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I’ve never been a big fan of the quintessential Scottish band, The Proclaimers. I remember a few years ago, they were playing a set at V Festival. They weren’t a headline name and had only been given one of the fringe stages, but people were queuing out the door. I can still remember hearing the chorus of their anthemic ‘500 miles’ echoing around the green-but-slightly-sodden fields of Chelmsford.

Fast forward a few years and that one song must now be firmly stuck in the minds of every single individual who either went to or watched the Commonwealth Games. Even the world’s most bankable athlete, Usain Bolt, rocked out to the dulcet tones of 50,000 spectators chanting the lyrics, although his dance moves were somewhat incongruous with the rhythm of the song. Once a showman, always a showman.

I was fortunate enough to get tickets to the athletics finals on the Tuesday night. Having missed out on the Olympics, I was excited to be part of one of sport’s most glittering showcases. And it didn’t disappoint. The atmosphere was electric, the partisan crowd cheering on home athletes – no matter whether they won or lost. But they were also gracious, cheering on runners who finished in last place respectfully standing for every national anthem. It was an evening to remember.

I have less respect for the hotel owners who upped the prices of rooms to fleece their captive audiences (I could have bought a small island for the price I paid for my hotel); and the stadium catering was also hideously over-priced. As Jack Dee once said of fudge concessions: “How do they do it and make a profit?”.

But, that aside, my Commonwealth memories will last for a lifetime. If I’d flown 500 miles to see the action, I would be more than happy to fly 500 more for another night of live athletics.