The Day The Circus Came Into Town

Yes, it's almost upon us. The Greatest Circus On Earth is about to come to London.

But of course, I can't mention the name of this epoqueic event in case I'm sued for abusing their brand.

Inevitably, it is a dichotomy: promoting goodwill and the best aspects of human achievement, it hides a grubby underbellly of self-promoted officials who line their nests and live in luxury that a third world dictator can only dream of.

It's an obscene, veritable Gomorrah of unrequired building and infrastructure investment that will no doubt lead to decades of public enquiries and regrets.

Many Londoners are deeply cynical and a fair proportion have booked their way out of town for the duration, much as the residents of Notting Hill leave when they have one of the best carnivals in the world on their doorstep. We Londoners are a cynical, reticent bunch.

We're in the second quarter of a double dip recession, the bus drivers and on strike today, after our doctors went on strike yesterday. And our Government is made up of such a bunch of clowns that the organisers won't need to bring their own.

But as the performers begin to gather and they put the last touches to the big top; as the media scrum arrives and the roads get blocked off, there's an eager sense of anticipation that only the second biggest televised event on earth can bring.

It's a circus built by television for television, but I'll actually be there for once.