2026 Winter Olympics Opening Ceremony

Because I actually enjoy these things, I watched the Winter Olympics Opening ceremony and listened to the Stan Sport coverage including Ally Langdon, Todd Woodbridge and Lydia Lassila. Sometimes the commentators sounded as though they were reading out words provided to them by a scriptwriter whose first language was not English, and their AI content had been put through Google Translate. For example, they commenced the Opening Ceremony with the words:

"Human potential is revealed through movement. The Olympic Winter Games is not just a competition; it's a bridge between preparation and performance - between individual ambition and shared celebration. Sport distils life to its essentials: discipline; courage; respect. This is where, in a few fleeting seconds, years of training could be validated; it's where focus meets pressure and where determination turns into possibility, and Italy, this country shaped by craft and creativity, is the natural home for such moments: a passionate place that understands that greatness is built, not rushed."

All this makes me wonder how that equates with the young schoolkids doing their flicks and tricks on snowboards, some of whom only got the call-up the week before - they giggle and snort and roll their eyes and use their youth jargon, which is all very well in the X-games, but is it the equal of a talented and determined Olympian who has trained for years? Mine is not to reason why, etc.

So it begins at the San Siro, as these things often do, with graphics and a video montage. We are treated to classic Italian images: a single skier carving a track down a mountain through pristine snow; alpine horns, traditional garb and stunning backdrops; food, wine and coffee; goatherds (thankfully of the non-yodelling variety); design and fashion in everything from cars to architecture.

The opening live number is of people dressed as marble statues in light boxes. This is titled Armonia (harmony) and is apparently a narrative designed to unite territories, people and values with a shared vision or 'bringing together what is different'. It is an homage to neo-classicist 18th century sculptor Antonio Canova, who is known for his skill in bringing marble to life. There is something about Cupid wakening Psyche with a kiss, and then the statues become ballet dancers pirouetting and plie-ing about the stage. I learn that they are dancers from La Scala choreographed to evoke the fluid, dynamic movements of winter sports.  

Men in suits with cameras surround a woman on a catwalk (I guess Italians invented the paparazzi too) in a chic velvet gown with shoulder ruffles inspired by piano keys, waving a conductor's baton about. She is 'famed Italian actress' Matilda De Angelis and she leads another set of dancers cald in black and white bodysuits, representing 'dancing notes in a kaleidoscope of Italian imagination' This is a reference to Guido d'Arezzo, an 11th-century monk from the Order of Saint Benedict and musical theorist who is regarded by many as the inventor of modern staff notation. These games will often to be referred to as the most gender equal as women are represented as much as men for the first time. The NBC commentator calls multi-award winning 30-year old actor De Angelis a 'starlet', so we clearly have some way to go with that then. 

She is joined by three men with giant bobble heads for a Fantasia section inspired by three greats of opera: Verdi, Puccini and Rossini. They do a dance which is incredibly naff and apparently one of the repeated motifs of these games. The phrase 'rivoltarsi nella tomba' springs to mind.

Paint tubes appear from the ceiling in the primary colours of cyan, magenta and yellow, and they 'drip' sheets of cloth which combine to make every colour in a rainbow swirl on the stage. There is now a giant parade of characters from Ancient Rome to the Renaissance who traverse in a grand Passeggiata. We have walking colosseums, coffee pots, picture frames, cut-out pattern dresses, chefs, gondoliers, figures from literature and opera singers in a tribute that combines the beauty and function of Italian design. They all form into a colour wheel and the segment ends with fireworks and the final notes of Nessum Dorma.

Mariah Carey for no apparent reason pops up and warbles and screeches her way through Volare and some drip-fest called Nothing is Impossible. she is redundant, sorry, I mean resplendent in a sparkly white gem-encrusted frock and draped in feathers and waves of hair. Why is she even here? If we are going to have an Italian-adjacent American, I'd much rather see Stanley Tucci. Anyway, she's presumably wheeled off, and we get to continue.

There is another video montage with shots of trams, fountains, families and illuminated buildings at night. Various Olympians get on a tram and a kid drops a mascot (I'm not surprised; those weasel things - named Milo and Tina after the host cities - are weird), which is handed back to them by a twinkly old gentleman who turns out to be the president of the Republic of Italy, Sergio Mattarella. And it transpires that the tram was being driven by Valentino Rossi, presumably at 46kph.

We now have a tribute to fashion icon Giorgio Armani, longtime designer of the Italian Olympic uniform and internationally-renowned Milanese, who died last year. Female models clad in suits of either red, white or green stalk down a catwalk to represent the Italian flag in human form. Armani design is said to embody simplicity over trend as the flag becomes a living expression of his style. Supermodel Vittoria Ceretti, the face of the last Armani collection carries the flag and hands it to a bloke in a plumed helmet - a member of the Corazzieri, the Italian Corps of Cuirassiers, to be precise - to raise it up the pole. 

Because the Games are spread out across Italy, certain elements of the opening ceremony (including the raising of the flag and the parade of athletes) are being held over four venues: Milan (ice-hockey; figure skating; speed-skating) Cortina in the heart of the Dolomites (men's alpine skiing, curling and sliing events), Livigno in the Italian Alps (snowboarding; freestyle skiing; men's alpine skiing; ski mountaineering) and Predazzo in Trento (ski-jumping; Nordic combined; cross-country skiing). Meanwhile, back in Milan, Laura Pausini performs a stirring version of the national anthem.

Then a chap in a suit recites a poem. It turns out (from a quick look on Google) that this is renowned 56-year-old Italian actor and film producer, Pierfrancesco Favino (I wonder if NBC referred to him as a starlet) wearing Armani and the poem is Giacomo Leopardi's L'infinito. The poem embodies a yearning to travel beyond restrictive borders and to experience more of the world of wonder. He is accompanied by a violinist (Giovanni Zanon) with an original composition, in the start of a section about how to balance human ambition and the natural world, incorporating performers representing the mountains and the city to show the harmony between them.

The harlequin-esqe dancers in earthy green tones dance around a couple of large rolls which are soon hoisted aloft to become two of the Olympic rings. These two represent the coming together of Milano and Cortina, and there are aerials as each ring contains one of the performers and they meet mid-air. The other rings join in until all five are up there united in harmony and pyrotechnics.

And so we come to everyone's favourite fashion parade as the nations all march in at their various venues - as noted above. Each nation follows a person dressed wrapped in padded tin foil and holding a iceblock etched with the country's name into the stadium, except sometimes the nation's athletes aren't in Milan and the name-bearer enters alone like they've been trapped in a walk-in freezer. Apparently this was the case with Australia's flag-bearer Matt Graham, whose parents were so excited when they heard he would lead the parade that they bought tickets to the opening ceremony in San Siro, and he proudly waved his national flag... in Livigno. Ooops.

Beceause I clearly know heaps about this fashion malarky, I shall be going into detail about these outfits elsewhere, but for now, let's progress with the rest of the ceremony, which continues with a section introduced by a montage summarily dismissed by the internet cognoscenti (another Italian word - see what I di there?) as AI slop. An actor (Sabrina Impacciatore) appears to be sitting on a sofa when disturbed by giant Olympic mascots (I have mentioned before - they are pretty disturbing) before morphing into an anime character who skates, skis, boards, slides and jumps her way through different art deco style former Olympic locations before arriving as herself at the stadium in an oddly-conceived white and gold spandex number.

She then dances through the decades with backing dancers beginning with jazz hands, wool and tweed, segueing into bold colours and 60s/70s funk and frug, through the best-forgotten 80s pastel and dayglo shellsuit combo (although I did like the elcetronica version of 'faster, higher, stronger' - music provided by green-haired DJ Mace, who had previously accompanied the athetes' parade), and culminating in a time-travel triumph to modern dance and techno, accessorising with a shaggy jacket, fluffy hat and big boots.  

The tricky trifecta of long dress, high heels and desending steps is hard to watch but it transpires it is a comedy skit performed by Brenda Ladigiani in homage to Italian hand gestures as she attempts to get someone to switch on her microphone. It's sweet, funny, and succinct, and a great way to welcome us to Italy before all the nations' flags are raised in unison and the offical speeches get underway.

This bit is usually well-meaning but tedious, and we hear from the president of the Milano-Cortina organising committee, Giovanni Malago, the first female IOC president, Kirsty Coventry, and Italian president Sergio Mattarella (the twinkly bloke from the tram). Quotes include, "I love my country, I love sport, and I love the Olympic movement", and, "United by sport, the universal language'. It's practically Eurovision! My favourite is "It's not just about winning. It's about respect, empathy, courage and heart." But mostly, it's about winning.

Thankfully Andrea Bocelli takes to the stage and shows how it's done (take note, Mariah - just the one and stick to it) with a spine-tingling rendition of Nessum Dorma. At the literal high point, the Olympic torch makes an appearance carried by footballers Franco Baressi and Beppe Bergomi who both captained Italy and AC Milan and Inter Milan respectively - a nice touch as we're kicking about a harmony theme.

We move into the peace bit and nothing says Olympic Truce like a troupe of dancers in plastic macs and black and white facepaint. There are violins and strobe lights as Milanese rapper Ghali performs Gianni Rodari's Memorandum in four different languages, including a line about, "There are things you must never do. For example, war". I hope JD Vance is feeling uncomfortable. We get a peace dove juxtaposed against a pile of bodies, and I'm sure everyone must be feeling uncomfortable.

And then Charlize Theron pops out as the UN Ambassador for peace and quotes some words from her fellow countryman, Nelson Mandela, "Peace is not just the absence of conflict. Peace is the environment where all can flourish".

In all the venues, we now have the passing on of torches and flags. In Milan the Olympic anthem is sung rather wonderfully by mezzo-soprano Cecilia Bartoli accompanied by a children's choir and Lang Lang on keys (Chinese pianist because apparently Italians don't play piano...?). In Predazzo they are probably all down the pub by now singing along with Joe Dolce (because they gotta no respect and it's flippin freezing standing about in the cold night air). The theme of the European union (Ode to Joy) is belted out and the stars of the European Union is projected ont the Arco Della Pace. 

While we wait for the torch bearers to arrive at their cauldrons (there are two this year, in a first for the Olympics), there is some palaver about a small child experiencing the wonder of the galaxy with a model of the solar system, before she is joined by Samantha Cristoforetti (the first woman to command the space station) who is supposedly symbolically bringing a bright sun to the stage, highlighting the need to "care for the planet, bridging scientific curiosity with environmental responsibility". There are more dancers who apparently create the Milky Way, but unfortunately, close up, they look like they are trapped in condom-clad trombones. Apparently the 108 dancers are a variation on NASA's Golden Record from the Voyager probes. (You can learn a lot from the internet if you know where to look). 

And finally the cauldrons, designed by Marco Balich and inspired by Leonardo da Vinci's geometric studies, are lit at the Arco della Pace in Milan and Piazza Angelo Dibona in Cortina. The former is lit by past gold medal winning alpine skiers Alberto Tomba and Deborah Compagnoni, while current hopeful Sofia Goggia does the honours in Cortina. More fireworks; more cheers; more bright lights, and everyone heads off for some hearty Gluhwhein - except for those in Predazzo and Livigno who are probably well on their way. And that's it for tonight. Let the Games begin (apart from the curling, which has already been going for the last couple of days and in fact goes for every day of the Winter Olympics, but let's not quibble)!

 

Friday Five (Actually Twelve): Paris Olympics 2024 Opening Ceremony

Let's start with the opening ceremony. Wow; c'était fou! I loved it. There has been a lot of talk about it being disorganised and chaotic, but I loved the madcap nature of the event as it showcased Paris as it is, and if you don't like it, tant pis - which is as French as you get.

Firstly, it is the first time in the history of the Summer Games that the Opening Ceremony did not take place in a stadium. The idea was that it would bring the sports to the city; the athletes travelled down the Seine in a variety of boats, and the punters lined the quays (or les rives) for free to cheer on the participants and to enjoy the spectacle. Yes, it rained, but so what? It rains in France. There was a nice touch with a tri-coloured 'water fountain' smoke above one of the bridges, although there was some poor bloke strapped above it with an accordion and wings getting absolutely drenched.

The boats were an inspired touch. The flotilla appeared in French alphabetical order, which was fun to remember that Germany is L'Allemagne and Spain is Espagne. Several people in the Twitterverse were getting very confused, which is also fun. They were complaining that there was no Les Etats Unis or Australie, until it was pointed out that the next Olympics are in Los Angeles and the 2032 event in Brisbane, so those hosting countries are second last and third last respectively, before France brings up the rear.

All the boats are different shapes and sizes, looking like a reverse Dunkirk affair - the Americans have the biggest and flashiest; the French have the most stylish; and Bhutan have the most expensive - the three athletes representing Bhutan are aboard a 1964 vintage Murano, 'a Riva Yachts Venetian limousine tender built in mahogany and varnished to a high sheen'. 

Brazil have a party boat, the Cambodian craft looks like it is about to get swamped, and the patched-up Refugee Olympic Team vessel would have been turned back by Tony Abbott. Many nations have to share with each other. Team GB (Tom Daly and Helen Glover doing flag waving duty and obligatory Titanic pose) share with Grenada, Guam and Guatemala. Because the TV commentators have absolutely no clue what is happening (other than that it is raining), they revert to their notes frequently. Hence I learn that Guatemala is one of the few countries to have won more Nobel prizes than Olympic medals, Lichtenstein's national anthem is the same tune as God Save the King, and Nepal is the only country in the world with a non-quadrilateral flag.

The athletes are all proudly wearing their national outfits (Belgium are either all in red, yellow or black; the Bermudans wear shorts that in Bermuda they probably just call 'shorts'), although as the day wears on and the rain increases many of them cover them up with fetching plastic ponchos. Bulgaria looks like they are about to go to war; Burkina Faso have good hats; Naby Keita is the flag bearer for Guinea; according to the commentators Guinea-Bissau is one of the 'new countries' who have never won a medal; insights into the Italians (in outfits by Armani) is that theirs is a country of 'great people; great food'.

Mongolia have the best uniforms; Mozambique are wearing pop art jackets; the folk from Niger all salute as they sail past; Slovenia are literally bouncing, as are Sudan in a very small boat (not sure the optics are great on that one); USA, of course, has the largest contingent (over 500 athletes) and appear to be navigating the Seine on a cruise ship; France has the nicest boat, which is gleaming white and all lit up like an ocean liner.

The ceremony was divided into sections to give it a rough thematic element. I shall try and explain what occured in some of them, but (due to the commentators not having a clue what was going on), I may well get some of this completely confused. Throughout it all there was some mysterious parcours torch bearer, who nicked the torch from a bunch of kids and then nipped about with it on the roof tops.

1. Enchanté - a sort of pink section in which Lady Gaga does a turn with flaming galas, fans and large pom-poms, which are apparently a girl's best friend as she imitates a French Marilyn Monroe, walking down golden steps with art nouveau Paris metro signs. It's all about 'culture, spirit and personality' apparently. There are dancers wearing cellophane hats and doing the can-can, which appears hugely out of time but that could be due to the way that sound (and light) travels in waves. There is a rugby sevens lift in a section called 'chic' and a tribute to French characters over the years, only marginally marred by the fact that no one appears to know who they are. The parcours ninja dude is now on a zipline.

2. Synchronicité - there is a tribute to the workers who are restoring Notre Dame, involving much pirouetting and dancing on scaffolding. A golden wave is depicted on the buildings alongside the quay while an orchestra is back-lit in a window. We learn there is a special Louis Vitton case for the medals and that each one contains a piece of the Eiffel Tower, which must make one a little wary of climbing it now (or in fact of being anywhere near it), in case it falls down, what with all those bits removed. The medals are carried down the river in a boat manned by Martin Foucard (former biathlete and most successful French Winter Olympian of all time) and Michael Phelps - at least he can swim to collect the medals if they fall in.  There's more celebrations of French craftspeople, some damp breakdancing on a pontoon in the river and a spot of ballet on the rooftops. More footage of Notre Dame, with a hunchback on the spire and a few Les Miserables references (that's Victor Hugo covered). 

3. Liberté - and now we come to the revolution - oh, those crazy French celebrating decapitated bodies. The windows are full of headless Marie Antoinettes (the parcours dude watches on from across the river) with pyrotechnics, rock music (Gojira performing Mea Culpa (Ah Ca Ira) which is utterly fabulous), a woman singing opera (possibly The Marriage of Figaro) in the prow of a golden barge, blood red streamers being fired out of cannons, and people on poles above the Pont des Arts (the bridge with all the padlocks) à la Kate Miller-Heidke's Eurovision performance. Then cut to a quiet section in a library promoting love and literature, Verlaine in Harlequin outfits, wafting paper, references to Guy de Maupassant, Raymond Radiguet, Moliere, Choleros de Laclos and Marivaux, a chap on a highwire, the bright colours of the Pompidou Centre and non-too subtle allusions to love beween same sex couples and a menage a trois before a heart appears in the sky over l'ile de la cite.

4. Egalité - This is represented by a brass band in military uniform marching across a bridge. The parcours bloke runs past and lights up a building; a golden catwalk appears on which there is RnB pop performed to the accompaniment of the military band. 

5. Fraternité - The parcours chap is now in the Louvre (we had to go there) and he runs past various masterpieces, where the figures contained within the frames turn to look at him. Next thing, there are empty canvases, as all the people have popped out to head to the windows and overlook the river procession, where the athletes are now all shrouded in fetching plastic ponchos and some poor bloke is playing the piano in the driving rain which is literally bouncing off the keyboard. But wait, what's this? Oh no! La Gioconda has disparu! A periscope pops up and we discover that the Minions have stolen the painting and are doing field sports in a submarine. One of them throws a javelin which bursts the walls of the vessel, which floods and they all end up floating on the surface. We see through the spectacular clock face on the Musée d'Orsay and suddenly there is a balloon which floats up to the moon with the bullet casing in its eye (nod to Jules Verne) and Le Petit Prince is also there. This all culminates in a beautiful verion of La Marseillaise atop Le Grand Palais performed by mezzo-soprano Axelle Saint-Cirel.

6. Sororité - After the men, we have the women (plus ça change... but at least we have them). Famous iconic faces emerge from the water, echoed by golden statues on the quay. These include Olympe de Gouges (woman of letters, politican and activist; best known for her Declaration of the Rights of Women and The Female Citizen written in 1791 during the French Revolution; campaigned for the abolition of slavery and was guillotined in 1793), Alice Milliat (1884-1957; pioneer of women's sport whose successful lobbying on behalf of female athletes led to the inclusion of many more sports within the Olympic Games), Gisèle Halimi (1927-2020; lawyer, politician, essayist and activist; former deputy of the French National Assembly), Paulette Nardal (1896-1985; writer and journalist who became the first black woman to study at the Sorbonne), Jeanne Barret (1740-1807; the first woman to circumnavigate the globe - I read a great book about her by Glynis Ridley called The Discovery of Jeanne Barret), Chrsitine de Pizan (1364-1431; philosopher and poet and the first author to make a living from writing, among other works she wrote La Cité des Dames in which she extolled illustrious women and imagined a female government), Louise Michel (1830-1905; teacher, writer and feminist activist who took an active part in the events of the Paris Commune in 1871. She was deported to New Caledonia where she continued her fight against French colonialism), Alice Guy (1973-1968; one of the world's first female directors, her film La Feé aux Choux is considered the first narrative film), and Simone Veil (1927-2017; Holocaust survivor, politician and advocate for women's rights, particularly known for legalising abortion in France). We were also meant to have Simone de Beauvoir (1908-1986; philosopher, writer and feminist theorist most famous for writing Le Deuxièm Sexe), but her pedestal failed to rise due to technical difficulties, which I am trying desparately hard not to see as a metaphor.

7. Sportivité - We have BMX, breakdancing, and skipping on a skate park designed to look like those exquisite French manicured lawns with topiary and everything. This is the section where they let the kids take charge; they dance in white outfits, Napoleon hats and Pierrot costumes; there are dancers with hoops and ribbons, skateboards and basketballs. No one thinks this is good except their parents. There is an opera singing breaker, an Algerian-French rapper (Rim'K) giving it large about how he doesn't want to be a super hero; just a super human, and lots of pretty light fountains. It actually all looks formidable from above with all the lights and the bridges lit with red, white and blue in strobe flashes. 

8. Festivité - Ok, now this is one of the maddest bits of the cermony. A large bloke looks like a smurf lying in the middle of a fruit platter, while a drag-queen/ transvestite cohort cavort around them. It is meant to represent a feast in the spirit of the gods of Olympus and blue guy is Dionysis, god of wine, winemaking, fertility, festivity, madness and theatre (we know how those things go together, right?). It is meant to celebrate the tolerance and inclusion of the games, but already people are outraged that is is mocking Christianity and taking a swipe at The Last Supper. I mean, it possibly is; after all, all myths are connested, n'est-ce pas? To a sort of Jean-Michel Jarre-esque vibe we then have a catwalk on the footbridge where models (many of whom have a disability for inclusion and so we can allude to the Paralympics) strut their stuff. The designers are emerging artists and apparently iconic pieces from the collection will be available after the ceremony. Of course the parcours dude gets a look in here as well. The spectators all then get up and dance on the bridge and everyone has a jolly time. 

9. Obscurité - The final countdown begins and as the stars of the European Union flag swirl around the Eiffel Tower, we get the banging beats of a techno dance part mixed with ballet. The house piano of Ride on Time and Be My Lover is throbbing through the city as 'caught up in the turmoil and faced with worries of the future, the young dance'. The theme of this opening ceremony is Ensemble unis pour la paix (we stand together and call for peace), which is apparently symbolised by a couple singing Imagine on a raft while their piano catches fire.

10. Solidarité - the parcours bloke is now on a metal horse with the Olympic flag which he parades down the middle of the river as if skimming across the water. With the glam rock music, the digital wings spreading out above the bridges, and the laser lighting effects, this bit is very impressive and it occurs to me that I have assumed the parcours chap is a chap, when in fact there is every possibility that they are Joan of Arc, or even the spirit of the Seine, Sequana. There is a tribute to former French Olympians and then many flag bearers carry their emblems beneath the Eiffel Tower. A real horse (with a rider) clip-clops across the bridge and a chivalric knight carries the Olympic flag up the steps onto an Eiffel-tower shaped stage. The flag is promptly raised and as it unfurls, it is noted that it is upside down. Oops. A choir sings the anthem of the Olympics (of course it has one) - the kids haven't got the words but the adults have and their sheet music is soaking.

11. Solemnité - A segment attempts to show where they are getting those bits of the Eiffel Tower from (still deeply concerning) and then men in blue suits do speeches and swear Olympic oaths. The parcours dude comes up through the floor (it wasn't them on the horse after all; still deeply confusing) and hands the torch to Zizou, who passes it off to Raffa (no, he's not French but he is 14x winner at Roland Garos). Lights roam up and down the Eiffel Tower, with beams and sweeping arcs, that structure looks like it's dancing. She is stunning and magnifique. Raffa takes the torch back off down the river while the iron giraffe parties on. He's on a boat with Serena Williams (trying to wave but looking very ill), Carl Lewis and Nadia Comăneci. Meanwhile, back on the Trocadero stage a dancer and sign language interpreter perform Marc Cerrone's Supernature, and then disappear through the trapdoor through which parcours dude arrived earlier. Now Amélie Mauresmo has the torch (tennis players are everywhere), then Tony Parker (basketball), before being joined by a trio of  Paralympic Champions, Nantenin Keita, Alexis Hanquinquant and Marie-Amélie Le Fur. 

12. Eternité - the torch makes its way through the Carrousel du Louvre forecourt, the Tuileries and the Arc de Triomphe, passing through hands very quickly (they get about ten seconds each before they fall into a formation) and continue to a big balloon. The final leg of the relay is taken by Charles Coste, a French Olympic champion who was part of the cycling team pursuit in 1948. Born in 1924 (the year Paris last held the Olympics) the centurian is the oldest living French Olympic champion. He lights the torches of Teddy Rinner (judo) and Marie-José Pérec (sprinter) who light the cauldron, a ring of many LEDs and high pressure water sprays, which make the hydrogen-gas filled balloon rise into the night sky. It's tethered so it doesn't float off, and the French are very proud that it is the first Olympic cauldron to light up without the use of fossil fuels. The balloon is a nod to French inventors (particularly the Montgolfier brothers), and the spirit of daring and creativity. 

Epilogue - Céline Dion belts out a version of Edith Piaf's Hyme à l'amour from Level One of the Eiffel Tower. It's a stunning performance, note perfect with shades of Evita, and then it's all over. You're welcome.

Haere Mai

I’ve never been a fan of opening ceremonies – I find them shallow spectacles, lacking in substance and too politically correct to actually be entertaining. I am anxious about the complete cock-up London will make of the Olympics (the sheer weight of necessary cultural touchstones will doubtless sink the enterprise), however, so I watched the opening ceremony of the Rugby World Cup with interest, and a couple of girlfriends and a bottle of two of bubbles.

It began with a karanga (the Māori call at the start of the pōwhiri – the official welcome) which was spine-tinglingly beautiful, and her frock was pretty cool too, although not ‘o for awesome’ as the commentator opined (that’s actually a Kiwi in-joke based on an intellectually challenged comment by a boxer with a left hook and a bad haircut). As she emerged from the swirling mists projected onto the central oval stage (which incorporated Scenic landscapes with Air New Zealand design motifs), she resembled the lady of the lake.

Which was apt, as it happened, as next-up appeared boats on wheels that appeared to glide across the stage representing the city of sails. The Mysterious Minx pointed out that they had holes in them and probably wouldn’t catch the breeze all that well (she’s a Sagittarius and disturbingly pragmatic). This would not have been felicitous considering the hammerhead shark graphic that proceeded to circle across the projected screen. Following the recent death of a bodyboarder due to a shark attack at a popular Western Australia surf spot, perhaps this was specifically intended to intimidate the trans-Tasman competition?

We were then treated to a thundering haka with columns of fire and red and gold flashing lights that recalled the violently geological formation of this land. The Fudge Princess mentioned that there was ‘a bit too much bum’ for her liking and that the ‘star jumps’ were ‘a bit out of time’. She claims Māori descent so is officially entitled to her opinion.

Next a small lad clad in the red and black strip of Canterbury protected a very large rugby ball from about 100 burly blokes as he negotiated scrums and tackles with the assistance of flying harnesses, bendy try-lines and some dodgy manoeuvres. I was taking notes as I fully expect the All Blacks to make use of these methods to win ‘the prize’ – represented here by a sort of gilded cage type affair. He approached the ‘mystery guest’ at the head of a ladder of top-try scorers. Jonah Lomu materialised as the embodiment of the world’s worst kept secret and encouraged the young Jeff-Wilson-look-a-like to ‘do it for Christchurch, my friend’. It was actually quite emotional and well-executed.

Not so the World in Union, which was beautifully sung but marred by drums, ukuleles and ‘freestyle’ dancers who looked like your drunken aunts and aunties at a wedding. The problem with mass participation performances is that they either look like the Nuremberg Rally or a complete shemozzle. This was the latter.

Old ‘smile and wave’ (or John Key as some people like to call the Prime Minister of New Zealand) smiled and waved and hoped that having a rugby world cup on his watch would make up for his political absence, and then the IRB dude came on and spoke both Māori and English with ridiculously improbable accents to declare the games officially open.

People called to each other on conch shells (I liked the one on the lighthouse even if the ever-practical Mischievous Minx pointed out, ‘You wouldn’t really be able to hear that’) to signify the start of the fireworks. I had heard great things about these – they were going to represent pohutukawa, kowhai and kiwis. Perhaps it was the coverage, but they looked like a damp squib.

The out-of-tune accompaniment on the recorder (or ‘squeaky tube’ as my dad used to call it, with justification based on this evidence) didn’t help, and the remote-control dancing container lifters were like something out of one of Peter Jackson’s early B-Movie attempts.

Outside the stadium, there were folk attempting Spiderman antics on the side of tall buildings, and a pipe bandon the Domain illuminated by the lights of the Auckland Museum, who could at least play in time. I’m not being fair – that bit was remarkably affecting for someone who moved 12,000 miles to get away from bagpipes!