And good morning to you. Welcome to new bloggers and the wise old blogvets of many years standing. Here we are again with that awareness that this time next week, it's all over. We'll be kicking our heels and wondering what we are supposed to do now.
In the meantime we have another week of six-packs, rippling muscles ("why don't you look like that?") tears, anthems, medals, podia, anthems, "how do you feel?" being asked over and over again, smiles, singing, flags, souvenir editions of the newspapers, chariots of fire, visitors liking us, gold, silver , bronze, the Queen, James Bond, Elbow (feel free to add to this list) and John Inverdale's choice of shirts.
I caught most of the events of Saturday in between helping Mrs Mayo launch her latest ceramics exhibition in Suffolk - my ambition is to be a kept husband. Loads of prosecco drunk, much porcelain purchased. Then we retired to the pub to watch Jess Ennis, Mo Farrah and Greg Rutherford. It all felt very un-British.
If you read Harry Potter you might remember the Felix Felicis which grants whoever drinks it unusually good luck. Had our team drunk this liquid luck? Had a spell been cast across the land? How long can it last?
Chris is flying in the O park every morning (and that's every morning - is this the new Radio 2 schedule being written here?) and we are back at one of our favourite venues - at Greenwich by the Thames and the Equestrian events.
Matt will keep you updated on all the medals of the day, assorted happy ticket holders will wander past and folk clad in purple will try to help us as whatever our concern; I'm thinking of taking my ironing today to see if they can help with that too.
And oldies please for USIAN BOLT, THE FASTEST MAN IN THE WORLD. And it's 50 years of Jamaican independence today too. Great tunes please!
Have a spiffing and top-hole Monday, see you after 5.