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Ah, television of 2012. Others tried hard, what with their dramas, documentaries, and sitcoms about klutzy, loveable mentally disabled characters called Derek (Ricky Gervais’s Derek, on which more, sorrowfully, later), but 2012, you were, obviously and conclusively, all about the Olympics and Paralympics, weren’t you?
It’s not as if other people didn’t make the effort — for instance, you cannot fault Call the Midwife’s admirable, pioneering work in introducing the practical, day-to-day considerations of enemas and syphilis to the primetime, Sunday night teatime slot — but, ultimately, none of them could compete with Oscar Pistorius, notorious, victorious, glorious; a pair of scissors cutting up the track as we screamed and screamed and screamed. Ennis. Bolt.