So, we've got an Olympic torch in our house right now. No, seriously. We know one of the torch bearers through work, and she's a very lovely, personable, 16-year-old water skiing champion called Charlotte Wharton. She came in to give a talk to our school this morning and had to go straight off to train at the lake, and asked if she could leave the torch with us and return it to her mum tomorrow at work. Well okay, if you insist.
Call me cheesy, but it's been a huge thrill to have it here and to have held it in my hot little hands. We waited in the pouring rain on Sunday to catch a glimpse of the torch as it passed through our neighbouring town, but the closest I got to it was about 10 feet with a wall of people in front of me.
I've held it. I've photographed it. I can confirm that it does feel a little bit like a Microplane grater. It's quite heavy and I can't imagine holding it aloft for 400 meters while jogging along with it. It's nearly as tall as my 3-year-old. It's shiny. It smells like lighter fluid.
The kids are beyond excited about having it here and being able to hold it. I love that we've been able to have this bit of Olympic history right here with us, and that our older two will be able to remember it.
Just have to put it in a safe place, or else it'll get filled with Playdoh and Babybels.