So true. Volunteers are second only to athletes in rank of importance. Their inclusion cements the 'Peoples Olympics' ethos, and as they are unpaid, they save host countries millions of dollars.

Applications for Beijing 2008 volunteers are expected to set world records. Around 100,000 volunteers are needed to ensure the games go off without a hitch. There is a fervent industry of cover letter writing, CV printing, envelope licking and stamp buying in all provinces, from Anhui to Zhejiang. When Bocog, the Olympic organising committee, advertised for 180 staff openings, 6,450 people sent their CVs. That's nothing. Surveys claim some 95 per cent of Beijing's 12 million citizens wish to be Olympic volunteers. Seemingly, 95 per cent is not enough to demonstrate China's universal zeal and enthusiasm for the games.

So what better way to ensure the nation's postmen become weary hunchbacks over the next 12 months than the comments from 'volunteer inquiry desk' manager Ma Yue? 'In accordance with their work performance, Bocog will reward volunteers with a certificate after the games, which might be good for their future career,' she said.

Altruism is one thing, but in a nation drowning in unemployed graduates and redundant state workers, pushing the career advancement line has given the Olympic volunteer movement the air of a mass jobs fair. Ahead of Athens 2004, more than 160,000 volunteer applications were lodged for about 60,000 posts. But the great Greek groan of disappointment will not compare with the cry of anguish from the rejected millions of desperate 'talents' seeking any opportunity to stand out from the crowd.

With the spirit of meritocracy ignored, the majority of volunteers will be recruited from elite Beijing-based universities. Other parts of China, including Hong Kong, Macau and Taiwan, will also be allocated a few places. And volunteers from 'ethic groups' will also be offered a token representation. All will undergo 'necessary training'.

Other than being educated on how to smile perpetually, assist lost visitors to the Forbidden City and otherwise behave like a slick public relations officer for China PR Inc, one can only hope the training will be unpolluted by politics and dogma. After all, the Olympics is a strictly politics-free zone, even if most facets of Chinese life are not.

The recent test events gave some indication of the work of the volunteers. In Qingdao, they were placed on every street corner, hotel foyer and all over the sailing centre. Dressed in distinctive pale blue T-shirts, baseball caps and sponsored bum-bags, each offered a smile, occasional wrong directions and frequently muddled answers to questions. It was a test event, though, so all is forgiven.

One worry, perhaps, was that the paid and unpaid 'staff' were dressed the same and difficult to tell apart. During my visit to Qingdao, I had an impromptu interview with the vice-president of the International Sailing Federation, David Kellett, during the opening ceremony. As we spoke, a uniformed volunteer sidled up and started listening with a face contorted by concentration. She craned her neck to the point where she became intrusion, and we became distracted and uncomfortable by this zealous eavesdropper.

I was then challenged. 'Why are you interviewing that man? You are not allowed to.'

Shocked, I said: 'Excuse me?'

'You must ask for permission to interview officials.'

'And you are?' I asked, and looked at her security pass. It read: Cao Ye. Volunteer. Central Command Centre.

All around the room, international officials were being cornered by reporters, and orbiting around these clusters were the watchful 'volunteers'.

After offering Cao Ye a snap lesson in the historic role of a free Fourth Estate, she retreated sheepishly and whispered to a gaggle of her peers, who all gazed over towards me while I wrote in my notepad: 'Eerie encounter with a volunteer.'