Wimbledon is over, and, as usual after this kind of saga, I feel bereft. So it was with some relief that I set off to The Mall to see the end of the Cambridge to London stage of the Tour de France.
By the time I arrived, however, all the good places to stand were occupied, and, more than an hour before the anticipated end of the race, the only decent spot I could find was on the Victoria Memorial, looking into Green Park. The young lads next to me were sitting on the parapet, but, I’m afraid, I’m too old and too short to hoist myself up there. Eventually, the lads decided to stand on the wall, and I managed to twist round and look between their feet onto The Mall, athough even then I couldn’t see the cyclists.
Once the cyclists were through, the crowds began to disperse and I moved towards the front of the memorial, from where I could just about see the finish line in the distance. Then, all of a sudden, everyone started to cheer again and, lo and behold, two stragglers appeared. They were the only cyclists I actually saw, but at last I was able to record the event.
I enjoy getting out and about in London, and I’m considering using London events as something of a framework for my next Julie Lane murder mystery.
But I won’t be drawing on the Tour de France : this has already been done by Susan Parry in her book, Grand Depart – on my list to read over the holidays.