly dreaded. It all looked very pretty but I was worried the country would end up a laughing-stock. Soon people came out with large inflatable clouds on strings which were paraded around the green and pleasant land before us which was soon populated with sheep, cows, goats, geese and cricket playing yokels. We had been asked to take our seats at 7:30. An hour later I was somewhat bored with the sight of sheep going from one pen to the other and the boys were seriously unimpressed.

The warm up guy didn’t help. we were shown how to pick up the panels containing 9 led lights in front of us and wave them about. Then  we had to take  a huge blue sheet over our heads. So far so Saturday afternoon at the footie (some of the donkeys in the stadium played better than a few of the over paid footballers I had seen last season). There was a very pleasant folk singer to entertain us from the foot of the huge Oak tree sat atop a grassy knoll on the other side fo the stadium from us. We were told there would be gaps as we wouldn’t be seeing everything (they wanted there to be surprises and even had a twitter hashtag for us to use – #savethesurprise). We were even told when the Red Arrows would be flying over (bizarrely 60,000 people looked up and cheered at this point) but finally, at 9pm we were told that the this was the time on Friday night when the live TV transmission would start and there was a filmed countdown on the big screens and also in the audience with the LED displays. My fingers were crossed. I so didn’t want this to be rubbish!

The Olympic bell was rung, the stadium was suddenly filled with the sound of 1,000 drummers thumping out a slow, cacophanous and menacing beat and before us the green and pleasant land was magically transformed or ripped apart as the greenery was peeled away and great smoking chimneys rose into the air. It was an extraordinary transformation and from then on if you blinked you missed something whether it was a troup dressed as the Beatles in Sergeant Pepper outfits, HMS Windrush representing the first immigrants from the West Indies, a flock of Mary Poppins’ descending from the sky. They even had an homage to the NHS which I am sure would bemuse the rest of the world watching but given the negative comments about Britain by the visiting US Presidential candidate Mitt Romney and the subsequent scathing attack on the NHS by his running mate, it was a beautifully timed celebration of a free health service for everyone and something we Brits are rightly proud of.

The lighting effects from the panels in front of us were stunning forming intermittently waves of light undulating around the stadium and then figures and numbers including opal cats eyes. But the moment that stuck out for me was the forging of an Olympic ring in the centre of the stadium that finally rose into the air and was joined by the four other glowing rings that appeared from the four corners of the roof and as they joined to form the Olympic ring logo they cascaded fireworks. It was genuinely awe-inspiring. Mentally I was punching the air. Well done Danny Boyle, you nailed it!

The second half was a romp through popular culture with a musical theme. This element had been flagged before and a colleague of mine who was there with his Mum a few rows back had joked, as we tried to anticipate what songs might be represented, that Tiger Feet by Mud would be there. And sure enough it was with the volunteers performing the thumbs in belt elbows out twisting dance made famous by the song from my youth.  We were both laughing as we sought each other out through the crowd.

Too soon it was over but we left entertained and awed. I couldn’t wait to see what the rest of the world thought on Friday night. I was also relieved as our 80 guests would indeed experience a once in a lifetime show. Thank goodness at £1600 a ticket! We made our way back to the coach and the driver kindly agreed to drop Karen and the boys off at Victoria station while I headed back to my hotel and bed in which I would spend exactly 2 hours before I was woken my alarm  for the next installment of my pre-games workout!

To be fair I had occasionally glanced at the live streaming of the torch relay as it made its way from Lands End through the West Country and Wales. Adecco’s first torch-bearer was Vicki Crothall who had been nominated by her colleagues in the US. She had her leg on day 2 in Torquay and I called her after the event to see how it went. She was still excited and bursting with enthusiasm for the whole experience. She said on the bus she and her fellow bearers shared there were three guys from a local band who were running – called Muse!

I was scheduled to run my leg at 17:15 in the village of Haughton, a few miles west of Stafford but I had to meet our bus in Stoke at 14:40. Karen arranged for my Mum and Dad and sister Tracy and one of her boys, Harry, to meet at a pub, the Mainwaring Arms, in Whitmore a village just outside Stoke. We all arrived within minutes of each other and the forecast heavy showers seemed to be holding off as we sat outside on the patio in warm sunshine. I must admit I was feeling twitchy the nearer we got to 2pm and I headed back to the car to put on the Torchbearers uniform. Everyone has jokingly called it a white Essex shell suit but today the joke was it was a late era Elvis outfit. Dan suggested I buy an Elvis wig and matching sideburns.

Everyone wanted a picture taken with me in the uniform which I agreed to with ever diminishing grace and increasing irritation as the clock ticked past 2. Karen, the boys and Zoe, Billy’s girlfriend, drove me off to Stoke for my rendezvous whilst the others headed off to Haughton where I was to carry the flame. We made it in plenty of time and the golden liveried bus was waiting outside Hanley Park, where the evening celebration was to take place, along with a few of the other torchbearers. I was told in the instructions that after my leg I had to get back in the bus and travel back to Stoke. I was a little annoyed at this as I knew my friends and family had come a long way to see me and I would not be able to join them and celebrate afterwards if I had to go back to Stoke. I asked the hostess on our bus if I could stay in Haughton but was told in no uncertain terms that I had to get back on the bus for security reasons and also, before I could take my torch home it had to be decommissioned and that could only take place once we had got back to Stoke. Somewhat disgruntled I waved off my family as they headed off to join the rest of my family and the Hockens and Berkleys who were also travelling up to cheer me on.

The next 90 minutes were spent in a bit of a limbo. We were eventually told the bus would head off at 4 but in the mean time we hung around outside getting to know each other a little, watched the aerial acrobats practice their performance for the evening’s celebrations and glanced nervously at the the gold torches racked up in the bus. It seemed an age before we finally drove off. Our bus host was a student from Sheffield Hallam University for whom this was her work placement. Not a bad gig! She told us about the torch, how to hold it and the fact the design incorporated a mesh of 8,000 holes representing the 8,000 torchbearers. Then she said, as with all the other buses she had hosted, we could go round and tell each other our stories,  Personal Best stories having been the theme for the torchbearers. In typical British self-deprecating fashion there was a deafening silence. Eventually a man who was the Dad of one of the young Torchbearers who was sat by the window with bright green over-ear headphones on rocking in his chair, spoke up. His son had severe autism and social and communication issues but was an example to many in his community of how to get involved in activities regardless of disability. We all cheered afterwards and the floodgates opened with everyone telling their stories.

There were some heart warming stories including a Mum running with her son who had cerebral palsy, a teenager who had a brain tumour but recovered and had set up a charity and Imran Sherwani who was in the gold medal winning men’s Team GB Hockey side in the 1988 Olympics. He had scored two goals to help defeat the West Germans which I remembered had elicited the immortal lines from Barry Davis who was commentating for the BBC at the time: “Where oh where were the Germans? And frankly, who cares”.  There was also Adele who was the torch-bearer who would hand over to me. She had overcome ovarian cancer and had set up a charity to raise money and awareness for the disease and was a local lass. She and I agreed that rather than just pass the flame we would hug as well.

We were soon driving out of Stoke and down the M6 to the next junction for Stafford and surprisingly we then started to trace the route we would all do the relay on. For all of us it was at this point that the enormity of what we were about to do finally sunk in. There were barriers already set up on the street and more surprising a large number of people already waiting by the side of the road with Union Jack flags and banners set out. Conspicuous in our golden bus with 17 white uniformed passengers we were easily spotted and everyone waved. At traffic lights and junctions people would turn and take pictures and wave. The further we drove the bigger the crowds became. Soon the roads were lined with people and we noticed a number of houses with BBQ’s going outside or people with picnics sat on the verges. It was hard to take in that this was for us. Well, to be fair it wasn’t for us it was for the torch but we would be carrying it. It was both daunting and exciting.

We headed out of Stafford and drove the few miles to Haughton where we would start our leg. Adele was to be first then I would take over. One of the other torchbearers was Christos who was the Managing Director of Next, a fellow sponsor, but more importantly, it transpired, like me a lifelong West Brom fan. We pledged to embrace at our handover and come up with some appropriate Boing Boing salute to our beloved Baggies. As we entered Haughton we were all taken aback. It’s a small country village but from the back of the bus someone exclaimed “Look at the crowds of people!”

There were hundreds and hundreds of people outside the pubs along the streets, standing on walls and they all jumped up and cheered and waved when we passed. It was breathtaking but also slightly terrifying. We finally pulled into the car park of a pub at the very end of the village to wait for the flame to arrive. As soon as we stopped people piled out of the pub, beers in one hand, camera or phone in the other taking pictures of us. It was a little like being an animal in the zoo. One of the Torchbearers then grabbed one of the torches and held it up so they could photograph it and it was almost a sense of relief as the attention momentarily was on something else.

For over 20 minutes we waited in the bus getting increasing nervous and excited. Finally a police motorcycle whizzed by honking his horn to the cheers of the crowds around us. A few minutes later our host said excitedly “It’s here. The flame has arrived.” It was being transporeted in a lattern from the previous village. Adele was then asked to come and get her  torch and get off the bus. The doors then closed behind her and the bus took off retracing our route down the A518 that runs through the village. By this time I was a nervous wreck. We pulled to a top at Brazenhill Road where I was to take the flame and I went to the front of the bus to take my torch. The bus door opened to loud cheers from the people lining the street and I stepped out alone. The bus doors closed behind me and off went the bus leaving me in the middle of the road the object of the gaze of hundreds of people.

I don’t know if you ever had the same experience as me at school but I remember once forgetting my PE kit and having to do the lesson in my pants. This felt exactly the same. I felt totally exposed. I wanted some sort of corner to head to or even better a shelter. But there I was in the middle of the street with everyone staring at me. The cheers eventually died down, almost as if they sensed my discomfort but I was rescued by the sight of my family and friends who were on both sides of the road. I saw Billy and Dan first and quickly went over to embrace them and soon realized they were with my sister and Harry and Ali Berkley with two of her daughters Ellie and Caro. The warm embrace of friends and family and finally a sense of a haven helped me recover my wits. Soon they were taking photographs of each of them with me and the torch  and soon many of the locals were asking to have their of their children’s photos taken with me and the torch.

After everyone had had their go I wandered over to the other side of the street to more waves and cheers and my Mum and Dad, Karen and our friends the Hockens. Simon was at the back filming it all on his video camera. Mum came out to have her photo taken as did Karen and again some of the locals. It was an utterly surreal experience.I soon gathered that many people wanted their photo taken so I shouted out, much to the amusement and subsequent ribbing of my friends “Who wants a photo taken?”

After about 5 minutes a guy dressed in grey shorts and shirt ran up the road to me and introduced himself as PC something or other from the Met Police. He explained that the torch entourage was nearly here and it would be proceeded by the Coke and Samsung  buses and I should get to the side of the road. He then took out an allen key and turned on the gas on my torch. Soon the police motorcycles appeared then the bright red Coke bus followed by the Samsung blue bus with people hanging off it cheering. Then jogging around the bend came Adele with the flame and torch held high. In front of her was the media bus containing the Torchcam from which the BBC streamed the whole relay live on its website.

Everything was happening so fast it was a blur. Adele arrived and we embraced as we planned. A friend’s Dad later emailed me to congratulate me and say my embrace was about 4 seconds longer than was absolutely appropriate! My Met police guy then positioned my torch below hers, made sure the logo on our torches was facing out then told us to look at the media bus on the back of which were a group of photo journalists, and smile. My torch was lit in a process known as the torch kiss and I embraced Adele once more as she headed back to the bus. then it was just me and the 4 Met police runners.

You may remember that I had been told by my surgeon that I must never run again because of the impact and therefore danger to my pelvis. I was determined that I wouldn’t just walk and had practiced what I called a fast shuffle. I had mentioned to my police guy that I couldn’t run and apologised in advance that I was likely to be slow. As soon as I had the torch lit and turned around it was like a starting gun had gone off. I leant forward and started off. In my mind I was going to shuffle but the excitement and adrenaline took over and before I knew it I was jogging with the torch in my left hand with my tight arm raised as high as it could go (not very) waving at everyone. My colleagues back at head office were watching live on the BBC and joked that my wave was very regal appropriately so given the impending Queen’s Jubilee but in reality I couldn’t raise my arm any higher so it must have appeared quite queen like.

The jeers and flag waving of the crowds was incredible. I was told I had a huge grin from, ear to ear throughout the whole 300m but it was hard not to. The overwhelming emotion from everyone, me included, was joy. It was a celebration, a coming together of a community and a country. In some ways I felt almost bashful and embarrassed by the attention but in reality it wasn’t for me. These people didn’t know me from Adam. It was the torch and the flame they were cheering, something that would come through their village once in a generation, perhaps never again and I was just the human face, someone to personify the symbol and who could return their waves and cheers. So much so I found myself whooping along with them. I never whoop. I ran past the pub with beer bellied cheering blokes with their half drunk pint glasses held high and asked them to save me a pint or two. There were old ladies sat in garden chairs waving flags, babies on their dad’s shoulders with serious bemused looks on their faces and small Union flags in their tiny hands. There were teenagers running past with their camera phones help aloft. I thought they would have been far too cool to be part of this but no, here and wherever we went, teenagers were out in force grabbing glimpses of the torch. It was a truly heart warming and extraordinary experience. At one point I heard a shout to my left and turned to see Billy and Dan running along the pavement with flags in their hands dodging people and being cautiously observed by the Met police runners as they occasionally stepped onto the road to avoid prams and grannies.

In the blink of an eye it was over and disappointingly I wasn’t to hand over to Christos but I was to light the lantern as it was then out on a bus to be driven to the outskirts of Stafford where he would be waiting. Suddenly the flame was put out by my police guy and I was escorted back to the bus all the while waving at the crowds still cheering. The doors opened and I joined Adele excitedly exclaiming how amazing it was that so many people had come out and how unbelievable it felt.

The bus drove to Stafford where it slowed to follow Christos who we couldn’t see in front of another bus in front of us. The crowds in Stafford were larger still and we found ourselves stood up waving at everyone as they took our pictures and we soon realised we were still part of the torch entourage. As each proceeding torch-bearer finished their leg they stepped into the bus overcome with excitement some holding up their torches in the window so people could take pictures of them. Thousands of people thronged the streets sometimes 10 deep and many ran alongside the coach with cameras. At this point I wasn’t sure if we were celebrities or prisoners in a G4S van.

We finally ended the Stafford leg and headed to the M6 where bizarrely the police escort blocked off most of the traffic behind us and once we got off the motorway the roads had been blocked so we could go through red lights and didn’t have to contend with traffic. There was the strange sight of a queue of traffic on the other carriageway that couldn’t move but most of the drivers had their windows down and were filming or taking photos of the entourage fly past.

And finally to Stoke where, if possible the crowds were even larger. There were four Torchbearers with Imran Sherwani doing the last leg. we could see him from the bus run through Hanley Park and light the cauldron to a fanfare and glitter balls. The penultimate runner was the Dad with his autistic son. I could see them both run with both hands holding the torch high. It was  fitting and emotional end to what was an extraordinary day. As I sat on the bus waiting to be parked up and reflected I received a text from Karen saying her friend Fay had told her that it was exactly 7 months to the day and hour that I was undergoing surgery following my accident that would ultimately save my life. Even more poignantly was the fact that the time I was running was when Karen was being told by he doctor that I may not make it through to the morning. 7 months later I was running with the Olympic Torch.

Picking my bike up was the first hurdle mentally. Finches had the bike for a month. I had been told by Mr Gibbs, my pelvis surgeon, not to try getting on the bike until early April. I picked it up on the 30th March – I was only a few days early. I was itching to get it back but naturally apprehensive. I had been helping Fi Packham buy a bike for her Lands End to John O’Groats odyssey later in the summer and had built up something of a rapport with the guys from Finches. Not only had they looked after and repaired my bike but in the mean time they had started to stock Bianchi’s in their new showroom. They of course outshine the Specialized and Giant bike vying for the attention of customers (perhaps with the exception of the Specialized Venge but I am drifting into bike nerd-dom here so apologies). We are now on first name terms.

Walking out of the shop I was confronted with the busy A217 and decided the prudent thing was to pop over to the car park in Bell STreet just to see if I could still do it – mentally and physically. I gingerly straddled the saddle not knowing what sort of reaction I would have, and headed off. No nerves, no wobbles. Nothing. It felt great. So much so that after only a couple of circuits I headed up the hill and home. The only compromise I have made is changing the clipless peals for the old-fashioned ones. It’s actually harder to cycle having done so many miles in using clip in shoes but I feel a little safer.

That weekend I wanted to try a little longer but Dan, our 15-year-old son, was not happy at all with me cycling again so insisted on joining me. We didn’t go far, about 8 miles, and it was cold and grey but I enjoyed it. A friend passed us on a hill and stopped not believing it was me. He later said I looked knackered whilst Dan was nonchalantly looking around as if he was not exerting himself at all.

The following week I joined Mrs G and Fi on a 15 mile ride and yesterday we managed 20 in cold windy weather again. The legs are still strong and the cardiovascular fitness is coming back. We even tackled a steep hill descent but I felt no fear just a respectful caution and rather than bomb down I feathered the brakes just to feel more control. I have rediscovered by joy of cycling and particularly my bike. It feels great – even its little idiosyncracies are endearing rather than annoying. I am so tempted to join colleagues on a couple of events they have planned like the Suffolk Sunrise which we did last year but I think that is just a bit too far – at the moment.

It’s a big jump from where I was a month ago. I now go to the gym at least twice a week and can push myself more and more. I even had a one to one spin session and felt able to increase the resistance to the levels I could before the crash but more importantly, get out of the saddle on lower resistance and sprint. I transferred this onto the bike yesterday and a couple of time sprinted past the girls whooping and hollering – childish show off I most certainly still am.

Funnily enough, cycling is easier than walking. I have tried a few longish walks including a Good Friday yomp with my Mum and Dad from our house across bridle ways and footpaths to a country pub, the Skimmington Castle. Two pints in the sun and a walk back felt great but for the last half a mile I was feeling the strain on my hip – but absolutely worth it.

So I am happily back as part of the cycling fraternity. My pelvis is fine but the hip is a bit sore –  that may be a result of the walking, at least that’s what I’m telling myself. The shoulder is inevitably sore leaning forward on the handlebars which I have had to tip them up a notch but after cycling a while it does improve so I am hoping it is doing some good. It will be a while before I tackle any big hills and I’ll leave it a month or so before I get the clipless pedals back on but I am attending a bike show next week with Julian Lebby – who knows what I’ll come back with – and I do hope to do a decent charity ride some time this summer.

I use a pair of crutches I have left over from when I smashed my ankle five years ago sledging after a day skiing in Austria (I know it sounds like I am accident prone but I swear I never broke a bone in my body til I was 40 – I’ve done quite a number since then but they are other stories). The crutches are bright blue with reflectors at the end of the hand grips which my colleagues rib me mercilessly about. I don’t care. At least they are a bit less NHS. However bright and visible they are I still don’t get offered a seat. On one of my first train trips I was a little late for my train and it was packed with standing room only. No one offered a seat and being English I didn’t want to ask and eventually decided to get off before the train left to get the next one that left half an hour later on the next platform. Half the train was already sat there locked but I saw the guard and asked if he could open up so I could sit down which he did.

So back to work full time and to be honest I do find it very tiring. Going from spending most of my time in a hospital bed and literally two weeks later commuting and sat at a desk in a work environment is not only physically but mentally exhausting. The simple act of sitting at a desk is painful on the shoulder and shoulder blade a) because if gravity pulling the shoulder down and b) reaching to and typing on the laptop. My colleagues must think I am a fidget as I am always having to stand up and stretch or go for a wander. Don’t get me wrong, it is far better to be back at work although I do miss the regular contact with the family which was one of the few benefits of being an invalid at home.

Physio has been a challenge for a couple of reasons. Being the NHS it is not that flexible or frequent and because I am now working my diary doesn’t always coincide so I have had to cancel a few sessions and went through almost a month without treatment. It’s a poor excuse I know and I should ensure physio takes preference as everyone is telling me but I can’t help feel pangs of guilt from being off work for so long and am perhaps over compensating or being too accommodating on the work front. When I do get to the physio it is both painful and frustrating. Frustrating as the increase in movement on my shoulder is tiny (perhaps because I have been les than dedicated with the exercises) and painful as the treatment requires strenuous manipulation of the shoulder joint to loosen the scar tissue and get the joint moving. The sessions are for 20 minutes but I have to say, I’m not complaining. I’m ready for a snooze after all that.

A couple of other major milestones came at once last week. I felt able to drive. Good news, after months sat on the drive the Jag started up first time. I know it must appear ridiculous but the sound of the big V8 rumble for the first time since October was  a joy – shallow – moi? Bad news. Two flat tyres. Luckily a new tyre place opened up across the road a week before and they managed to get the new ones in (which are unusual sizes) and fitted them in a day.

Coming back from the physio I asked Karen if she could take me to the gym I used to go to. The guys at Bodies in Design in Reigate, Andrew and Jason, were largely responsible for getting me in shape and ready for the Ride Across Britain last year. They have become good friends and have kept in touch over the months as I have recovered and even promised to get me back to fitness in conjunction with my phystherapy free of charge! So it was great to see Andrew and he immediately booked me in for a few sessions and started work on a recovery plan. So this week I have been to two gym sessions and have been chuffed with how much I can do. Admittedly I am not using the resistance I used to but 10 minutes on the exercise bike followed by squats ( scary to begin with but amazing how much you can push yourself), crunches and Pilates followed by 10 minutes on the cross trainer. I can’t do upper body work yet but the Pilates is great for stretching the shoulder and getting some core strength back.

So, back to normal? In reality I will need to recalibrate normal but in a couple of weeks I have made massive strides (figuratively). The hospital bed, wheelchair and frame around the loo have gone, I am back to work full time and going to the gym. I am sleeping in our own bed again and have started cooking (not in the bed). Sadly I will never be the opening bowler for England or run a marathon (run for the bus come to think ok of it) but, all things considered I will take the cards I have been dealt with thanks. The next milestone is the bike!

In the face of all this positive activism a number of people are taking a more cautionary if not outright hostile position not least those people in Uganda directly involved in rebuilding Uganda. “What the video says is wrong, and it can cause us more problems than help us” says Dr Beatrice Mpor, Director of Kairos, a community health organisation in Gulu, a town in an area that was once  at the heart of Kony’s rebel’s activities. The facts are that Kony is largely a spent force in Africa. His rebels number no more than a few hundred now and he is no longer in Uganda having been driven out over six years ago. Which begs the question, why all the attention now when arguably it was needed ten or twenty years ago? Part of the answer is celebrity and social media. When people like Justin Bieber tweets or posts on Facebook to his millions of young followers that Kony must be stopped, he will get more attention than the well established charities on the ground who have been working hard over many years to help rebuild Uganda, organisations like http://www.ijm.org http://www.medair.org and http://www.reliefweb.org

The Invisible Children video incites violence or at least the use of military force to bring Kony to justice and whilst that may be a valid response is it the responsibility of The West to get involved militarily? After all, the recent history of military intervention is not exactly  crowned in glory. As Tomothy Kalyagera, a well known Ugandan social critic says “there is no historical context. It’s more like a fashion thing”. A more unchartiable label has been used in western media – “slacktivism”, the sense that it is easy to feel virtuous clicking a like button on Facebook and doing nothing else.

Another view is that the charity Invisible Children is making rather a lot of money out of making slick videos and selling bracelets which, surprise surprise, have doubled in price over the last week. Their accounts are transparent but show only about 30% of the revenue going to Uganda. The principles of the charity claim all funds less expenses are used for charitable purposes. To be fair some in Uganda support the aims of the charity, Maria Burnett, a researcher on Uganda for Human Rights Watch said the video has helped draw attention to an issue the rights group has long been working on. Luis Moreno-Ocampo, the prosecutor for the International Criminal Court where Kony is wanted for war crimes told the Associated Press the attention raised was “incredible! Exactly what we need.” a more critical view is taken by the blog http://www.visiblechildren.tumblr.com

So what are we to make of this phenomena? On one hand, I am delighted to see so many spend time watching the Kony2012 video rather than adding inane status posts. If people can be made aware of global issues such as the plight of innocent people suffering at the hands of unprincipled, ruthless and often evil people through social media then that is unequivocally a good thing. What has also come out is the power of young people who, when faced with injustice want to do something positive and, dare I say it, are less apathetic than many of their parent’s generation.  Like all things in life though it is more complicated than that. Is the demand for more soldiers to bring down Kony the right approach? I don’t know but what I do know is there are good people on the ground working for long established charities who do know more than me and, I suggest, more than Invisible Children and it is they that should be the recipient of the well meaning support and donations of this global uprising. I might also suggest that this, in the grand scheme of things is a small issue and one that will, we hope, come to a satisfactory conclusion soon and that, to use the words of a teenager posting on Facebook on the subject ” the world should use all this energy and money to save the many thousands of children that die of malnutrition every day in Africa. That is something we can all do.”

Each Olympic sponsor has an allocation according to their sponsorship tier. Adecco, as tier two sponsors have ten. The day before the accident I submitted the ten names of Adecco’s Olympic Torchbearers. The criteria for our Torchbearers is the same as all the other 8,000: they should have a personal best story, something where they have inspired others, and that they represent a diverse cross section of our people. We asked our employees for their nominations and had some great stories including some of our contract and temporary staff who work tirelessly in the community. Our final nominations included one of our back office team who is wheelchair bound but is the real beating heart of our charity activity and our Global CEO who instigated the Win4Youth charity which to date has not only got Adecco employees around the world fitter and more active but donated over half a million euros to children’s charities in two years.

Half way through January I was told that one of our Torchbearers had left the company so we had to find a replacement – fast. The final deadline for all details of the Torchbearers was 25th January. Anne Sadler, our comms lady, and I immediately looked at our original nominations and picked what we thought was the stand-out candidate. However, after discussing it with his boss it was felt he wasn’t the right person. Back to square one and time running out so we decided that Anne should ask the Board to choose from the original list. By the end if the week I was getting agitated. I not only needed the nomination by close of play Tuesday but all the information including signed agreements, copies of passport you name it. It all went worryingly quiet so I called Anne who promised I would hear by 11am Monday. Talk about cutting it fine!

The following Monday, true to her word, I received an email saying the Board had come to a unanimous decision….you! I phoned her just to check! Then emailed Peter thanking him but in reality just checking it wasn’t a hoax. No it wasn’t, congratulations he replied. I called up to Karen and told her the amazing news. I told the kids when they came home and they told their friends at school, family have spread the word, even our local Church mentioned in their newsletter. How screamingly exciting!

A couple of, not downsides but things to take into consideration. I managed to get a slot on day 12 which will run between Chester and Stoke because it was close to where the previous bearer lives. I live in Surrey and I can’t swap. Still, nice countryside. I remember cycling that way on day six of Ride Across Britain last year. The second consideration is my physical state. I was told by the surgeon that I should never run again. I’ve never been a big runner, well overweight runner yes but you know what I mean. But it is strange when someone tells you you can’t do something how disproportionately upsetting it becomes. I did actually mention this to the people organising the torch relay at LOCOG the other day when I was in their offices. They were lovely about it and said a shuffle would be fine and each leg is only 300 metres so I can take longer and milk the experience. I am now planning to amble across either side of the street shaking hands with everyone and letting kids touch the torch and have their picture taken with it. Probably not quite what LOCOG had in mind and knowing them, as I do intimately, there will stringent rules and regulations we will no doubt be apprised of very soon which will include no chatting with the British public or letting anyone touch the torch unless they have a torchbearers licence and dangerous substance handling licence because of health and safety.

Another touching moment was during the Adecco conference. As I mentioned, I presented on all the Olympic activities taking place this year one of which is the torch relay. I announced all the Torchbearers to the traditional applause. When I came off stage Peter, our CEO said why didn’t I mention myself? Call me typically English but that’s just not something we do. I couldn’t imagine myself up in stage announcing that the final torchbearer is me – cue applause. No thanks. So it was with surprise and embarrassed gratitude that at the beginning of the Awards ceremony evening, Peter did announce that I was the final torchbearer – cue applause and indeed a queue of mainly lovely young women in skimpy evening outfits coming over to congratulate and hug me throughout the evening – every cloud.

All of  Adecco’s 3000 employees from the UK and Ireland attends one of the days including an overnight stay. It’s quite a logistical feat with coaches dispatched from all corners of the country arriving in time for a reception and conference whilst the previous night’s delegates are checking out and on their way back. The format is a 13:00 start, presentation from the CEO, Peter Searle and CFO, Neil Martin, covering the overall company stuff including the numbers for last year and budget for 2012 followed by the MD’s of the other divisions and notable others including yours truly and Danny Crates who was delivering the motivational speech on all three days. With a half hour coffee break everyone gets ready and the room is transformed for the awards ceremony and celebration party afterwards.

I arrived at the hotel and was kindly met by Henry, one of the marketing guys, who not only carried most of my bags but wheeled me up to my room. I then wheeled myself down to the conference where rehearsals were taking place. When it was my turn I was pushed by one of the technical guys to a wheelchair lift they had installed for me. Observations: presenting from a wheelchair is very different to standing up. My usual style is to wander round the stage gesticulating. This helps get the blood up and adrenaline pumping. In a chair, I can’t move about. I actually felt like Ronnie Corbett, for those of you who can remember the Two Ronnies, when he sat in his low chair delivering his monologue. A couple of other things I noticed were that speaking to people all the time gave me a stiff neck as I had to look up all the time also carpets are much harder to wheel oneself on than hard flooring. Obvious really but not until you have to do it yourself do you notice.

The presentations went smoothly. For my part the lift taking me to the stage was excruciatingly slow. Luckily a video was being played whilst my elevation was taking place but I felt hideously exposed. An innovation for this year was a dedicated twitter feed and hash tag and everyone was encouraged to tweet their comments throughout the conference which led to some amusing comments. A running theme was lookalikes. What celebrities did the speakers look like. Ironsides and the kid from Glee were all I got luckily. Harmless fun, with the exception of one or two idiots and constructively, some of the comments helped us all modify our presentations for the following days. For my part, having a large focus on diversity and inclusion, on more than one occasion it was pointed out that we do not have a very diverse Board. A point I then brought up encouraging everyone to embrace diversity and inclusion in their work as well as the senior management looking to bring in new, diverse talent.

Danny was the star of the show. He has such a compelling story and a highly amusing, engaging and self-deprecating delivery. His anecdote that has everyone laughing is when he was taken on as a  window cleaner in an aquarium in Great Yarmouth where, during a show, he was also required to swim in the tank with sharks to demonstrate that they a not all dangerous man eaters. The many looks of horror from the audience soon made the organisers realise that a man with one arm is probably not the best way to demonstrate this!

The awards are great for recognising achievement but after a few hours of alcohol consumption the noise levels increase and it’s hard to hear. The first night I was placed near the front. Not ideal as with 1,000 people rammed there was no escape for me in a wheelchair. I went easy on the wine, not necessarily to be good but for fear of needing the loo half way through the awards. No way to do that discreetly!

However, I was conscious that this was the first of a three night stretch and I needed to pace myself so when the awards were over and everyone made a dash either for the bar or the dance floor I took advantage and snuck up to my room for an early night. Unfortunately sleep was destined to be in short supply. Both rooms either side of me hosted late night parties which spilled into the corridor with the inevitable attendant door banging. It was frustrating but I was safely locked up and tucked up and I was struggling to sleep with the reduced drug dose as well so I was strangely sanguine about it all and at least I didn’t have to get up early in the morning.

A big hotel fry up followed by a telephone interview for Chris and I with The Guardian on diversity followed immediately with another with The Recruiter got the synapses firing early, something I appreciated after three months away from the workplace. Before long the next 1,000 delegates arrived and we were off again. Day two was better because we were all more relaxed and we had seen each others presentations so were more able to adapt to the content.

That evening I was sat at a table right at the back so was able to relax more . In fact, I held court there all night with people coming and going to chat to me. One disadvantage of being in a chair is that if you are collared by someone drunk with an agenda there is no way to sneak away. I managed a much later night and seemed to have a half decent night’s sleep.

Friday is always considered the big one. For the presenters it’s the third night and lack of sleep and fatigue is setting in, it’s Office Angels night and of course it’s a Friday so no one needs to get back to work the next day. It’s always more rowdy and this night was no exception. I did intend to head to bed at midnight but a girl I hadn’t met before who worked at the Olympics did bend my ear for about forty five minutes and it was only when the disco finished and the lights went up that I had an excuse to leave. Unfortunately my exit was through the hotel bar and wave after wave of people came over to talk to me. It was nice to speak to so many but was gone two before I made back to my room.

My taxi was booked for ten on Saturday morning. It was a bright cold morning – the first daylight, I realised I had seen since Wednesday morning. I was tired but the conference had gone well. I was chuffed to be back and involved. I had gone back on a lower drug dose and whilst not perfect I felt relatively comfortable. I had managed to get around my hotel room on my feet so when the taxi dropped me at home I grabbed my crutches, walked to the front door of my house, knocked and to the amazement of my Mum and Dad who were staying and who opened the door, I walked in for the first time in three months. It may sound strange but it was an emotional moment – for all three of us. It felt like a milestone had been reached and that I really was on the road to recovery.