Well done London. Well done indeed.

Let me take you to a place ... you know when you are relaxing near a camp fire, wearing long sleeves out in the wilderness far enough to not see city lights, at the end of summer when the air is warm, but the chill of Fall is coming up close, biting from behind ... yes, ok, that's it.

You're telling stories, the stars are out in the clear black sky, the coals are low enough to not be roaring, but glow that gorgeous orange ... hot dogs/marshmallows on a stick ...

Ok, now that you're there ... you're not.  The air and the night are the same, the smell of Summer's end surrounds, but you are actually in your flat in London, stretching the beautiful kelp green scarf made of Swedish yarn you finished lounging in the warm sun today ... and in the distance you hear - your eyes widen and you hear - the joyous, perpetual fire, thunderous pride bellowing out the resistant joy to close the absolute final ending of the London 2012 Olympics.  So nearby you can literally feel it.

The pops and bangs and echoes go on for minutes and it dawns on you that this moment is one of those unique times when mankind unites in a unanimous high five ... "we did this, you're awesome, I swear I'm going to work out more, people's lives were changed, and we are all better because of it". Yes!

But, please, pleeeeease do not look me in the eye tomorrow as we all pretend to read our papers or smartphones on the tube, because, well, that would just be awkward.

Well done London.  Well done indeed.