I’m watching the closing ceremony of the Commonwealth Games, which frankly is like watching 50000 people drowning in an enormous swimming pool. It’s in Manchester, it’s one of the wettest weeks on record in sunny England – surely brollies would have been on the shopping list? Oh no. All the officials stood in the centre of the stadium, pristinely ironed suits on display, hair gelled to perfection, bald spots combed over perfectly. As the head of the Manchester Committee made a Herculean effort of finding some of “the splendours of Manchester” (here’s one), the heavens opened royally, as if wholeheartedly disagreeing. They’re still there, bless ’em, 30 minutes in, suits slowly shrinking and foreheads doing a commendable impression of Niagara Falls. Someone get them an umbrella, for pity’s sake!