Every four years, as I get older, I promise myself that I won't stay up until 3 am, glued to the television as yet another Olympic sport gets my attention.

In part, it's guilt - I come from a generation for whom watching television for pleasure is a bit of a sin. In the 1950s, we were one of the last families on my street to get a set, at a time when daytime television was pretty much unknown, 24-hour programming was light years away, and the BBC Children's Hour was definitely aimed at making you a better adult.

Flash forward to the 21st century - the boy has become a grandfather, and my 50-inch wafer thin television set doesn't need 10 minutes to "warm up" and can access over 200 channels at the flick of a button, all without my leaving my armchair.