Didn't look very old to me - it was all shiny and gold. Like a big posh candle. I don't see what all the fuss was about - loads of people getting the day off work to watch this bit of fire wander round. I'm eight months old - everything is fascinating to me, but even I don't get it. Maybe it's just one for the arsonists.
Mum wanted me to look all British, so she stuck me in this daft headband of our flag's colours. I had to sit there with this little red, white and blue bow on the side of my cranium, like one of those designer babies who have enough hair to warrant hair accessories. On my bald bonce, it definitely lost something. Think it was my credibility.
We dedicated half of our day just to finding the route and getting a parking space. Then after all those three point turns by a woman who's driving credentials are 'limited', Mum choose to park my pram behind a stinking bloater of a fella, whose morbid obesity only heightened his less than optimal personal hygiene. Question. Why do overweight people feel so at home in sports clothing? They have never taken a moment of exercise in their life, yet spent their days bursting out of trainers and eating crisps in jogging bottoms. And ironic that such a hefty porker should obscure our vision of a national sporting event.
Anyway, in the burning June sunshine the disgusting pungency of Rab C Nesbitt's odour knocked me clean out. Mum thought I was asleep. Nope. I was actually rendered semi conscious by his cloying stench. And this from someone who poos her own pants. Sort it out mate.
|Me, the bow and the aroma coma.|
So, we were there. To witness a little bit of history.
Obesity, noxious gases and a naked flame. Health and Safety nightmare if you ask me.