The History Interpreter does the Olympics

Ensuring I have left behind all prohibited items (skateboard, fireworks, extendable baton, cat, excess food) we set off for our Olympic experience. Suffice it to say that one of our party is not exactly brimming with excitement and enthusiasm at the prospect. Not only are they suffering from the plague but they would far rather be manning the safety boat for Clovelly Lifeboat Day. I arrive in Bideford, having only checked to make sure that I have my tickets thirty three times and we set off with the caravan.

As we draw nearer London it is quite exciting to see yellow signs to park and rides for venues such as Eton Dorney and Windsor Great Park. I inflict Olympic radio commentary on my hapless fellow traveller. There is some entertainment value in spotting the ludicrous statements by commentators and competitors. ‘I am speechless’ – well clearly not or you wouldn’t be saying anything. ‘He is riding out of his skin’, seems to be the classic cycling accompaniment. As we leave the services, a worrying and unidentifiable red light appears on the dashboard. Hoping that it doesn’t mean that our wheels are falling off, we carry on. After spending some time in the largest car park in the world (a.k.a. the M25) we arrive at Abbey Wood where the friendly staff allocate us pitch 105; the only vacant pitch with the grass required to pitch the tent when Martha and Rob arrive tomorrow. Getting on to the pitch, surrounded by other vans, is accomplished; it may be a little harder to leave however. We are warned that the site is home to shoe eating foxes. This could be more of a problem for our tent dwelling companions.

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