In July the Olympic torch will pass through the village where I live, on a Saturday lunchtime, about 50 yards from my house. Which is all mildly exciting and I'll take the kids to the end of the road, clutching mini Union Jacks, to have a look.
But I found out earlier tonight that once it has passed through the village, they all stop, pile into minibuses and drive to the next place, get out and start running again. And then stop and back into the buses. And so on and so on around the UK.
Now maybe I am naive and an old, impractical romantic, but I genuinely believed that the torch was going to be carried the length and breadth of the UK in some sort of fantastic non-stop, hand to hand relay of unbroken humanity. The whole entourage busking around Britain in a fleet of Mercedes Sprinters hired from Hertz, with the torch tossed on the dashboard next to a copy of the Daily Mirror and 20 Bensons just isn't quite what I had imagined somehow.
Oh well. It could have been good.
But I found out earlier tonight that once it has passed through the village, they all stop, pile into minibuses and drive to the next place, get out and start running again. And then stop and back into the buses. And so on and so on around the UK.
Now maybe I am naive and an old, impractical romantic, but I genuinely believed that the torch was going to be carried the length and breadth of the UK in some sort of fantastic non-stop, hand to hand relay of unbroken humanity. The whole entourage busking around Britain in a fleet of Mercedes Sprinters hired from Hertz, with the torch tossed on the dashboard next to a copy of the Daily Mirror and 20 Bensons just isn't quite what I had imagined somehow.
Oh well. It could have been good.