THE finish line is in sight. After two weeks of exertion, of triumph and dejection, of glittering victory and head-down defeat that have been the focus not just of British attention but of the gaze of the entire world, the London Olympics of 2012 will soon be over — and the reflection will begin.

In truth, the reflection has been under way from the very start, from an opening ceremony that did not serve up mere spectacle but asked its audience, particularly its British audience, to think. Danny Boyle's spectacular, so beautifully executed and ingeniously conceived it lingers in the mind even as the closing draws near, stood apart from its predecessors thanks not only to its humour and eccentricity, but also because it had something to say.

It presented 1948 as the pivot year in the history of modern Britain. That was the last time London played Olympic host, but also the year that saw the founding of the National Health Service and the arrival of the Windrush, the ship bearing the Caribbean migrants who would change the face of Britain.

Both those themes — an ethos of public service and ethnic diversity — would be amplified in the ceremony and, more importantly, in the Games themselves. But that reminder of late 1940s Britain suggests another thought, too.

It is the story of decline, of Britain as a has-been nation, once glorious, now reduced to a tired marginality, bobbing around in the Atlantic stuck between Europe and a superpower United States. Somehow the story seeped into British bones, expressed in its best-loved sitcoms — with their tales of frustrated men, from Captain Mainwaring to David Brent, made ridiculous by delusions of grandeur — and by a brand of newspaper whose unspoken daily message is that the country is going to the dogs.

Then along came London 2012 to change the script. Despite all the familiar fears of failure — of traffic snarl-ups, botched security arrangements and dreadful weather — the British have surprised themelves by staging a global event of infinite complexity with near-perfect success.

The new venues, including an architecturally gorgeous velodrome and stadium, were built ahead of time and have worked flawlessly. The locations that were not new but old places put to new use — whether beach volleyball in Horse Guards or showjumping in Greenwich — showed the capital in a fresh and telegenic light, the London of a Richard Curtis movie.

Not only have the athletes and bigwigs travelled to and fro without a hitch, so has everyone else. Spectators — once, admittedly, they had negotiated an online ticketing system apparently designed to induce collective rage — have filled late-night trains, sleepy with awe and delight at what they have seen. London did not fail or struggle. Instead the sun shone and the city hosted an Olympic Games of wonder. — The Guardian, London