not a vast turnout, and the layout of the final stage was generous, so that, even though we arrived at five to two, we secured a place toward the northern end of Westminster Bridge without any difficulty. And then we went down to the finish line for the third lap and stayed there, meeting up with young Mr. Radius.
A good day out. The commentary was a bit over the top, and sometimes just plain wrong, but it counted for nothing - the bunch sprint was one by a rider nobody saw coming, without the aid of a big team effort.
Very good to see the Permatanned Playboy himself, Mr. Malcolm Elliot (age 49 or thereabouts) making a show at the front on the last lap. I felt my own tan darken as he passed.