Where are all the spectators?

There are phrases no one expects to hear. One is: "I want this divorce to be friendly, so you take the house, a car, and all the money." There is: "Gosh, are those the last two tickets to this smash-hit show? You deserve them more."

At the Olympics it is: "We seem to be suffering a shortage of Chinese."

With China's population north of one billion this seems odd. A recent New Yorker piece on Beijing's architecture tells us locals call it Tan Da Bing, meaning 'spreading pancake', and reflecting its sprawl. Three hundred thousand people a year have arrived since the early Nineties. As the protests over the torch's journey got closer to town its total was around seventeen million.

Yet, at event after event, there are empty seats, or plenty of room at the sides of venues.

Because I rely on the television coverage the audience for the rowing seems to consist of about half a dozen people following the skiffs on bicycles.

Even the gymnastics attendance, a burning ticket at other Olympics, seems underdone. There are reports of similar at the swimming.

We can understand no one watching the women's cycling road race. It was in the pouring rain. Wanting the local to win is one thing. Getting pneumonia to help them do it is a different set of spinning wheels.

The only frenzied crowd outside the Opening was at the New Zealand v China soccer game, played at Shenyang, in the north near the Russian border.

This may have been patriotism, or reflecting few entertainment options, or because Shenyang is a pulsing Sydney or San Fransisco'esque twenty-four hour party town and they are used to getting out and about.

Back in Beijing, the scales tip towards whatever they tip towards. This might be apathy, reluctance to endure the security, or as so often happens in the West they are staying home to catch it on television, to get their game and have instant touch with everything else.

Another busy day at the tennis. Photo / AP