I really am a complete tit.

I have come all this way to the Olympic Games in London and I have forgotten - of all things - to bring a camera. I am a fool. I manage to watch the first few field events but I get really impatient. I decide to see if I can buy a camera within the stadium.

I am a complete tit. Imagine coming to this wonderful London of 1948 that everyone remembers, and forgetting to bring a camera. I descend into the stadium and forgetfully leave the spectators' enclosure and walk down the entrance from which the athletes are emerging. Presumably my official-looking suit saves me from being accosted.

As I walk past the famous track stars I find a door marked 'Strictly No Admittance' which arouses my curiosity. This is all very petty and very predictable. I pass by it maturely and arrive at the changing rooms in which a variety of male and female athletes walk about in varying degrees of undress.

I get embarrassed and ask one of them where I might be able to buy a camera. She laughs and says she will give me hers. I get very shy and leave almost immediately. I run away back through the corridor and hear her chasing me from behind. I run through the private door I passed by a few moments ago and trip over my carpet, hit my umbrella stand and go tumbling down to the foot of my stairs. I am at home. On the TV is the Mexican Olympics. On my table is a camera and a pornographic magazine featuring nude photos of the woman athlete I spoke to before.

This is the Birmingham of 1968 that no one gives a damn about.