KEN Miller's memories of the 1948 London Olympics opening ceremony are as clear as the skies on that "glorious, sunny day".

The Wirksworth pensioner, who turns 90 on Saturday, was sitting only feet away from where the famous cauldron was last lit in the UK to signal the start of the world's biggest sporting event.

Sixty-four years on, the great-grandfather says he cannot wait for London 2012 to get under way – even though this time he will be watching it on television.

His excitement and enthusiasm has led to BT choosing him to be one of 100 "storytellers", whose role is to document the story of the London Olympics.

Mr Miller – himself a former county champion in both swimming and diving – applied to be a creative writer for the project.

He is the oldest member of the storytellers team, which also includes artists, graphic designers, photographers and musicians and it is a role he is loving.

The retired PE schools adviser said: "I've written three pieces so far that have appeared on the BT storytellers website.

"Two are poems – one on diving and the other on anticipation – and the other is a write-up of when I got to meet the British diver Leon Taylor in November."

He has dedicated one of the poems, The Dive, to London 2012 hopeful Tom Daley.

Mr Miller said he was looking forward to following the fortunes of the 17-year-old this summer, adding that the Games would rekindle fond memories of the three Olympic events he attended in 1948, including the opening ceremony, swimming and athletics.

He said: "The standard is lot better nowadays because of the intense training and the technical advances. The performances have moved forward incredibly, although I loathe how commercial sport has become.

"I think the opening ceremony will be very good. I went in 1948 with my wife and our seats were steps away from the cauldron.

"I never thought I'd live long enough to see it happen again in this country."

To visit the storytellers website, go to www.btlondon 2012.co.uk/storytellers.

The Dive

The Dive

He stands aloft in concentration... his back to the water ten metres below

Heels raised high over daunting space, visualising the moves he's going to make

No tremor of hands, or knees that shake, then springs aloft in a sudden thrust that takes him high, folds at hips with chest to thigh

Head tucked in and rounded back, feet extended to complete the line that reaches upward to the sky, back-spinning as he starts to drop

Below the firmness of the board, and over once again into an opening-twisting, bar-taut extension, that turns again in third dimension

Towards the dappling blue below, where fists rolled tight punch in a hole through which he lets his body slide, tips of toes the last to disappear

No slackness spoils his entry, no "fall short" or "out of plumb" and seconds later with a glide, he reappears and flicks his head to hear applause and the judges' scores, "9;10;10...10;8...10;10"

Now he knows he's won, he's Highboard Champion once more

There's bedlam then as flags rise high, and tears stream down from many an eye

An anthem blares from tubes of brass, a modern statue from Ancient Greece

With laurels round his head, and flowers in this hand... he stands alone in celebration.