Juliet Dunlop: I’m afraid I can’t wait for the parade to end

Eighty-four days to go until the Olympics. I can’t wait. What I mean is, I can’t wait for it to be over. If this sounds mean-spirited, curmudgeonly even, then forgive me for raining on your Olympic parade. I like sport, I really do, it’s just that I can’t help pondering over the never-ending build-up, the cost, the threat of terrorism, the “legacy”, the inevitable disappointment, the dreadful 2012 logo and, last but by no means least, the opening ceremony.

Picture that one if you must – a Boris Johnson/Danny Boyle mash-up involving decommissioned Routemaster buses, red, white and blue lasers and tightly choreographed bands of frightened children.

We already know we can’t possibly outdo Beijing in scale or precision. Remember the young girl who sang so beautifully as fireworks exploded over the gleaming Bird’s Nest stadium? We later discovered she was miming to some other kid whose gap-toothed smile didn’t quite pass muster. The thousands of Chinese who lost their homes were also conveniently forgotten. The International Olympic Committee, an organisation tarnished from decades of scandal and corruption, simply praised the Chinese government for building lots of nice new roads and a sprawling Olympic village. China’s human rights record was put to one side.

It’s difficult to imagine how the UK will top China, short of the Queen driving the Routemaster into the stadium.

Don’t get me wrong – I can understand why billions will be glued to the box from the overblown opening to the bitter, tearful end, but do we really have to buy into the Olympic dream lock stock and barrel?

London certainly hopes so. It lobbied hard for the Olympics.. It ploughed enough money into the “process”, traded on its world city status, trotted out Seb Coe and cosied up to the IOC. Who can forget the rush of patriotic pride in Trafalgar Square when London pipped Paris? The joy was short-lived. The following day the London bombings reminded us of our “War on Terror” target status, and our vulnerability. Seven years on, and London is almost ready. The Olympic stadium is good to go, a large brownfield site in the East End has been “transformed” and the organisers have spoken of the lasting legacy of the Games. Officials and athletes have been given their own bus/limo lanes to shuttle them across the capital. There’s the ongoing ticketing fiasco, of course, and the small matter of access for the masses. But with 10,000 competitors from 203 countries taking part, what’s to stop UKplc from cashing in? Victory can be big business – although it took Montreal 30 years to pay off its debts, and the Athens Games didn’t exactly help the Greek economy. London’s organisers need to shift a lot of baseball caps.

If you want to catch some of the action, there’s always Hampden: Spain v Japan, Honduras v Morocco, Egypt v Belarus and the one we’re all waiting for, Colombia v North Korea. Kim Jong-un knows a good parade when he sees one. Perhaps he can offer Boris a few pointers.

Military dictators aside (Kim, not Boris), the eyes of the world will be fixed on the UK, and not everyone wishes us well. A “ring of steel” will be thrown around the capital. The city will be in “lock-down”. No drain cover will go unturned. Unhappy residents in a tower block in Bow are already talking to lawyers about the security arrangements. Their building, the MoD has decided, will make the perfect surface-to-air missile base. Expect more tales like this in the coming weeks.

Four years ago, when things seemed so much simpler, I interviewed the swimmer Duncan Goodhew. He brought his gold medal into the studio one morning and happily passed it around. It was reassuringly heavy and, to my surprise, covered in tiny dents. He explained he wasn’t precious about his medal. From the moment he’d won it, crowds of schoolchildren had tried it for size, it had been dropped several times and everyone’s favourite thing was to bite into it. He wanted to share his achievement, to inspire others and to make the Olympic dream a little more real. Here’s hoping London 2012 can do that, too.