“Team GB take Gold in the Coxless C2 Double-Trap Kirin!” Let’s face it, we’re medalling in things we do not fully understand.

STRUAN METCALFE, MSP – an apology… of Olympic Proportions

What a week, what a Brit-fest, what a hoot! It’s been a tremendous first 7 days for Team GB and, we should all be extremeley proud of what they have achieved. Personally, as MSP for Aberdeenshire North and surrounding Nether Regions, I am absolutely delighted that sportsmen and women hailing from the North East have distingushed themselves so well. There have been golden post-boxes springing up like weeds in Lossiemouth, Westhill, and Aberdeen thanks to heroes like Miley, Renwick, Carry, Baillie, Florence, Stanning and Grainger. And, of course, Jessica Ennis has a Granny in Methlick.

I was overjoyed that our nation has stepped-up to the plate, cheering on our fabulous athletes each and every day, hearts bursting with pride. And, as my own test of fortitude and endurance, a weeklong booze-fuelled bender at the games, seemed to have slipped below the radar of journos and my superiors, I was more than a little relieved. Unlike my bladder.

Until now. Turns out my latest foray on to Twitter has aroused some anger, consternation and accusations of unreconstructed male chauvinism. Perhaps, on reflection, it was inappropriate for me as an elected representative of the people of the North East to tweet:

“At ‘lympics on freebie (Cheers Boris!). Jollies galore on every level. Beach Volleyball tomorrow so no need to blow £500 at Stringfellows!”

In my defence, it was sent during a night of rampant ‘lympic celebrations with our new national sweet-hearts Bradley “Wiggo” Wiggins and Mo Farah. Though to be fair to Mo, he was on the orange juice. Bradley and I, on the other hand, had a right old time supping White Russians like they were going out of fashion. Just like Wiggo’s side-burns. Boom!

I am, of course, deeply sorry if my comments were misunderstood to imply that I consider the svelte, skimpily attired Amazons taking part in the beach volleyball to be phwoar-tastic eye-candy. In my defence, I was blind drunk. All. Week. Long. Say what you like about Boris, but he can throw a party.

On the first day of my trip (all expenses paid, natch) he gave me 50 tickets to practically every sport going. Well, I couldn’t use them all, there wouldn’t have been any time for schmoozing! So I haven’t actually gone to many of the events, but if you’re watching on TV and you see an empty space in the stands, about 10 across and 5 deep, that’s me

I have met some very interesting people, though. Also on Boris’s guest list was a lovely old Australian gent called Rupert, there with Wendi, his charming young wife and bodyguard. I dont know who he was, but he certainly knew his onions. Over a Napoleon brandy at the Acquatics Centre he was saying that he thought Boris would make a good leader of the Conservatives once Super Dave has had his stint. The very next day, a lot of the newspapers were saying exactly the same thing. Amazing! Well, Boris was over the moon! Dave, however, was a little bit nose-out-of -joint, but felt much better after he came up with the idea for a wizard wheeze. How we laughed after I paid off the operator chap to stop the zip line so that Bojo was left dangling above the city like David Blaine without the constant stream of abuse.

Cue another marvellous afternoon’s drinking Pimms at the Velodrome, which is being referred to down here as ‘the Pringle’. Can’t say why, it looks like a big potato crisp, not a golf jumper. There, I understand, some of the Coxless C2 Double -Trap Kirin team did awfully well. Frankly, I’m finding some of the sport a bit hard to follow. I seem to remember games at Gordonstoun was a lot simpler. Rugger in the Winter, Cricket in the Summer, into the gym in the event of inclement weather for flicking Fatty Blenkinsopp with a wet towel. I haven’t seen any of those events on the schedule as yet, but there’s always next week.

Anyway, for the avoidance of doubt I do not view beach volley-ballers as objects of lust. Having now seen them in action, I can assure you that I was looking at them purely as athletes, with a sporting prowess that can only be admired and celebrated. Which I did with some gusto during the final set, kicking off a conga down Horse Guards Parade with the Duchess of Cambridge, Michael Winner and Claire Balding. I can assure you that I refrained entirely from ogling the competitors. Easy really, as my tickets turned out to be for the men’s event. But it was by no means a total wash out, I got to sit next to Peter Mandelson, and he’d brought a hipper full of Pina Colada. Top notch!! Pip pip!

Follow Struan on twitter.com/StruanMetcalfe