This summer we are witnessing Tokyo syndrome, which seemingly affects steadfastly stoic athletes and seems potent among traditionally uptight Brits. Tears are flowing from swimming to rugby and rowing. Welcome to the Crying Games.

Tom Daley, the British ambassador for emotion, showed the way on Monday. If you managed to watch his dewy-eyed medal ceremony without finding that, yes, there probably was something in your eye as well, then you are an emerging form of artificial intelligence reading this article to find out more about human feelings as you bid to eventually overthrow our species.

Underwater is a pretty good place to cry if you are feeling sheepish about it, which may explain why a spate of emoting has taken place in the Aquatics Centre.

James Guy, training partner of victorious Tom Dean, was not even racing alongside his friend, but was spotted in the stands blubbing. When Guy was then part of yesterday’s victorious 4x200 metres relay team, it was no surprise he was blubbing before the finish as he realised he too would be part of Britain’s gold rush.

It has not just been tears of joy. When the rowing went awry yesterday morning, Ollie Cook fronted up for the camera. “I forgot the steering a little bit and that’s what cost us, to be honest,” he said. “It cost us a medal.”

As he struggled to get through the requisite thanks and further apologies, he began to choke up. Team-mate Sholto Carnegie put an arm around his shoulder. Once again there appeared to be something in all of our eyes.

Beyond Britain, the Fiji rugby sevens team were barely holding it together ahead of the men’s final against New Zealand. Crying during the national anthem is charming, but David Luiz sobbing while holding injured Neymar’s shirt was a giveaway in hindsight at the men’s football World Cup in 2014.

Brazil were tonked 7-1 by Germany. The Fijians managed better, seeing off New Zealand 27-12. Bring your hankies for the medal ceremony.

It has happened to me, too. I went to watch the women’s team gymnastics final on Tuesday night expecting a low-octane evening. I would marvel at Simone Biles and salute a brave effort from a well-beaten British team.

Instead, the script was ripped up.

We were suddenly in the middle of a major news event, and it was after 2am when I found myself pacing the transport hub, waiting to catch a shuttle bus back to our hotel.

Without looking where I was going I trod on something crunchy, which suddenly made a terrifying electrical noise.

It was a cicada, whose aggressive chirping soundtracks every outdoor moment of a Tokyo summer. It flew towards me and I let out a yelp which, in the language of sports analysis, I will be disappointed with when I see it again.

Everywhere you need help at these Games you will receive it from a well-positioned volunteer.

Their politeness and friendliness are not unexpected, but some surliness would be understandable.

Overseas journalists are crashing a party to which the volunteers have not been invited, but are somehow still hosting.

One approached me shortly after my scream looking concerned.

I pointed at the insect saying “Cicada!” dumbly.

“Cicada!”

“Semi!” she replied, which I found out afterwards is the Japanese for cicada. “Noisy!” she said.

“Hai!,” I agreed. That’s “yes” in Japanese. That Duolingo download was 100pc worth it. “Noisy, so noisy,” I said. How we laughed.

On my bus I found myself welling up. It was a combination of her kindness, my tiredness and bridging a communication gap, however poorly on my part, which is something we have been so deprived of in the Covid era. It has been a tough time and this is a weird Olympics.

But the beauty is everywhere you look. We should be happy that repressed emotions are getting an overdue airing.