KEY POINTS:
It isn't always a nice feeling, being on the outs with one's fellow man. Disconnected, dislocated, alienated even - all states more likely to induce paranoia and loneliness than anything approaching content.
And yet total contentment is exactly what I feel as I come to the end of the week - still having watched none of the Olympics. There have been a few close calls.
Last Saturday night I came in early and caught a glimpse of what looked like swimming over my flatmate's shoulder en route to bed. It was but a fleeting glance, however, no more than a blur of muscular torsos and what may or may not have been the shimmer of a pool.
I think I detected the dull roar of Peter Montgomery a little later, braying assuredly about rowing, but thankfully my reflexes are still intact and I was able to counter him with The Pixies Greatest Hits before too much damage was done.
Another close shave on Wednesday when TV3 pulled a fast one and crossed to Mike McRoberts outside the giant cats cradle of a stadium in Beijing during the proper bit of the news that's supposed to come before the sports at 6.30pm.
A shabby trick indeed, and one that nearly caught me out. Thankfully somebody buggered up Mike's mike, so instead of a riveting live cross all we got to hear was a sound tech sounding off in the studio back home. Disappointing for Mike and stressful for the hapless Carolyn attempting to talk to him on air, but a blessed reprieve for me.
And so eight days into it, I have managed to remain Olympically inviolate, entirely innocent of the feats of athletic excellence taking place on the other side of the world.
I'm taking an odd pride in my indifference to the Games this time round. It hasn't always been thus, I should explain. The Olympics had a great fascination for me as a child. Like many children, I loved anything to do with ancient Greece and Rome, and the pageantry associated with the event satisfied my sense of theatre.
Who wouldn't wish to be crowned with laurels, garlanded with medals, declared champion of champions?
The story of the revival of the ancient Games in contemporary times is also inspiring. Citius, Altius, Fortius. Faster, Higher, Stronger. As exhortations go, they don't come much more stirring. I had that written in the back of my homework notebook when I was 11.
It led me to great things. Not to sporting excellence obviously - I think it's clear I was not that kind of child - but I did learn all the capital cities in Africa that year. An unintended consequence of Baron de Coubertin's Olympian efforts, I'm fairly sure, but I thank him for helping me to put Kigali and Mogadishu on the map.
I learned about the great Games of years gone by, hosted by a glittering roster of the great cities - Rome, Paris, London, Athens, Tokyo, Berlin, Los Angeles, er, Helsinki. And then there were the lavish spectacles of the opening and closing ceremonies with their magnificent parade of nations, all of the pomp and splendour of the world coming together to celebrate the excellence that our finest athletes can achieve. The stuff of poetry in many ways.
And yet, come 2008 and I'm happy not to care. Why is that, I wonder? Well I could get all right-on about it, and discuss the moral quandary involved in supporting an Olympics in one of the world's most socially and culturally repressive oligarchies.
I could discuss the international embarrassment that is China's decision to renege on its agreement to allow journalists covering the Games open access to the internet, access denied to its citizens every day.
I could look at the social and environmental toll taken on the country in the push to create a Beijing that will delight and enchant armchair Olympians throughout the world. I could talk about Tibet. I could talk about "re-education", I could talk about smog.
It's not the controversial choice of venue that is the issue. In their own way, the controversies surrounding the choice of host city are as much a part of the Olympic tradition as the laurels, the medals and the torch.
The history of the modern Games is as much one of controversy, scandal and at times tragedy, as it is of prowess excellence and pride.
The Nazi grandstanding of 1936 in Berlin and the bloodstained horror of Munich in 1972 are written in history, but every Olympics has had its own roster of boycotts, political posturing and, latterly, doping scandals.
Rightly or wrongly, the attendant sideshows are a part of the spectacle. I haven't shunned the Games because they're in China, but simply because I'd rather stick pins in my eyes than watch televised sport.
That said, I may have missed the Games themselves, but that's not to say I haven't been entertained by the particular brand of vaudeville coming out of Beijing.
Whether it was the sight a few months ago of hundreds of dutiful citizens happily hauling algae out of Olympic lakes to the strains of suitably heartening music blaring around them, or, most recently, the decision to substitute a photogenic little ring-in for an original singer.
The Olympics are all about putting on a good show and in that respect, at least, the Chinese certainly aren't letting us down.
