>All week we could feel the excitement mounting. In every village and every town we passed through there were flags and pictures, posters and notices for street parties and barbecues. And now the day itself was here, the day of the Royal Wedding. We started off with Luke, my nephew, who's not only a keen cyclist, but has the ability to be the next Lance or Eddy, unlike us washed up wannabes. He demonstrated this by riding out with us in the morning. He gamely accompanied us, leading us through bunting-bedecked villages and on to the rolling hills of the Essex borders. He accompanied us, but wasn't really with us; as soon as he spotted a hill he was like a cheetah after antelope, leaving us struggling in his dust. By the time he turned and headed back home our legs were spent and we had to find a café to recover. We stopped in Thaxted, a pretty little medieval village near Saffron Walden. Inside the café the Royal Wedding was playing on three screens. A group of families at the back were being served burgers and chips whilst they watched. They cheered whenever William or Kate appeared. Some of their children waved plastic flags and dressed as princesses. Outside other children rode up and down on BMXs. Across the road medieval oak-framed houses fluttered with union jacks. The road, and all roads that morning, were empty. The sun was sultry, and we sat at a table outside and talked to another cyclist who was travelling the other way, to Cambridge. And this was how it happened, this Royal Wedding, in the heart of the English countryside.
No comments:
Post a Comment