Olympics, you are here. Finally.

It’s time. Oh yes it is, and I, like a lot of you I’m sure, have waited long enough for these epic Games to start.

It’s been seven years since we were designated to host the 2012 Olympics, VS France who was left very vexed. Well the years have gone by and now it’s time for the show; they say it will be ‘the most extraordinary games in the Olympic history’.

Yes, this year Britain has been motivated to host internationally relevant events. Indeed our Queen was watched by a 15 million people last month, and in her honour (if not just as an excuse) 9,500 street and private parties were hosted around the Capital. The Diamond Jubilee was a spectacular event, for locals and tourists alike, who witnessed 1,000 boats float in chaotic formation down the Thames, or attend the concert hosted at Buckingham Palace.

The Jubilee Mania being over, I thought things were getting back to normal. I was expecting a busy, humid, sun-free summer like the kind we usually experience, with a break in the rain schedule a hopeful highlight.

However I was surprised by the wave, well, the tsunami overwhelming the city with the Games. Indeed it has all changed. Tube stations have been rebuilt, roads cleaned and graffiti whipped off walls in Brick Lane. Tesco’s has even changed their opening times, thinking we would, as day-to-day customers, be happy to find it opened at 5am instead of 7! But that’s just me being cynical, as tonight it’s been said that a 4 billion people are going to be watching the opening ceremony. And London will receive an extra million people during the month surrounding the Games, all eager to attend the 302 events coming up.

Meanwhile, the debt seems to have reached the thousand billions, so what would that be in numbers? Next to that it’s true that the 3 billion spent on her Majesty’s Jubilee isn’t much, nor the 110 million pounds spent on security during the Games.

We can argue that sales during the Jubilee went up 120 million pounds, and that McDonald’s will be serving 1.75 million meals, so in the long term, maybe it is helping our drowned economy.

But no matter the crisis, the starvation and unemployment, millions of people sang the British National ‘God save the Queen’ Anthem, and they all definitely meant it. That’s the beauty of England, and we are all ready to shout for our athletes, no matter how much of a hassle taking the tube is these days.

26,000 members of world’s media are waiting in the city, making it the biggest event in history. So it seems truthful to say that tonight and for the next two weeks, the worlds’ eyes are on us.

By Mona Malca

You are what you eat

This week, there was another attempt at scaring the country into doing more exercise. Inactivity was hailed as being as dangerous for us as smoking. Now these scare tactics aren’t unusual, every week we are told to stop eating one thing or another.

Just 24 hours later, eggs, once again, make it onto the ‘good foods’ list. It’s no surprise that through all this ‘you can eat that- you can’t eat this’ nonsense we are becoming a nation that is fed up of food fads, ‘brain foods’ and ‘celebrity diets’.

The UK has one of the most inactive populations with, over 60% of adults doing less than their recommended quota. Maybe with the arrival of the Olympics on our doorstep next week, we will be ‘inspired’ to do more? Maybe we will have a new society of Jessica Ennis’ in years to come.    

Being in an office, I, as you would expect, spend the majority of my day seated. Attending meetings - I’m seated, making calls - I’m seated, having lunch - I’m seated. I also very rarely make it past 10.30am without having something to eat. This has been made increasingly difficult with the level of homemade cakes and muffins sneaking into the office.

I am, however, one of those crazy people who does actually enjoy exercise – although I am currently in a lot pain after a body attack class last night (yes, it is as bad as it sounds) - but because of this, I find I can quite easily achieve the recommended two and a half hours a week.

With long, busy working days, a ready meal is the welcome home most people are after and the last thing on their mind is 100 abdominal crunches.

How much exercise we should be doing and how many vitamins we should be swallowing  changes as often as Rihanna’s hair colour, so knowing what’s best is almost impossible.  

I say, have that doughnut – just be prepared to put the work in if you want to look like Jessica Alba on the beach this summer.

 By Stephanie Rock

Going Underground

As a London Lover and frequent visitor to the city, I have done my fair share of travelling by train. I have complained when trains are late and moaned at the lack of seats just as much as the next person.  However, this week as a newbie at Wordville, not only have I gained an insight to the world of PR, and perhaps more importantly learnt how the Mayor likes her tea (tea bag flirts with water but the relationship goes no further), I have also seen a new side to the British public on the trains.

Tuesday saw the Olympic test run on London transport in five of the city’s major stations in preparation for - as Boris kindly reminds us at every station in town – “The Big One”. This event went largely unnoticed at Charing Cross, with the only minor difference being the erection of a play pen in the middle of the station. This rather snug area is supposed to house the extra one million visitors to our city.

Those who were unlucky enough to pass through London Bridge on Tuesday would have experienced something different altogether, as exits were blocked off and commuters were herded cattle-like through the only entrance. This exercise, which was minutely dissected by papers and passengers, further angered the already enraged species that is the London commuter.

 Nevertheless, I have found this week that these Londoners- who are always ready to moan about the commute, the extortionate fares, the lack of seats and daily delays- possess an air of camaraderie. Yes it’s true that the majority of Charing Cross bound passengers will sit on the aisle seat and leave what some might consider an excessive amount of space on the escalators, but I have also witnessed acts of kindness amongst commuters – strangers – which have restored my faith in humankind.

As I browsed through the Metro each morning on the tube, I was attracted to the Good Deed Feed – a section in which readers text in, expressing their thanks to strangers, friends and family who have done a good deed.  I was left truly heartened by this column. One woman gave thanks to “the kind lady” who woke her up at her station, another dedicated her text to “the young man in the peaked cap” for topping up her oyster card when she was late and had forgotten her purse. Just this morning, I saw a man helping an elderly woman off the train, another passing a gentleman his umbrella after leaving it on the seat.

So whilst everyone who endures an extended daily commute during the Olympics is sure to complain, and there will still be those that leave a bag on the seat in an attempt to create a personalised Olympic challenge – I am sure that if you look carefully enough, you will see small, but incredibly significant good deeds, which will make you proud to be a Londoner.

By Francesca Rock

Sowing the seeds of change

Yesterday I read an article in the Metro that touched a nerve; and whilst I am of course devastated that Tom Cruise will keep his £180 million pound fortune, that was not it.

No, the story that caught my attention was on the sad state of British farming and the dire need for more young people to enter into the Industry.

Some might find my interest in this matter startling. I was born in London and am a city girl at heart- I even enjoy the tube. Nevertheless, at the age of five my family moved to the depths of Suffolk, a land of Labradors and Land Rovers, where I, rather unwittingly, received an education in the rural way of life.

Now I know that being intermittently woken by a combine harvester throughout my formative years does not me a farming expert make. However, I suspect many will agree with me that the industry has received its fair share of bad press and perhaps more than its share of media and public relations disasters.

In 1988 the British egg industry was thrown into crisis when Edwina Currie made the unqualified announcement that the majority of British eggs contained Salmonella.  Less than a decade later, and the beef industry was in similar turmoil. With the nation in the grip of BSE fear, MP John Gummer decided to very publicly feed his four-year-old daughter a beef burger in what has become one of the most spectacular PR failures in the history of agriculture. Not only did the move illustrate Gummer’s own stupidity, but also it implied a gun-ho governmental attitude, which left people wondering whether following regulation guidelines was enough to ensure their health. 

In recent years things have got slightly better. The rise of the yuppie framer has been a phenomenon I have watched with interest, as high profile advocates of the rural way of life up sticks and head for Cornwall/ Dorset/ the Cotswolds for a life of foraging and organic rare-breed nurture.  A number of TV case studies with high profile participants have highlighted the trend. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall , perhaps the pioneer, has since been followed by many others, including Jamie Oliver’s mate Jimmy, who’s thoughtfully named ‘Jimmy’s Farm’ is not far from my family’s home in Suffolk.

Although I am very much a supporter of this type small –scale production, and am thrilled that urban farming and self-sustainment are going through such a renaissance, I am dismayed that large scale agriculture remains untouched by the popularity of this niche offshoot.  But am I surprised?

As I write this, one ear is on the news, where reports of farmers marching on Whitehall in protest of falling milk prices dominate the headlines.  When the prevailing message is one of hardship and frustration, spoken by a stereotypically aging, rotund and bedraggled industry representative, is it any wonder that young people are giving farming a wide birth?

Having been bought up amongst farmers, I am more than aware of the individual benefits of professional farming- a healthy lifestyle, working outdoors and a slightly archaic, but still evident, prominence amongst the local community. If the farming industry is serious about attracting more young people to take up the farming mantel, they need to get PR savvy. Move agricultural PR on from crisis management and start to proactively engage with a relevant audience. Get decent, passionate representatives and shout about how great it is.

By Polly Robinson

Viva Spice

So this week the media has been dominated by various stories – Jimmy Carr and that tax loophole, the Barclays libor rate scandal, Prince Charles’ paternal generosity etc. Nevertheless, there is one story that has had me gripped, updating my twitter feed, and glued to news...

The revelation of Spice Girls: The Musical.

I was part of the Spice crazy generation - I still am. Back in the 1990s there was a Spice for every girl in the world- my personal favourite always being Sporty.  They dominated our newspapers and TVs and, 15 years later, they're once again causing quite the sensation.

With the new musical set to take centre stage in December, the Spice women have received a fair bit of flack lately. The media have attacked them with a relish usually reserved for Nigel Farange/ Silvio Berlusconi– criticising the superficial friendship between the five women, their lack of talent and their single-grouped destruction of feminism.

Now I think back to my seven-year-old self- my childish infatuation with the five women - and I didn’t see any of that. What I saw were five powerful, independent, brave, daring, bold women. They told us girls that we could be whatever we wanted, and all we needed were our friends.

I personally don’t see anything wrong with the fact they screamed ‘Girl Power’ across the globe all those years ago, but I find it impressive that the media are so quick to blame and scrutinise them now. Suddenly they have become social scapegoats, apparently responsible for a litany of wrongs, from binge drinking and Saturday night promiscuity to 'happy-slapping.' The exact same voices which once sung their praises, are now only too happy to sneer at their come-back.

In hindsight, and in light of the autobiographical revelations that followed the split, these women didn’t best embody the term ‘Girl Power’. Nevertheless, at the time even the critics of today had a soft spot for the five girls. At the height of their fame, they were a united, unstoppable global force. ‘Girl Power’, be it founded in fraud or not, mobilised a generation of girls to believe in themselves and achieve.

They may not be classic role models, but the Spice Girls taught me a few crucial life lessons:

1. I can be anything I want to be
2. A close network of actual friends are the key to happiness
3. To keep step with the media, we must be constantly on our toes

Oh… And whilst I’m more than happy to belt out Mamma I love you at the top of my lungs, you’ll be pleased to know that the crop top/ tracksuit bottoms/ platform trainers combo, will remain firmly in my 90s wardrobe.

By Pema Seely