120. I remember directions marked out in pink wherever you went.
121. I remember Nicola Adams’ smile.
122. I remember the radio-controlled cars which were used to retrieve javelins and shots.
123. I remember the Olympic posters designed by various celebrated artists, and how poor most of them were, showing how very little said artists cared about the Games.
124. I remember the purple smoke from the clay pigeons when they were hit.
125. I remember Jessica Ennis’ look of absolute concentration, despite the cameras that followed her everywhere.
126. I remember channel after channel showing sport every hour of the day.
127. I remember the IDs that every organiser and competitor wore around their necks.
128. I remember Boris Johnson’s voice giving public announcements on the Underground.
129. I remember Oscar Pistorious complaining about the length of his rival’s artificial legs and feeling that that particular dream had been tarnished.
130. I remember a blur that was Bradley Wiggins.
131. I remember not quite grasping the full importance of the opening ceremony first time around but seeing the light when watching it the following day on iPlayer.
132. I remember the despair when I thought I wouldn’t get any tickets for the Games and eventually buying (at exorbitant price) a ticket for 1st round men’s table tennis from a German travel agent.
133. I remember Chad Le Clos’ dad.
134. I remember #london2012.
135. I remember the bored OBS camera operators.
136. I remember the ringing of bells on the first day, which didn’t entirely take off as an idea.
137. I remember people desperately searching for tickets once the Games started, not having realised what a huge impact it was going to have. Others of us always knew.
138. I remember Games Makers with rubber hand signs to show you where to go.
139. I remember that there was no litter anywhere at the Olympic Park.
140. I remember seeing an African sprinter who was false-started in round of one some sprint – years of training, lost in a second.
141. I remember thinking that blind runners competing hand-in-hand with their guides was the most beautiful metaphor imaginable.
142. I remember David Rudisha. Now there was an athlete.
143. I remember 7/7.
144. I remember Alex Zanardi, racing driver turned champion hand-cyclist.
145. I remember beach volleyball in Horse Guards’ Parade, the perfect example of the organisers’ wit.
146. I remember thinking how wrong it was to have loud music playing in between the events, then completely changing my mind once I was actually there.
147. I remember the badminton players who were disqualified for playing to lose.
148. I remember being disappointed at how small the cauldron looked in the stadium, in contrast to its televisual perfection.
149. I remember no-one checking rail tickets.
150. I remember police motorbike riders high-fiving with the crowds lined up to watch the Olympic torch go by.
151. I remember the hooded Sarah Attar of Saudi Arabia coming last in the 800m and getting the loudest cheer of the day.
152. I remember Tom Daley being so happy when he got a bronze medal.
153. I remember that the world’s news stopped and that only the Games mattered.
154. I remember standing with an entire stadium-full of people clapping along to the Cuban national anthem.
155. I remember being gripped watching Taekwondo at 11pm at night.
156. I remember wishing it would never end, and then it did.