Volleyball and a man not called George
Updated on 14 August 2008
Journalism isn't all about breaking news and heavyweight exclusives, as Alex Thomson blogs.
Sometimes it's deadly serious, this job. Sometimes awful things, terrible things happen and people get killed and you come back at night just staring like someone's squeezed everything out from inside you.
And then you get yesterday morning - when it just goes completely, monsteringly, stupid.
It was a great idea. A plan to get out of bed for. So we did. Georgia v Russia on the beach volleyball patch a short drive from out hotel.
'Is your name George?'
Yup - out of the bed good and early for that one. All the build-up...the fans... the flags... and all this with the poignancy of events back home for these fans.
So we arrived and set up our tripod. So did APTV the redoubtable news agency, in fact I think they were going live with it, shrewd move. Lots of other cameras were there too.
We waited.
And waited.
Then we waited a bit more.
Norwegian fans arrived... a couple of lugubrious Belgians... some Ozzies radiating hope and sunshine (so un British) a few Swedes and a Dane or two and of course, legions of Chinese and Americans.
But, erm, not a single Russian or Georgian in sight.
Then, success at last as a bloke with a Russian flag on his rucksack hove into view. He was instantly ambushed:
"What do you think of today's game with Georgia?"
"Er - I'm American guys."
"But why the Russian flag?"
"Oh that - yeah my girlfriend's Russian."
"Is she here?"
"No."
For a moment the international press pack are stumped. But not for long. We plough heroically on:
"Er - ever been to Russia?"
"Nope."
"Georgia - ever been there?"
By now everyone's giggling.
"Is your name George?"
At that point I got a bit overcome and wandered off to interview some Norwegians about, well, anything really.
