Boris ploughs into the Olympian throng

The eyes of the world were on Boris Johnson yesterday, and what they saw was a moon-faced fat man who kept putting his hands in his pockets. Was Boris trying to look relaxed? Or checking on the prawn toasts he'd snaffled from the previous day's 10-course Imperial banquet?

Everything in these Olympics had been purposeful to the point of soullessness. The Chinese did their jobs, and those that didn't are now living 40-to-a-hut in a Shandong re-education camp.

And then came Bojo, the entire stadium bathed in the glow of his custardy bonce, to formally take possession of the Olympic flag, symbolising the passage of the Games to London. His outlandish presence spoke of a change of tone and style. The next Games, it seemed to be saying, will be a complete shambles, but, probably, much more fun.

To give the 1.6bn people watching on TV

a taste of modern Britain's cutting-edge sophistication, a double-decker bus lumbered unsteadily into the stadium, eventually disgorging a multi-ethnic troupe of dancers waving umbrellas.

I was expecting a couple more to arrive at the same time, but, instead, the top opened and Jimmy Page, the raddled former Led Zeppelin guitarist performed a Bowdlerised version of Whole Lotta Love, accompanied by X-Factor winner Leona Lewis. Then David Beckham booted a football, which was meant to land in the crowd, but missed and floored a Chinese acrobat.

At least Boris didn't have to make a speech. The day before he had bewildered much of the world's press with scathing references to "Olymposceptics". Then he answered a question about whether he might become PM with an allusion to a long-forgotten politician in ancient Rome. "Were I to be called, like Cincinnatus from my plough," he proclaimed, "it would be a huge privilege to serve."

If nothing else, a gold-medal performance in Olympoborising.