Looking for the real Elisabeth Swllocks

I seem to think the oddest thoughts. Last night in bed, for instance, I began to seriously wonder whether anyone had ever been christened Elisabeth Swallocks. It’s odd, when you think about it, because Swallocks sounds as if it could be a genuine surname, so it’s not inconceivable that someone, somewhere, at some time in the past has genuinely been called Betty Swallocks. I even went so far as to google it this morning, but that just turned up a few joke pages and didn’t resolve the issue..

I also continue to think about the Olympics. Last year made quite an impression on me. This morning, in the bath, I was mulling over the fact that London probably won’t see a summer like that again for a long time. I don’t mean that pessimistically, but realistically: London has hosted the games three times, the only city to do so; the first time was in 1908, then forty years later in 1948, then sixty-four years after that in 2012. The mid-point between forty and sixty four is fifty-two, so we’ll probably next host them some time around 2064, and that’s if we’re lucky. After all, the general impression I get is that Paris is just as prominent a world city as London – it might even outrank it, given it’s beauty – and if it wins is 2024 bid it will have been a century since it last hosted the Olympics. Thus I doubt London will be an olympic city again in my lifetime, as, if a city as great as paris can be ignored by the ioc for a century, and given that London is the city it has selected the most, then it has to be fair on other cities and ignore London for a while.

That made me think, though:I never thought I’d live in a city while it hosted the olympics, and, as I wrote here, I felt it a privilege to have done so. In the moment of that thought I felt a tinge of sadness that I’d never experience it again. But then, I thought, maybe not in London; if the fates conspired to plant me here last year, who knows where I’ll find myself in the future. Who knows where Lyn and I will be in five or ten years. While we are very happy in London, I don’t think we can rule anything out. We both like new places, after all. Thus if it is possible for me to find myself living in London during a summer in which it hosted an event it hadn’t hosted in sixty years and probably won’t again for another fifty, then it seems to me that I cannot rule out finding myself and Lyn in, say, Paris when it hosts it’s third games, or new york when it hosts its first. Nor can I rule out finding myself at a myriad other splendid happenings!

What an experience that would be. Living with Lyn I know not to rule it out: she has an air about her, something which says everything is possible. Knowing her, I could again watch her play an Olympic ceremony; in New York that would be amazing. Whatever the future holds, then, I’m sure it will be bright. I look forward to many more glorious summers with lyn, In London, Paris, New York, or wherever fate takes us. Who knows – during one of them we might find someone really called Elisabeth Swallocks.

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