Politics and sport mix in my inbox
That was one of the best weekends of my life. I'll get to that in a second.
My in box gets some strange emails. For the last two weeks it's been getting mass emails with quotes from politicians congratulating athletes on their success.
Which is very strange.
I think the success of the athletes reflects on the volunteers, families, support systems, and the people whose tax helps pay for them, rather than politicians.
The London 2012 Olympics are hugely significant in political terms admittedly.
I'm down here in London, and I detect a "happiness", for want of a better word, brought on by the event, the successes, and the golden colour of the coverage.
The effect of the Glasgow 2014 Commonwealth games on Scotland will be momentous.
But politicians don't actually own the money that's spent.
It's our money.
It's the money we've given over by way of tax both personal and corporate, it's the lottery tickets we've bought, community charge, business rates, parking fines and all the other ways we pool our money, that have actually given these team GB athletes a chance to win.
And the reason major companies can afford to sponsor these games is because we buy their products.
It's wonderful, it's magical, but it wasn't made by politicians.
Anyway, yesterday was extraordinary. BBC Scotland's Olympics Correspondent Kheredine Idessane and I were dispatched to Wimbledon with news ringing in our ears that we were to cover the tennis.
We sweated our way onto a subway, grabbed a train, got soaked outside Wimbledon train station, and, because the bus queue was more than a hundred metres long, jumped in a taxi with a big sign saying "£2.50 per person to Wimbledon stadium!"
Three English folks were inside. We smiled, and they saw our media passes. "Ah, BBC Scotland..." said the friendly old bloke to my right.
We admitted to the fact. "But you're not supporting Andy Murray are you? He swears too much."
We both expressed surprise that he and his family weren't supporting Team GB, but, hey, it's personal choice.
And, yet again, it was obvious that the Olympics, in terms of the fans, have none of the aggression that haunts other sports.
This is a friendly coming together of countries.
Lugging boxes full of broadcasting kit we wandered through yet more x-ray machines, enjoyed a searching frisk or two, passed within two feet of Roger Federer (lovely skin) who was loping out on his way to warm up, climbed the steps to the commentary positions, plugged up, watched Andy Murray take a commanding lead when the game got underway, and then heard BBC Radio Scotland Richard Gordon link to us from the football.
Kheredine and I winked at each other.
Out came the notes, Kheredine, a former 800 metre athlete, shifted into second gear and he commentated and I summarised.
"Sounds fine, keep going," came word from the producer in Glasgow.
The day will live with me for ever.
We finished the commentary, Kheredine went to the satellite truck to send some TV pictures to Scotland with cameraman Alan.
And Andy Murray stayed behind to be interviewed by BBC Scotland.
I pinched myself again and again as Kheredine and I smiled on the bus leaving Wimbledon.
Did we really commentate on a gold medal, by a Scotsman, at Wimbledon?
Days fly past here. By now it was after eight o'clock at night. Usain Bolt was racing at ten to ten.
We decided to take a risk and head for the Olympic stadium. An hour and twenty minutes later I felt as though I'd been abducted by aliens.
Huge towers of futuristic floodlights had turned night time, and the inside of the biggest space ship in the universe, into daylight and the build up to the biggest race of the Olympics.
Looking around I noticed people struggling to take it in.
The inside of the Olympic stadium is modern, loud, shiny, metallic, glamorous, high-tech, welcoming, bathed in light, massive, and superbly fit for purpose.
Cameraman Alan and I joined our colleagues from BBC Wales on the first tier of broadcast places right in line with the finish.
Usain Bolt played up for the cameras, and then blasted down the track.
People around me jumped up and down. The volume was oppressive but reassuring at the same time.
To be that loud it had to be very, very important.
And I've been trying all morning to analyse it. What did we all feel in the stadium? Why did people hold their heads, smile, shoot eyebrows skyward, and applaud and shout?
The word, I think, is joy.
The BBC has footage of Colin Jackson, the former hurdler, losing the plot in the studio talking of "What's his name....the Big Man."
Ah, the beauty of athletics analysis.
Early indications are that the TV audience was massive. People were captivated.
Seeing men and women compete at their best is magical whether it's at Wimbledon, the Olympic stadium, or even at Scotstoun stadium in Glasgow.
One of the most important effects of these massive sporting events is, yes, political.
But the effect isn't created by politicians. It is made and paid for by people.
Please, no more emails .