The Olympic torch arrives

Up at half past 7 today, still far too early for a weekend but followed directions and got dressed and went downstairs to play Lego. Unfortunately the 7 people in my head do not understand quietness: I hoot and clang and tweet and warble non-stop without knowing I'm doing it so Bud had to get up anyway.

As part of the ongoing Park Revisit program, we drove to Hilsea Lido park, seeing the BBC outside broadcast bus arriving in Portsmouth to welcome the torch. It's classed as a small, with partial decking, sand and only the 1 climbable construct. It has been somewhat damp of late and there were massive puddles, even in the sand. There was also a boy who sang his Oooeee-oo song the whole time we were there, I think he's a bit nerbly in the head to be honest.

Then we climbed the Hilsea Ramparts just by the keep off sign and found some people water-skiing in the moat. They had a pulley system and 4 boys were taking it in turns to ski. They kept falling in so we laughed at them, but so did their mates so we didn't feel bad. Further round the corner were 7 or 8 canoeists. I instantly wanted to do it: the "Try Kayak" 2 hour taster session is run by AdventureCollege and costs £30 so may have to be next year when my arms are a little stronger.

In the afternoon, the city filled up as the Torch neared its destination. Rizzle Kicks are playing at the party on the seafront so millions of teenage girls gravitated towards the field in front of the war memorial.

Jof has no bike so started walking to meet the Puddlers and I watched TV until leaving time. We both cycled to the pre-planned viewing place which turned out to be a very good call. The brass band that plays at the beer festivals was outside Mercantile House opposite a pub where chaps were kissing other chaps out of pure happiness and gaiety. We locked the bikes and waited.

After quite a lot of nothingness, all the police bikes came past a third time and then it all kicked off. Buses of many colours trooped past, blatting and bugling and tweeting and running girlies handed out inflatable sausages that you're supposed to bang together. Many important Police controllers discussed things and a thin girlie got out of a battle bus with a torch that wasn't alight. People came past hawking Union Jack flags for £2, plastic medals and much other quality merchandise.

Then absolutely nothing happened for a bit but the security guards looked worried anyway. Then in the distance we saw it from our advantageous vantage point. A granny in white jogged along with the torch: she was accompanied by several beefy chaps and a few hundred followers, running, scooting and cycling. She approached and then the flame was passed on: the younger thinner more photogenic girlie who had been waiting had her torch lit by the granny and after a bit more photo-opportunism off she went, with the band trumpeting away melodiously.

We got our bikes and used a quieter side road to avoid the circus and arrived at a very busy seafront. The whole world was there (well, 70,000 of them, anyway) so we scanned for faces while he tried repeatedly but ineffectually to get hold of anyone on the phone. The only face we saw was Pops' sister Ruby.

Text messages were taking between 25 minutes and 2 hours to land and reception failed us many times. We cris-crossed the vast field of humanity many times with no luck. In the end Jof saw us but it turned out she'd not found any Puddlers either and she'd been there for ages. Swizzlestix had long gone and we never even saw the flame in its big bucket on the stage, luckily we'd seen the torch transfer ceremony.

We spent a couple of quid in the arcades and started our ride home down one-way streets. Jof trudged off again in search of life-sustaining chips and finally managed to board a bus in Albert Road minutes before expiring of exhaustion.

And I've got to do it all again tomorrow.