The torch

On the day we left Swanage, the Olympic torch came through it.  When we went down to the beach for our swim, the owners of beach huts were all getting ready with bunting, balloons, and red, white and blue clothing for all. The council workers were primping the place – not that it needs it – and all over you could hear people discussing where to go to see it. “ Come over to mine, and I’ll make some scones.”  It was all really touching.

Then when we went down for our valedictory fish and chips, there outside the pub on the corner was one of the torch bearers. I think he must have been there with his mates and his wife for at least four hours and he was three sheets to the wind, but nicely. He was obviously bursting with pride, and rightly so, because he was an ex soldier who had settled in Swanage, and was the president of the local British Legion, and had done loads for the steam railway and lots of other charity work.

I took my older grandson to see the torch come through Nottingham and I’m afraid what he liked best was the Coca Cola bus, and the police motorcycle outriders. But the streets were packed and there were 16, 000 people in Market Square. So I know it’s all a bit rubbish, with the commercialisation and bloody Coca Cola, and the fact that the torch is mostly in a bus, but what I conclude is that it gives people chance to demonstrate a bit of pride in themselves and their country, and that is something good.

I feel exactly the same about the Diamond Jubilee – it is about the Queen, but only in so far as she’s ours, and we’re proud of her and glad to celebrate us – our country. So it’s an excuse for an outburst of patriotism, which is nice because we’re bad at noticing the good things about  Britain.

And a very very good thing about Britain is Dorset in general and Swanage in particular! (I should keep quiet about this – don’t want it turning into Cornwall.)