Each night just before 11:00 pm there is a fireworks display in the heart of downtown Vancouver. Excellent, if you are one of the quarter million merry makers that converge on the city's central core nightly. Less excellent if you are one of the many journalists with early deadlines to meet.

I have been gifted with a top floor hotel room with a beautiful view over False Creek. The problem is, sound travels up. And, as I can't risk sleeping in by wearing ear plugs, the sound surrounds me as closely as my ersatz down comforter. Deny a man sleep, and his Olympic spirit is not exactly Quatchi-like.
 
Speaking of furry mascots - the ten block walk from my hotel to the CBC could pass for an Olympic event: The Drunken Horde Slalom. It neccesitates speed, quick lateral movement and extreme focus. One misstep earlier this week resulted in coming face-to-face with a drunken man in a yeti costume. I think he thought he was a sasquatch (far more common in BC than yetis) but his fur was white, so he was a yeti.

He asked for a hug. I declined politely, which was a better response than he got from a woman in a short skirt and very high heels standing not far away. Furry mascot vendors are not alone in doing brisk business during these Games.
 
I made it a couple more blocks before getting to my next mogul. The "Irish House" pub. It's a makeshift behemoth, constructed specifically for these Games. People begin lining up to get in by noon. They're hanging from its rafters by 3:00 pm.  So by midnight.....

There's a total of six Irish athletes at these Games. Apparently each came with a 1,000-man entourage. Many were displaying their adeptness at hurling....not the Gaelic sport kind.
 
I dodged to the left,  made a quick right and was at CBC. For the next eight hours I did my job, chatting with morning show hosts across the country, following time zones east to west.
The story line of the day: "Canada Won't Own the Podium After All". Let me tell you, conveying that story in a tone that's anything short of dire, becomes increasingly tough as sleep deprivation kicks in.

But Vancouver does have great coffee and the city takes the drink seriously. At CBC Toronto most employees slurp hot brown water with indifference. At CBC Vancouver, you're as likely to find Illy on desktops as spare pens. I know this because I'm a late night pen thief, and there was nothing to steal.
 
By 8 am I felt like Shawn of the Dead, ambling half-sideways back to my hotel. Street cleaners had erased all traces of "Irishness" from the thoroughfares. Yetis and other creatures of the night were long since asleep. I wanted it too.

At 8:30 am it was too early for housekeeping to have cleaned my room but I welcomed the sight of my tangled faux feather comforter just the same. My off-kilter body clock suggested room service steak and eggs. I flipped on the tv to help lull me in to what would surely be a six hour siesta. But there's little that's lulling about Clara Hughes racing for the last time. Her pursuit of a record-tying sixth Olympic medal sucked me in to watching and I found myself resenting maybe the most likeable athlete in Canadian history.

I couldn't allow myself to miss this. Clara's bronze medal triumph revved me up all over again.

Shut eye was now an impossibility with a Canada-Russia hockey quarterfinal only a short time away. I ended up amongst the thousands of people gathered on the streets, adding my bloodshot eyes to the red and white colour scheme. I was on my fifth wind and had just enough air to help belt out an impromptu "Oh Canada". Not for the country's victorious hockey team but for its gold and silver medal winning bobsledders.

It had become ridiculous. Home to room 1514.

A quick check of my email and I finally began to nod off.  Only to be woken by the sound of fireworks...