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I enter the sunken bowl of the Olympic Stadium on the first morning of track and field competition to the slightly unexpected sight of Joanna Lumley on the big screens, telling us that she would make speed knitting an Olympic event, given the choice. My seat looks like the last one added in the whole stadium – a lone one tacked onto the end of an accessible seating section where another wheelchair couldn't be accommodated. Feel over the moon at that tiny design fault.

Meanwhile, the shot putters are warming up at my end of the Stadium (the North). They are vast men. I have to say that the build-up and commentary here is excellent, streets ahead of what I've seen at any other venue. I still don't like that Muse song, mind. Sit replaying some of my favourite Olympics track and field memories in my head. Linford in Barcelona. Jonathan Edwards in Sydney. That magical 4x100metre relay gold for Britain in Athens. The is the seat I've wanted since I was seven.

At 9.55 we're led in a countdown. To what? Nothing happens. Events start five minutes later. Oh well, it woke the crowd up. Then at five past 10, we have the start of the women's heptathlon (the title is tautological, in fact, since the men compete in a decathlon). The crowd makes an incredible noise when Jess Ennis wins her heat in a heptathlon record, national record time – one which would have won the gold medal in Beijing, astoundingly. For a multi-event girl to have that standard of performance in a single event is almost unprecedented. Top runners are setting personal bests in early heats – this is potentially a very quick track. How fast can Usain go on it? The Americans are in an all red strip, which I love. It reminds me of the kit Carl Lewis wore when he equalled Jesse Owen's record of four golds in Los Angeles 28 years ago.

There is a new round in the women's 100m, a preliminary where athletes from smaller nations compete against one another for the right to take on the big guns later on. One from Yemen races in a headscarf. Later in the 400m we see the lone female athlete at the games from Somalia, ZamZam Farah, who shares her name with another runner born in Somalia, Mo. I'm reminded that it's been almost fifteen minutes since I pictured the naturalised Englishman taking gold in one of the long-distance races next week, and shredding every prejudiced generalisation about asylum seekers in Britain. More of this later.

There crowd gives a big roar to every home athlete, and it seems to visibly lift several. Yamile Aldama races through her triple jump qualifier to become the second finalist. After World, European and Commonwealth champion 400m hurdler Dai Greene opens his bid for a full set with a comfortable win, his near namesake Jack Green is pulled from from sixth to second place down the final straight by a mighty ovation. Christine Ohurugou is defending an Olympic title in the home borough of her home city. Could she ever have dreamed this as a young athlete?

The failures are even more affecting than the successes. A young girl pulls up barely twenty metres into her games in the 100m. A Japanese hurdler finishes a race while painfully injured, reminding me of Derek Redmond's inspiring moment in Barcelona. The back-marker in a steeplechase heat is given a tremendous cheer as he clears the final water jump, but he falls at the final hurdle and lies injured 50 metres from the end of his race. As he leaves the track on a wheelchair, it's impossible not to feel devastated for the man.

Suddenly the skies open and a very British summer monsoon arrives. Those top price seats aren't so desirable now – they're exposed and flooded. People take refuge behind in cheap seats at the back.

The heptathlon high jump is at the far South of the stadium. It's miles away, but the South grandstand make sure we know exactly how the three Brits are progressing. The men are also throwing the hammer from that end. One of the most technically and physically demanding field events, it's totally different seeing it from underneath the flight of the hammer rather than the TV view. The best job of any volunteer at the games might be to drive the remote control cars that shuttle across the stadium, collecting hammers and bringing them back to the throwing end to be used again.

When it's dry there can't be a bad seat anywhere in this stadium, it is superb in every respect. The crowd is close to the action, the top deck banks steeply, the iconic pyramids of floodlights look fantastic. The crowd are kept invested and informed by fantastic commentary. Exactly how an Olympic event should be presented. Hardly a spectator leaves a seat through the whole four hour session. This is how it's meant to be. A morning that I've imagined as long as I can remember has, improbably, lived up to all my hopes.

[A word of unofficial advice to anyone travelling to the Olympic Park for one of the athletics sessions from North London – there were huge queues in St Pancras, so I took the underground to Liverpool Street and walked straight through onto a Stratford train. That may not be everyone's experience, but it was mine this morning. I have to praise the security personnel at the games, who despite the vast crowds had the entry into the park as smooth as it was on my first visit. My other top tip is to use the WCs and water taps before crossing the bridges into the main stadium, rather than afterwards!]