No distance left to run? Maybe, but it's been one hell of a race.
So, that's that then. 29 golds, 17 silvers, 19 bronzes, third place in the medal table, our most successful games for 100 years. How was the Olympics for you?
Personally I thought it was a bit like lucking out with a bag of revels - I started off anxious that it was going to be nothing but coffee, but as we pulled out toffee after malteaser, the elation that followed seemed to put to rest our collective fears.
Of course there were problems; the ticketing system was farcical, the tube was congested and the corporate sponsorship got to be a bit of a drag. But watching Jessica Ennis, Mo Farah and Bradley Wiggins, plus our boxers, sprinters, long jumpers, rowers, riders and other incredible athletes push themselves to the limits of human endurance was awe inspiring, uplifting and, to be perfectly honest, emotional. I'll admit that I cried twice, and I don't even like sport. The weather has been glorious, people on the streets and in the pubs have been smiling, and the whole country has had the air of a nation that's temporarily forgotten itself and doesn't give a hoot.
It’s this feel-good feeling, this completely un-British thumping of the table that forms the backbone of tonight's musical celebration. A blokey affair that brings together the eclectic talents of New Order, The Specials and Blur, it gives the Olympics a slightly less barmy send off than it's getting East of the river.
It is, of course, Blur's night. Their last ever gig? Perhaps. One of their greatest? Undoubtedly. Many have since complained of sound issues, but from where we are the hits are crystal clear. 'Beetlebum', 'Song 2', 'This Is A Low', 'Tracy Jacks', 'For Tomorrow', 'London Loves', 'Coffee and TV', 'End Of A Century', 'The Universal.' Every one of them anthems. Every one of them received with the flailing of arms, the busting of lungs and the stench of cider that lets you know that for this crowd, these songs signal first loves, broken hearts, mislaid virginities and friendships won and lost, childhoods and adulthoods and messy divorces, t-shirts that no longer fit and hanging out in vinyl record shops and fingering obscure B-sides and dreaming of what could have happened with the barmaid from your old local.
Real people, many now middle aged and holding their children's hands, are having their their joys and miseries soundtracked back to them as thrillingly as they are on Ziggy Stardust or Revolver, right in front of their eyes. And they can't get enough. Oi! Phil Daniels comes out for a glorious 'Parklife', joined by Harry Enfield who for some reason arrives on stage dressed as a tea lady. No one knows why, and no one gives a fig. It's Britain innit? Barmy old Britain! Won't be told what to do. Won't conform.
'Under the Westway' get an airing and sounds like it could be a lost B-side from proper '90s Blur, and then 'Tender' unites everyone in a sing along which ends with an almost whispering Damon looking starry eyed at the crowd. There's no distance left to run. And as we look back over the line, we can give a smile. We bloody well did it.
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