Marathon Day

Yesterday evening we decided it would be nice to pop into London to watch the Marathon.

The roads were wonderfully clear all the way to outer London, where we could park for free, pick up a tube and within twenty minutes were in Bishopsgate watching the men run past. We moved positions during the pauses between them passing three times and this blip is of the leading two Kenyans, Kiprotich and Kirui on the last loop past us in the City, which was probably with about six miles to go. Just two seconds behind the eventual winner, a rather confusingly named Kiprotich of Uganda!

So we must have missed the Ugandan catching the two Kenyans and leaving them in a cloud of dust somewhere along the Embankment?

The atmosphere was fantastic, even when there was the 30 minute lull between their passes. There was a contingent which looked to be from Spain who were really cheering the crowd up at one point. One of their number jumped the barrier and pretended to run the marathon down the road, followed by a rather LOCOG official of senior age, who just happened to be wearing a yellow and red wig! The Spaniard return in a few seconds and then knelt and asked one of the young lady stewards if she would marry him. She accepted! And there was a big cheer from the crowd.

We knew when the leaders were approaching as the sound of the three camera helicopters would grow louder to an eventual thunder as the chop chop resonated around the high City buildings. Then the Lead Command Vehicle would rush past followed by the inevitable Security car chock full of police. Then came the lorry-load of official photographers, about 24, arranged in tiers, facing backward, all looking slightly bored as even their long lenses cannot see round the corners of the city streets and the leaders were always round one corner or the other. Then came the 4x4 (Belgian number plates!) with two huge camera cradles, just a few metres ahead of the leaders.

After the last pass, we moved on to St Paul's for lunch and heard the bells ring and ring to mark the end of the Olympics. A further tube trip dropped us at Westfield which was chock-a-block with competitors and officials doing their last minute shopping, presumably before jetting off home tomorrow. A quick look at the Olympic Park from the outside, then off home in time to watch the closing ceremony.

I can now die, as I have been there for an Olympic event in England. It's not likely to happen again in the UK this century, so maybe even my children will never see another over here.