I HEART Mr Bean.
He may not be cool or flashy. He might not have the funny stories of Michael McIntyre or the quick wit of Jimmy Carr, but there aren’t many people who could get a billion people giggling without uttering a word, surely?
Rowan Atkinson’s Chariots of Fire send-up was one of my favourite parts of a fantastic Olympic opening ceremony last Friday night. I didn’t really know what to expect from the hyped-up event, but I was blown away by what thousands of volunteers, thousands of hours, and - granted - millions of pounds could achieve. I grinned like a loon when Her Majesty welcomed James Bond to Buckingham Palace and laughed out loud when, moments later, she (well, some bloke called Gary) threw herself out of a moving helicopter above the Olympic stadium, to arrive in style.
And come on, how cool did David Beckham look as he sped along the Thames on a speedboat with the prized Olympic flame as his passenger?
I almost burst with patriotism as the history of Britain unfolded before us with meticulous choreography; watching huge smoking chimneys of the industrial age burst through the green, green fields from the earth below. The highlight of the night, for me, was watching the Olympic Rings, forged moments before by steelworkers now watching on below, come together above the stadium and explode into a fiery rain.
I know everybody has a different opinion, but Britain, I thought it was bloody brilliant!