London 2012 Olympic Games: Day 3

Some of the Venue Entry Security Team

Sock Monkey’s not going to say a lot about yesterday.  Sock Monkey didn’t have a lovely time.  It absolutely poured down.  It was like a biblical plague.  Play was suspended until God-knows-when.  I was again with the Royal Marine Commandos, The Paras and The Navy. We has Venue and Serena Williams' mum in our area.  Someone else had Bill Gates in theirs.  Lots of volunteers were kicked out of the staff meal area because Michelle Obama turned up.

8.30 this morning.  A nice cup of tea before the gates opened

My goodness the  military personnel on my lane were grumpy.  They were in charge yesterday and didn’t they let you know it.  “Faster!” “Slower” “Tell them to take their belts off!!!!”  Me: “I did.”  I got home to Sock Monkey Mansions last night pissed off, annoyed and upset.  If today had been like yesterday there wouldn’t have been a tomorrow as Sock Monkey a Games Maker.  Sock Monkey didn’t volunteer my summer holidays UNPAID to be moaned at for 3 solid hours by the army.  If I had I would have joined up years ago.

A lot of the military have ad their leave cancelled to cover G4 Security’s fuck up but it isn’t my fault. I talked to a nice female squaddie at lunch who was just about to be deployed to Afghanistan so they really could do with being at home.

Some of the ticket holders weren’t having a nice time either.  It was BUCKETING and freezing cold.  I had one stroppy Kevin the Teenager type who became all arsey when I asked, “Do you have any liquids in your bag?”  Its airport security to get into all of the venues and he had about 6 x 500ml bottles of water in his bag. He had a massive strop then still tried to get through the metal detector with a bottle of lucozade in his sweaty, teenage paw.

This is how busy we are.  At Gate 10 Wimbledon, my home for yesterday, we cleared 3,000 people through security in 12 minutes.  I doubted that was possible in the laws of physics but that’s what my supervisor said.

Venus Williams

Anyway.  Today was fantastic!  We were amalgamated with another security tea, and were sent to Gate 1.  They had had a bit of a nightmare the day before but apparently we are the Dream Team and we got them all in.  Today I was doing ‘pacing’ with G4S.  That means I get people through the metal detectors asap.  Four and a half hours later, at 1pm,  I was on my lunch break with another girl after we were “Stood Down” for the rest of the day.  Hideous lunch (food is so vile I have lost 2 lbs in 3 days *thimbs up*) followed by free tennis!  Hooray!

Elena Baltacha

We went to see Venus Williams on Court 2. It was so sweet, she said she has never seen live tennis until today.  Then we bumped into another of our team and we went to see Heather Watson on Court 17 (she beat a Spanish player called Soler).  Then we wandered to Court 18 (we weren't actually IN Court 18, we were on the balcony because it was P.A.C.K.E.D after Laura Robson’s match). American readers, these are our Team GB Ladies.  We left after Elena Baltacha (Team GB but actually a Scot/Russian mix) had lost the first set.

The weather was glorious today, the spectators were smiley happy and today was good.

Shame I lost my jacket on the way home (it folds up like a kagoule and clips onto your bag and mine kept dropping off.  I think it is somewhere around Clapham Junction so now I have to schlep back to Canning Town to get another on my day off on Wednesday.  Hope it doesn’t rain or is cold tomorrow because I’ll have an uncomfortable day that’s for sure).

One lady said to me, "Its so organised. Everyone is so friendly.  I'm going to tell the BBC!"  Another lady told me, "I was at the Sydney Olympics and this is better!"

More tennis, Sock Monkey?  Oh yes please!

London 2012 – GET IN!

I really need to figure how to rotate images in Blogger...

London 2012 Olympic Games: Day 1

Sock Monkey’s first day as a London 2012 Games Maker!  Dragging my carcass out of bed at 6am on a Saturday was fun. Sock Monkey normally gets up at 8am.

Venue Entry Security

After attiring myself in the lovely uniform and shoving some bran flakes down my gullet I popped into the local caff at the end of my road for a take away cup of tea where the man who works there almost had his eyes popping out at the sight of me.  A pretty easy journey to Wimbledon and an hour later I was standing in a nice long queue to get into ‘Fort Apache’ to go through security screening. 

I bumped into two of my team and we wandered over to the rendezvous spot where our the head high honcho security lady was having a briefing with the team leaders.  She told us to go and have a cup of tea and come back later.

On my way into Fort Apache I could see Court 18 which was being strimmed and then we spotted Centre Court on the big screen.  This was being mowed half an hour before the gates opened!  And the masses of dancers were being given their final instructions, the last of which was “Sit down and pretend to be a member of the public so we could only assume they were some sort of flash mob.

Being the first day it was all somewhat random.  We had only really just been allocated our Team Leaders and were having our first briefing when the announcement “Open the gates” came over the tannoy.  Loud and clear!  We were at the opposite end of the grounds from Gate 10 (our new home for the next 4 hours).  Our job is to get people through the gates!

 

Our Pack Leader, Ruth, said that we would be winging it today as it was day 1 but our main objective was to “Get them all in as soon as possible so we can all go and watch some tennis.”  Like it!

Sock Monkey stood at the x-ray machine for, “Good morning.  How are you? Make sure you have nothing in your pockets” four hours.  We were accompanied by Royal Marine Commandoes, the Parachute Regement and the Navy.  We felt very save with the big burly squaddies.  One of them asked me why on earth anyone would want to volunteer to do this.

Some of the general public were stu-pid.  Like the woman who proceeded to take Every. Single. Thing. Out of her bag and dump it in the tray.  And the man who, just as he was about to walk through the metal detector asked me if having his wallet and mobile phone in his pocket was OK.

Delicious!  Its all that was left

Once everyone had arrived, eventually – God there were thousands of them – we had our lunch break.  We were taken into the bowels of the building next to Centre Court.  Down a ramp by the side of the building, past the bins, through a delightful access tunnel to the Ball Boy rest room.  Where they had no hot food left.  We decided to decamp and go to the main restaurant only to be told that secturity (ie US) weren’t allowed to ‘dine’ in there.  We traipsed back to the tunnel for some slops and were told that we had been ‘Stood down’.  Hooray! Free tennis for us!

David Ferer

Andy Murray (a bit sideways)

Four of us went to Court 18 and saw David Ferrer and Felipop Lopaz beat some Poles.  Then we went to Court 2 to see the end of Li Na and Hutchenova’s match before Andy and Jamie Murray’s doubles match agaist Jurgen Metzer and his partner.  Towards the end of the first set all the volunteers (in uniform) were kicked out for the paying punters so I had to leave.  My three new friends had changed their tops so they could stay. Guess what Sock Monkey s shoving in the bag tomorrow a change of t-shirt.

I got back home (someone standing outside my flats “Are you in the Olympics?” duh can’t you seeeee what I’m wearing?) and watched the Murray brothers lose.

 

Today was fun!  Brilliant atmosphere and I don’t even mind walking around in public wearing my uniform. 

London 2012 Olympic Games: at T-Minus 7 Days

Sock Monkey had a little trip to The All England Club last Saturday.  Also known as 'The Championships".  Better known as Wimbledon.


I was there to carry out my Venue Specific Training because Sock Monkey will be part of the security team at the tennis competition at the Olympics.

Once I eventually found the mythical Gate 20 (it said "Car Park" on entrance) I went through the security checks (in what they have nicknamed "Fort Apache") and was directed to a hospitality suite above Centre Court.  There were hundreds of us.


After a cup of tea and a biscuit we were shown the inspiring film they have shown us at every training event.  It still brings a lump to the throat.  Then we were addressed by the general manager, Kelly and the sports manager Clare.  They told us about how they have fixed the grass so quickly after The Championships a mere 3 weeks ago, they told us Olympic Tennis facts (such as the last winner of the mixed doubles was a survivor from the Titanic - its that long since mixed doubles were played at the Olympics).  They also told us how every bit of internal communications has had to be ripped out and replaced so that it is the same as the other venues. We were also given a map and shown where the staff restaurant is, the entrance gates and where we have to send people if, God forbid, the place has to be evacuated, the security announcements (I'm saying nothing about those). Then we had our guided tour.  The place was crawling with soldiers and sniffer dogs.

                  My superviser, Clare above (left)


The first place they took us to was Centre Court.  Sock Monkey has never been to Centre Court before so naturally I was thrilled.  "Don't touch the grass!"  We were that close.  They took us there first because we don't have access to the field of play and were told, "We knew you'd want to sneak in".


The grounds were in full flow of being transformed from The Championships to the Olympic Games with the Olympic livery everywhere and the Rolex clocks all covered up.  Rolex doesn't sponsor the Olympic Games.  You can't buy Pimms at the Olympics because they aren't a sponsor either.  You can buy a 'Fruit Cup' though...


We walked all around the ground twice, being shown everything we need to know.  Sock Monkey has been to Wimbledon three times before so it was funny to see the place empty apart from staff, army and volunteers.

      








It was a brilliant way to spend a Saturday afternoon and I got really enthused and excited.  This was the first time.  For the last few months I've been thinking that volunteering was a stupid idea.


On my way home I actually felt a bit proud to be wearing my accreditation (ie security pass - I wouldn't have got into the grounds without it).


So Saturday 28 July 2012 (tomorrow!) I shall be meeting and greeting the spectators.  Need to leave home two hours before a Sock Monkey normally arises so that will be fun!  


Game, set and Match!

London 2012 Olympic Games: T minus 27 Days

Sock Monkey has been selected as a "London 2012 Games Maker", ie volunteer.  Reach for your life jacket and safety net now because Sock Money will be representing The United Kingdom and how fantastic we are.  Sock Monkey will be checking tickets and saying, "You can't take that in" for a week at Wimbledon.

Sock Monkey spent an hour and a half yesterday collecting the [charming] uniform.  Over the last few weeks I've seen various people wearing this in public and every single one of them has looked like they are on day release from the local lunatic asylum.  I half expected Donald Sutherland to be bringing up the rear shouting, "The Evil has left this place!" so I was extremely relieved to find that I don't look like a total retard in my uniform (although I refuse to wear that hideous jacket or the baseball cap). 

Sock Monkey never posts photographs on here so this is a first.  Sock Monkey may still hit 'delete' at a later date. Picture caption 'Sock Monkey modeling London 2012 Games Maker Uniform'.  We got socks and everything...

However, when I saw scores of people in the same place, all dressed the same (ie like that *points to top left hand corner*) it was pretty impressive and a little bit exciting.  And I chatted to lots of lovely people who were all so motivated and enthusiastic.  Sock Money would also like to point out that none of us are thrilled with the uniform.

Almost 250,000 people volunteered to help and Sock Monkey was one of the 70,000 chosen so, and I am beginning to think it may have been a bad idea, I shall be spending my summer holidays telling tourists where the toilets are and searching people's bags at Wimbledon.

Sock Monkey loves tennis so I'm pretty disappointed to find that I don't have security clearance for the actual courts but I will be able to wander around the grounds (dressed like this) when I'm not on duty.

I've had a couple of training sessions and now have just one left where I will be taught how to carry out the security checks - its the same as at an airport .  This takes place at the All England Club (AKA Wimbledon) soon.

We have to be "The best Games Makes we can be" so that means being consistently nice to complete strangers even if they ask idiotic questions or are obnoxious.  If we aren't, people will go home to wherever and tell their friends, "People in London are horrible."  Sock Monkey could single-handedly screw up the entire Olympic Games!

The most exciting part, though, and I really am very excited about this, is that we have all been invited to the technical rehearsal for the opening ceremony. I am so looking forward to this and its lovely that the volunteers have been given the opportunity to attend.

Sock Monkey shall report from the Olympics but don't expect any insider information or gossip about the competitors.  It aint allowed and I don't want to end up in The Tower.

New Boots (but not panties)

Look!

Look what Sock Monkey has found!

A betting shop has come up with an ingenious way to get themselves extry publicity by marking the start of the Cheltenham Festival by commissioning what they charmingly call "Horse Hoof Boots".

Retailing at £1,300 - yes that's THIRTEEN HUNDRED QUID - they are a limited edition (well I never) with proceeds going to charity. They also have models clip-clopping around the racecourse grounds wearing said footwear.

They are made out of real horse hair but have pretend hoof. Personally Sock Monkey thinks it would have been far less faff to just saw off the horses legs, scoop out the juice and stick a pair of high heels on them.

I'd wear them. I'd love to get a pair! I used to have a pair of spotted pony skin shoes. Oh I loved those shoes! If I had a pair of Horse Hoof Boots I'd trip-trip-trip around like a Billygoats Gruff or pretend to be Mr Tumnus when I'm at the shops. Unfortunately I cannot have a pair because:

a) Sock Monkey can't walk in high heels. I look like a drag queen. Not a proper drag queen you understand because they can walk in heels. I mean drag a la Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in Some Like it Hot.

b) Sock Monkey has been given strict instructions not to buy a pair. Sternly written. In capital letters.

c) Thirteen hundred quid. Come off it. If I had thirteen hundred quid to chuck away on a pair of boots I'd be going to India on me 'olidays like what I wanted to do

Dirty Chicken

Oh for crying out loud.

Sock Monkey has spotted a new Dirty Chicken shop in my high street. Why on earth would any area need three and a half Dirty Chicken emporiums in a street which is only about 150 metres long??? (NB its three and a half Dirty Chicken shops because one is really a kebab shop but it also deals dirty chicken).

For non-British people (ie The Americans who read this) Dirty Chicken is matter which you would only ever consider eating if you are very, very drunk. It consists of chicken which you just know looked like this one (points right), grease, fried fat and probably some 'special seasoning'. And of course french fries. You can usually get spare ribs too. And apple pie which looks, frankly, dangerous. Drunk people should be prohibited from purchasing something with contents similar to that of a Pop Tart and just as scalding. Burns units up and down the country would no doubt agree with me.

Because drunk people are also stupid people, these places are usually called 'Texas Fried Chicken' or 'Tennessee Fried Chicken' or 'Maryland Fried Chicken' or named after A.N.Other State in America because its almost the same as Kentucky. I would prefer to see them named after their local area. Like 'Penge Fried Chicken' or 'Camden Cock' or something.


And they are always staffed by poor buggers who can't get a job anywhere else and generally can't really speak English very well and have to suffer night after night of drunken abuse from idiots.











However, The 'good' thing about Dirty Chicken is that it has a dual purpose.

Usage number 1: to soak up all the booze you have consumed
Usage number 2: it makes an excellent breakfast! The only thing you want to eat the day after the night before is greasy, calorific crap. And that's the perfect description of Dirty Chicken. Cold chips and deep fried chicken skin. Mmmmmmmm

Unfortunately there is a downside. There is no gain without pain.

Firstly there is the calorific horror which is beer. Combine this with the hideous calorie count of a Jubilee Meal Number 2 or a Chicken & Ribs Special Combo or whatever = big, fat belly. Think a Muffin Top but made out of salmonella-laden fowl.

Just a Friendly Little Cat (as the song goes)

Sock Monkey was actually stunned into slack jawed horror on Friday evening.

I was on my way home, sitting on the train minding my own business, looking forward to an evening of sitting on my behind and doing sod all after a week of doing pretty much the same thing during the day.

Sitting opposite me were two guys who I shall refer to as 'The World's Most Boring Couple'. They started talking about bread. Yes, Bread. Thankfully they had normal accents and not a Ken Livingstone-type of accent. That would have made me burst out laughing. Non-London people, Ken Livingstone, the ex-mayor of London sounds like Henry's Cat.

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No. 1
"I had a lovely sandwich. It was chicken and pesto."

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No. 2
"Ooh that sounds nice."

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No. 1
"It was. And the bread was very moist. It kept the bread moist. Sometimes bread is dry but this was moist."

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No. 2
"Bread isn't dry. You don't get dry bread."

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No 1 appeared to demur at this point but didn't reply. Then Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No 2 started reading bits of crap out from the London Evening Standard. Have I ever mentioned that I would not use this rag as a toilet paper substitute due to its right-wing Daily Mail-esque slant? In fact I'd rather crap in my hands.

Anyway, so I've already learned about bread and the fact that it may or may not be dry, and now I'm learning crap from the Evening Standard. Just when I thought please someone rip off my ears the female person (female person as opposed to 'lady' because she certainly was not a lady. Actually 'slut' is probably a more accurate description), so 'The Slut' sitting behind me answered her mobile phone and this is the delightful conversation the entire carriage was subjected to: (actually it was only half a conversation because we couldn't hear the person at the other end of the phone. Thank God.)

Why are you phonin' me on my phone?
Why you phonin' me? Get off my phone.
Get your fax right. Get your fax right when you speak to me. Get off my phone.
I done sell m'pussy. I done sell m'pussy get your fax right.

- at this point Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses no. 2 and I look up and catch each other's eyes. And we both are sporting a look of abject horror. The conversation continues, but even louder than before:

I done! sell m'pussy. An you had that abortion for Chad right.
I done need to sell m'pussy 'cause everyone wans it anyway.


We had 3 stations-worth of a conversation which was definitely not about a cat; all the way from Streatham Hill to Crystal Palace, where I got off the train. As I was leaving the carriage I could still hear her muttering to herself, "m'pussy, m'pussy" whilst huffing in indignation.

I would have much rather listened to more facts about bread whilst someone else was on the phone shouting, "Yes. Yes dear. I'm on the train. ON THE TRAIN! I'll be home in 10 minutes."

If the conversation had been about a cat, though, I think it would have looked like this।

And as I mentioned in the title here is a song about a Friendly Little Cat