Strutteroo

Before the competitions began, the teams strutted their stuff, like emigrés from the Ministry of Funny Walks. Hundreds of them, doing dry land routines first, in case we missed them in the water, where you don’t see much of them except legs, bums and the occasional set of heads.

Watching on were thousands of proud parents, bored siblings and, you’ve guessed, ultra-proud gramps, including us. The supporters seemed to be grouped in teams, judging by their dress. Ours were bright yellow, the brightest, most visible of supporters, but not the noisiest, who I imagine had come from up North.