Up against the garden wall was a small mast secured to a post in our garden. We discovered this was to boost phone signals, and a chap responsible for this 'enhancement' was apparently setting them up along the route for the whole journey of the torch. It seemed a pointless and thankless undertaking. Grannies and grandchildren lined the street, and a few yards away was the local town hall warden, wearing her orange hi-viz sleeveless top, smiling enthusiastically and importantly. The cunting bunting left over from the Jubilee weekend was still in place on the Town Hall railings, attached in a haphazard way. Up the road (about 100 yards away) outside the Cunt-op was a hoard of people behind some temporary railings, all holding flags. Most were children. In the road was a unicyclist who juggled, although he may have been a juggler who unicycled. Luckily the road had been closed (supposedly) and just the occasional vehicle was coming through, probably a resident needing access. I discovered after the 'event' that there was supposed to have been 'other entertainment' to complement the torch bearer passing. The cycling juggler / juggling cyclist was that 'entertainment'. What a let-down.
As the arrival of the torch approached (scheduled for just after half past eight) the buzz grew. Then the bikes started to arrive. There is clearly a surfeit of policemen who ride motorbikes, because despite the economic challenges of present times, and the cutbacks to just about every service that exists, there seems to be no limit to the availability of cops on bikes, who have nothing to do and thus achieve nothing. The advance party included a coach, and open topped Samsung bus, a Coca Cola vehicle, and a lot of waving. The arrival of these vehicles was preceded by cops and their sirens creating the impression that the leaders of the world were on their way to a G20 summit, and just about to come past. Talk about overkill. I recall years ago that some people would have doorbells that played about 20 different tunes. Well, that same technology is in use today on police vehicles, and there appeared to be about 20 variations in the sirens and sounds emanating from bikes, vans and cars. Two coppers thought they were "Men In Black" as they drove their silver car and lapped up the attention of the crowds. It's amazing what all black dress, earpieces and dark glasses can do to two blokes, who were clearly living their dream.
Police on motorbikes were intent on riding one-handed, and slapping palms with bystanders as they drove along. I shuddered to think what the outcry would be if an accident occurred during such a manoeuvre. I shuddered even more when one rider came weaving down the middle of the road at about 35mph, driving so erratically, and waving with one arm in massive arcs. He was the twattiest arse I've ever seen on a bike and was out of order. Anyone else would have been done for careless driving and fined to fuck!
The initial flurry of activity was followed by a severe lull in proceedings. One of the official cars had an A4 piece of paper in the back window, and writing that said: "Torch is 5 minutes away". This high tec communications system suggests to me that we are so ready to wow the world with the Olympics. I counted 21 motorbikes, and was going to work out what this was all costing us, but couldn't be arsed. There were half a dozen support vehicles that went past just before the runner arrived, and when he did, I realised it wasn't the same bloke shown on the official website. I watched the torch being moved along at about 3mph by a chubby chap in a white tracksuit and struggled to link these efforts before me with the worth 'athletic'. 30 seconds later he was out of sight, and I realised the cement mixer was not in the parade but was the first of the vehicles that had been inconvenienced by the road closure, and he headed another long convoy.
The dispersal was amusing, because everyone wanted to be happy and enthusiastic and chipper, but there was now nothing to be happy, enthusiastic or chipper about. There was, as a result, some forced chatter and goodwill that had nowhere to go, until such time as the people decided they did in fact have somewhere they could go, and went there. Anticlimax or what. Well, actually, from a personal perspective, it was not an anticlimax, because I expected a pointless load of shite and bollocks, and that's what I got. The whole parade was for the benefit of one entity only - the Police. Twenty-one motorbikes, two men-in-black, six other police vehicles (excluding the dog unit vehicle) and enough marshalls at the roadside to monitor a crowd at a football match - all in a stretch of road covering about 250 yards. I suspect I could have missed some other police input. I heard twenty different sirens/noises, and observed 5 policeman breaking the law on their motorbikes. The vicar smiled whilst high-fiving a copper on a bike, as a woman took a photo, no doubt destined for the parish newsletter or the local, monthly, glossy, expensive, pointless, council-produced, colour publication that includes a photo of the local MP each edition, a few quotes from him about how he's interested in everything and is doing everything, and a couple of pages of guff. The two policement in grey running gear seemed to be putting in a lot of effort, but I was (and remain) perplexed by their input. With dozens of police, barriers, marshalls, and vehicles, why did two policement have to run a hundred yards ahead of the fat bloke in the white tracksuit holding his arm up? Fucking pointless.
Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the whole fiasco is this - my final note, concerning the missing pelican crossing. I will not at this point go into too much detail, as I do not have the full facts and there has been insufficient time for the probable outcome to come about. I will therefore post a separate entry for the riddle of the missing pelican crossing. I am 99% certain that some cunt in the council decided to remove the pelican crossing for the torch relay, and put it back again afterwards. If this is the case, I will advise. Let's see what happens.
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