THE pivotal moment? Standing to sing God Save The Queen, amidst a crowd of fervent patriotism, my two little girls word perfect. Rising to our feet to shout as hard as we could when Jessica Jane-Applegate stormed to gold in the 200 metres freestyle. In fact, it was the medley, so with each new length the noise increased.

When we realised she was in with a chance of winning a medal and then gold for Team GB, the hysteria and volume grew with each stroke. Whether Jessica could hear us underwater or not was beside the point, but I defy anyone not to be spurred on by the wall of noise.

And that’s what’s so good about seeing the Paralympics live. Having watched the Olympics on TV, there were some aspects that couldn’t be beaten. The noise was first. Even from outside the stadium, it’s overwhelming and tantalising. You are desperate to see who everyone’s cheering on. But once inside you are responsible for the volume and take full advantage.

Seeing the events for real was another unique element, obvious as it sounds. Watching the swimmers emerging from the changing rooms on Sunday night, one by one, like actors on a stage.

Cheering like mad every time a British competitor entered the arena, watching their starts, goading their finishes, standing for the anthems and the gold medals. The Olympic world is much smaller and more intimate than you imagine – the swimming was at least – because however hyped up it is, it’s still just one large pool and a diving pool, surrounded by thousands of people.

The intimacy means you get much more involved. The Paralympic swimming is divided into three categories and then graded – physically impaired, visually impaired and intellectually impaired.

The visually impaired swimmers have an assistant who taps them with a rod sporting a foam tip to let them know when they’re approaching the end of the pool and can turn at the right time. So when American swimmer Bradley Snyder was touched too early in the men’s 100m backstroke, he turned and was then left immobile and floundering, with no pool edge to push off from, while the race continued without him and we all looked on helplessly.

Luckily, and here is a prime example of the heart of the games, all the coaches from all the nationalities involved in the race were called together and agreed to let him re-swim the race.

We managed two hours in the Aquatic Centre, not bad with a five and a six year-old, because boy it was hot. And then we turned and began making the long journey home.

Back through the Olympic Village, past all the cheerful volunteers, the army, police, and helpers steering us back through Westfield’s to Stratford Tube, Baker Street, Marylebone and finally Bicester.

It was an epic journey and a massive undertaking, but we were there to watch live history unfolding in front of us, and took part in something we may never revisit – the Olympic dream. That’s one for any scrapbook.