Sunday

First mistake of my Olympic debut. Do not fall under the illusion that the quickest way to an event in Versailles is to get a 20-minute taxi to Versailles. Having been dropped at the palace – a central enough point, I had assumed – I discover you need to throw a double six to get to the equestrian centre. Another taxi driver takes pity – for a fee – and drops me at the appropriate area. Then I needed a tram, plus a 20-minute walk. “Bonjour,” said the cheery security guard at the media centre. I think he quickly got the gist.

Monday

The early part of the day is spent taking in Novak Djokovic v Rafael Nadal and an international incident at the rear of the press seating area inside Roland Garros. There were not enough seats for the vast ranks of the global media who turned up for this match. Some had sat down in an area not for their specific accreditation. In all the shouting and shoving, security is called in to calm matters. “I demand a seat,” bawled one American reporter. It was astonishing the umpire did not call for quiet. Feeling slightly guilty about this – I was technically on down time – I shuffle off with Djokovic leading 4-0 in the second set.

Tuesday

Catch up with Rory McIlroy and Shane Lowry at Le Golf National in the morning. Accidentally bump into a bloke in a Mexico T-shirt at Pont du Garigliano on the way back to hotel, which sends this fella absolutely crackers. Perhaps he was denied a seat at the tennis. The brilliance of Ireland’s Daniel Wiffen in winning gold for Ireland in the pool becomes my early Games highlight. And I can’t even swim. Hotel room drama upon return. A sealed can of Coca-Cola explodes and starts firing indiscriminately all over the walls after I accidentally drop it. Manage to clean it up beyond the point where the cleaner might wonder what on earth I do of an evening.

Wednesday

Take in a bit of off-duty table tennis – which is mesmerising – and handball – which involves more fouls than any sport I have ever encountered. Some of them are even penalised. I have been warned that the landlord in the bar adjacent to our hotel is something of a character. After bumping into colleagues upon return from another late night at the swimming we nip in for a pint. It quickly becomes clear he will not be serving us a second. I return the trio of glasses to the bar before leaving. “Good lad,” he says. That’s it. No further problems in the local, surely.

Thursday

“FERMÉ!!” My return to the bar has not gone as planned. I explain to the landlord that after a very long day of work, I simply want a quick pint of stout that will be dispatched long before others in the bar finish what they have in front of them. Amazingly he relents, allowing me a 10-minute slot. The stout is gone in seven. He almost looks impressed. Landlord 1 Ewan 1. The golf enjoys its best day yet. Huge crowds and a proper sense of occasion. I still get the impression a lot of the players don’t really know what to make of it all.

Friday

My local shopkeeper, who hails from the east of India, insists his friend will provide me with home‑prepared food for €10 (£8.51) per main course. This is tempting. I had complained about the standard and cost of Indian meals in Paris. He gives me a free packet of cherries and tells me how much he enjoyed our chat. If restaurants have taken the proverbial with Olympic price hikes, this is nothing compared to launderettes. A dark load costs me €30. I contemplate how disproportionate this is to the value of the clothing. “I want to wear these things afterwards, not frame them.”

Saturday

Stade de France for some athletics. A vendor inside Porte de Paris Métro station sells coffee that is almost decent. Every other cup I have tried in this city tastes like it has come from the Seine. Steven Sabino of Mozambique is disqualified from the men’s 100m preliminary round after some comedic false-start behaviour. A bizarre thing to wait four years for. “Heartbreaking for Steven Sabino” says Mozambique’s athletics community on X. The scale of French support for their athletes has been a feature of the Olympics. Robin Emig breaks home hearts by cracking the bar again and again and again to exit the pole vault. Anaïs Bourgoin is roared home to qualify for the women’s 800m semi-finals. Marchons, marchons.