Who’d have thought that in a matter of minutes last Sunday, we would see what’s great and not so great about Britain, on – of all places – the Champs Elysees?
We were even allowed the luxury of getting the naff out of the way first and so finish on a high note.
What better way, after all, to momentarily take the gloss off the first British Tour de France winner than to have our national anthem flogged to death by the ever full-of-herself Lesley Garrett? That a woman of 57 doesn’t take one look at a skirt like that and say “no ******* way…” tells you everything you need to know about the collapse of taste and dignity within these islands.
The look on Bradley Wiggins‘ face as this artistic car crash unfolds says it all, yet his moment is yet to come.
I’ll let you enjoy the ‘raffle numbers’ triumph for yourself if you haven’t heard it yet but know this: there is much of which I despair where my country is concerned but the deadpan, pomposity-busting humour of its people is one of its few qualities in which my faith remains undimmed.
I’ve seen the label ‘people’s champion’ wasted on some deadbeats in my time but I believe it may have finally found its rightful home. This being professional cycling, however, one caveat remains to be dealt with.
Please God, let Bradley Wiggins be clean.