A Jolly Good Show

It has been the Olympics, in Hemel Hempstead we have had the heavyweight grape disposal event (won by the Mooshta) plus the 4.30 nightmare, clothes gathering event (won by Imo). On the Monday we all went to watch the athletics, it all went swimmingly (if that's not an oxymoron): the taxi arrived, the train arrived, the route to the next train was well-signed, Stan's Cafe had sponsored sets of footprints depicting Olympic golds, that got even the snail Mooshta moving (BTW Tessa, you know that mystery one with the target, paralympic wheelchair stuff, and, Steve I suspect the high jump was paralympic too, hence the one foot), the next train was nearly empty and getting to it made even more entertaining by the man with the megaphone (see my essay on Empowerment by Amplification. J. Pop. Psychol. Tod. V435, NoII, pp1079-1097. May 2015) "Ark,ark,fark,ark,fark fark fark, arkavelin ark fark. Thank You!", entry to the park seamless, entry to the venue seamless, the one way system seamless due to the man with the megaphone (see above), "Madam, am I invisible? Pass the post on the left please!", the performance of Team GB sadly not seamless.
I had Steve to my distant left employing some sort of Preparatory School exhortation, "Come on, chop chop!" and "Put your back into it!" and a gentleman to my right who seemed to have gone to the same school, "Nearly there!" and "Good effort!", halfway through Mooshta fell asleep (probably something to do with the Women's (?) Shot Putt).
Our session finished so we queued for a pasty, which they ran out of when we got to the till, so then we queued for fish and chips. Then we strolled through the wildflower meadows, watched a bit of stuff on the big screen, and called it a day when it went black to the north.
The return journey, was slightly less seamless, the one-way system being twice the distance back as in, in fact at St Pancras we were dispatched all the way to the front of the station before being invited to return to the point where we got off the train via the shops (we were Tessa, I checked it out when I bought the badges). This, combined with the heat, the early start, the poor showing of Team GB's 800m men caused me to fail the Uncle test when the Mooshta came to a grinding halt.
Back at Euston Station, my brother obviously under the delusion that he was talking to (A) Lord Coe (B) someone who cared started to belabour the 20 year old greeters team about the St Pancras route, they nodded sagely, and started looking for a security man to protect them. Tessa intervened by inserting an Indian Restaurant between them and him. When we came out, they'd gone, or maybe they were hiding. Home. Bed/settee. Sleep.


On another note, I see that Tolworth Roundabout is maintained by the "Kingston Youth Offenders Team", what a Council, I'd vote for them, in fact I'd want to be on the team, as I'm sure that everyone my age would. What? Oh apparently it doesn't mean that. Darn!