We drive 50 yards, and I get out.As I pass through the security check, a mumsy woman volunteer asks me if I am having a nice day I tell her, in measured terms, what kind of day I am having. This time, I decide to take a taxi.Disembarking at the venue, I see several Games volunteers running towards me waving me away. Even he has to give up when we reach a city centre road block, but we are back. Searching for an appropriate gift, I give him my Literary Guild pen - "for a scholar and a gentleman."The next day I need to visit the beach volleyball, 20 miles out of town at Atlanta Beach.

We need to find a Texaco garage which will recognise the official fuel card We find one, and it has no diesel. John Peterson would like to drive us, not just to the depot, not just to the press centre, but up the stairs to our work stations if we so desire. Six stray journalists, three stray bus drivers, and, in the words of the Texaco slogan, a star of the American road. The bus wheels round back towards Lake Lanier in search of the next nearest Texaco station.Refuelled, we set off back to Atlanta, a happy band of brothers and sisters now. As we pick up our bags to board it anyway, the supervisor steps in and orders the driver to carry on and ignore anyone who tries to stop him.Bus drivers are stranded beside this parking lot, too.

One of them explains that 20 extra drivers have been drafted in to improve the transport situation. But no one has thought to give them buses to drive.Eventually one of them - a burly, moustachioed Chicagoan named John Peterson - announces: "I'm going to take these people where they want to go." So saying, he steps up to an old orange school bus with a top speed of 35mph and beckons us in.Ten miles along the freeway, he realises we are running out of fuel. Arriving at 2.45, we discover the bus has left 10 minutes earlier.Another bus, we are told, has set off from Atlanta, and should be with us at 3.30 It isn't. We amuse ourselves by keeping out of the blazing sunlight and draining our last reserves of water.At around 4.00, an empty bus draws up in front of us We ask the supervisor if we can get on it He understands But we can't.