The Whitechapel Bell

And thus fortified by a Swedish Pizza and several glasses of fermented grape juice, Lord and Lady Findhorn settled down last night to witness the London extravaganza of the 2012 Olympics opening.

If there were times when all was not clear to them, they could only imagine the commentators in countries such as Ulan Bator or Palau trying to explain to their people the significance of the scenarios.
Imagine the puzzlement engendered all over the world with the sight of sheep, rustic yokels, polystyrene clouds and a crowd of Mary Poppins complete with pastel coloured umbrellas.

It was a night of wonderful British eccentricity brought to a conclusion by the entry of the athletes.
Who would have thought that there were so many countries starting with the letters B and C. It was going to be a long time before the UK contingent in their oddly chosen Elvis suits crowded into the arena, a huge gaggle, in numbers only superseded by what seemed most of America behind the US flag.

With the thought of bed looming large on the Findhorns' consciousness, it was a relief when the speeches were over and the Olympic flame was lit in the most dramatic fashion. It was well worth the wait.

All that was left was the dubious singing of the ageing Mccartney with his equally dubious head of hair. Isn't it wonderful that no rock stars with bus passes are bald.

As bells were of great significance yesterday this is the Whitechapel bell which was rung by Bradley Wiggins at the start of the opening ceremony.
I'm left to wonder who would have been chosen should he not have won the Tour de France last week.