"Why do you want to go and see that?" asked Theo incredulously when I mentioned my desire to watch the Olympic torch on a portion of its journey through Bristol.
Patriotism and anything approaching it has never been Theo's thing. Even his concern about how England/The British Lions do in their various football/cricket/rugby matches rarely extends into actual support as such. Detached yet critical interest would be closer to the truth.
As for me, I'm more than happy to do a bit of cheery flag-waving when the occasion calls for it. Well, maybe waving an actual flag is a bit further than I'd go, but I'll happily engage in National Events when they come along, providing it's a case of harmless team spirit rather then Xenophobia-tinged tub thumping.
My argument to Theo went like this:
1. When is the next time the Olympic torch is likely to come to the UK?
2. When is it next likely to come to Bristol?
3. When is it next going to pass the top of the road where we happen to live?
In the end, the glorious evening weather enticed the still-muttering Theo to join Rosie and I for an al fresco supper in the local park before edging into the throng lining Church Road to see the torch relayed through.
The mood was upbeat and expectant as the cavalcade of various branded buses and trucks formed the vanguard for the torch. The Bristolian sense of humour made sure the unintentional inclusion of a local recycling lorry with the parade was greeted with the second biggest cheer of the night.
Given that we were standing a little way back from street, when the torch finally came, we only just managed to track its passage past us and towards the City Centre. Possibly a teeny bit of an anti-climax. But who cares? We came, we saw, we cheered a bit (or made cynical remarks, in Theo's case) and tootled off home, pleased to have participated in a tiny bit of history.
Look very closely and you'll see the torch.
Clue: it's to the left of the dark haired woman's head...
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