From Mount Olympus to Ashford Strand

Well that was a bit of a flash in the pan. The Olympic torch zoomed past me at about 50mph in a bleddy van! What's going on there I thought to myself as I stood at the new bus stop down at West Ashford. (Thank you Devon County Council after years of petitioning they have eventually given us our very own  stop. People power) I was under the impression that the torch relay was just that, a linked run around the country for some 8000 miles, 8000 people running a mile each.

No one told me that they'd be on and off a fleet of coaches for the best part of the jaunt. To my mind that's a bit of a cop out, not really part of the Olympian spirit is it. Mind you, I reckon they should run all the way from Greece these days they'd probably have no shortage of volunteers at the Hellenic end. So there I was, standing beside of the road with me Devon flag, excitement building as I could hear approaching sirens, moments later a phalanx of police motorbike outriders hove into view, closely followed by a Coca Cola truck blasting out rap music, a Lloyds bank bus with scantily clad ladies clinging onto a platform on the back and for some reason a lorry with a screen on the side with Samsung written on it. Then a couple of coaches decked out in London Olympic badges and stickers thundered past pursued by a Metropolitan police van filled with rather sinister looking coppers dressed in black combat gear and military style helmets. A smaller van followed up, this I later learned was the flame transporter. So, I suppose at a stretch, I could say I'd seen it. Seconds later they'd all disappeared around the corner by the Braunton Inn and that was that. I must admit it was an unusual sight to behold along Ashford Strand on a Monday morning.
A bit mazed and confused I called up Annie Cawood and told her what had occurred it was she who told me about the peculiar logistics behind the relay. Daft that's all I can say. We arranged to meet later in The Marshals as a few of the Lunch Club had decided on such an illustrious occasion to convene an extraordinary meeting.
I suppose I should have looked a bit more closely at the itinerary but I wasn't exactly feeling at my best yesterday and this morning. I had a two day hangover due to having spent Saturday up at Exeter  down at the Devon County Show as a guest of Taw Tarka Film and Video Services. Over the course of the afternoon I fell in with some Canadian Mounties, who have proved to be a real crowd puller this year, and after a few pints of Barum I got to explaining North Devon's link with St John's Newfoundland the beaver trade and the cod fisheries. They were all very interested one of them even claimed to have roots in Barum. Shapland was his name!
So basically the idea of a couple of pints appealed and I'd already felt as if I'd missed out on something special so I got on me bike and pedaled into Town an see what was going on.
They were all in The Marshals. Charlie Street, Ian Stokey, Wes Twardo, Ken Tisbury and old Annie Cawood and all. Blimey they weren't half jabbering on, high on the occasion and evidently a few pints of cider and orange. I was soon up to speed with the morning's events. The flame had gone out for the first time in Torrrington, the stilt walker had fallen over on the Strand and Frankie Biederman's trousers had fallen down during his stint with the torch. True.
I told them about my misunderstanding and I think I managed to convince them of the validity of my torch relay experience and we agreed they probably appreciated my support as I stood alone waving me flag on a rather barren stretch of road. Annie, whose from out that way, pointed out that I saw more of it than the people of South Molton as the town had been completely by-passed by the procession. Mind you that was probably for the best, as the sight of the flame may regretfully have given some it's citizens half a mind to burn a witch or two.
As we were talking BBC Spotlight came on the TV and we all watched the happenings on the big screen. At that time the torch was limping through 'Combe. Until that is along the High Street, just before they got to Oxford Grove, the flame was passed over to well known local Christian and ex-triple jumper Jonathan Edwards. We agreed that this was a canny move on the part of the organisers as to be better safe than sorry they'd got someone who could run fast if required. It was amazing that going passed McColl's some scally didn't skulk up to him to ask if he had a light and any change so that they could get a bus into Barnstaple to visit a 'friend' in hospital.
The last we saw of the relay was a long shot along Combe Martin High Street framed within a view out to sea, there were crowds and crowds the and the sun was shining brightly. Smashing. It gave me goosebumps. Ah Devon.