Up early for a wee trip to Weymouth. I think we've been here before. The journey is a beautiful one and when it runs alongside the sea is quite spectacular.
The journey home seems twice as long and thrice as boring. But that's when Rebecca steps up to the plate and organises party games for the whole carriage. Singing songs, telling stories and wearing a variety of costumes, she hosts the train with style and panache.
I'm going to take some stirring Churchillian speeches to perform and maybe take my old unicycle to ride up and down the aisle. And maybe when we get back to London, we'll just stay on the train and wait to go back again. [This man has clearly lost it. Stop him now]
We'll be going sailing and talking to tour medalling and podiuming sailors and reflecting on another extraordinary day in this Olympic games. Having watched all the best bits again and again, I think Sir Chris Hoy is the colossus of the games. So eloquent, so talented, so powerful. And when he lost it on the podium, there can't have been a dry eye in the house.
So let's do TEARS and CRYING and EMOTIONAL OVERLOAD oldies. The competitors, the commentators, the watching fans have all choked up at various times (and you, dear blogger, you too?) so we'll chose the tunes to fit the happy howling.
This journey will be over soon (unlike the Weymouth train) so let's enjoy it while it's here. Have a powerful and inspired Wednesday, see you after 5.
