Torchy

What's going on here?

Scantily dressed weemen resting on their rowlocks

and taking pictures?

Aha!

It's Pull's Ferry, opposite the office at seven in the morning

and here comes the Olympic torch.

Serenaded by the Cathedral Choir (hidden under the willow tree),

regaling us with Jerusalem and Rule Brittannia

and a whole lot of other jingoistic nonsense,

the flame is about to take to the water.

Apparently the rather non-athletic people bearing the symbol of naked wrestling youth have been chosen by committee, being nominated for all sorts of good works,

though I have no idea who these two are.

All I know is that the little old lady beside me was getting rather excited at the prospect of somebody falling into the river, which - alas - didn't happen.

Watching the wide woman being inserted into the narrow canoe was entertaining.

And so the flame is off, rowed slowly up-river toward Bishop Bridge …

… accompanied by a small flotilla of local rowers and saluted by those who appear to have forgotten their boats.

Meanwhile, up on the balcony overlooking this historic yet charmingly amateurish event are the office early birds, desperate for bacon.

As promised, the capo di tutti capi gets jiggy with the frying pan.

Yay, breakfast!

By the time we'd snarfed bacon butties and coffee all the crowds had gone, leaving us with a slightly deflated feeling and a whole day's work ahead of us, darn it.

Couldn't resist this last one for the South Park fans.

TTFN.