Of course, it was the rainiest morning this week ... but when we walked into the Olympic Park, the wild flower meadows were a river of blue and gold, even if they should have been bathed in sunshine and buzzing with bees.
To be honest, I've never been to Stratford before ... and it says a lot about the state of the nation that visitors will teem out of the station straight into that god-awful Westfield shopping centre.
But maybe it won't look so grim if they hang a few flags. And once you're through security - cheerful, polite young soldiers - and you've stomped through the bits that aren't quite finished ... well, the flowers are going to be WOW. In two weeks time, when it matters.
There's cornflowers, and Star of the Veldt orange daisies, and California poppies, and corn marigolds and pot marigolds - and as they die down, the oranges will give way to more blue, then finally there will be a blast of yellow and gold.
I wasn't impressed by Anish Kapoor's Orbit sculpture which looks like a defunct rollercoaster.
But I loved the North American prairie garden ... randomly planted with echinacea and evening primrose, purply-pink mallow and prairie smoke (Geum triflorum) that grows in drifts of pink mist across the prairies, and so much else. 75,000 plants from 100 or so different species.
(Even if you don't have tickets for the Games, the park will re-open next summer.)