The London 2012 Olympics have begun.
Last night most of the world watched the opening ceremonies from pubs, outdoor giant TV screens, or at home.
The stunt James Bond and the Queen pulled off was, well, quite stunning.
Who knew the Queen was such a good sport? She must have been in rehearsals since Beijing.
Give me James. He can parachute into my kitchen for breakfast anytime he wants. Or for lunch. Or tea time. Dinner too. Especially dinner when he wears his tux, requests his martini shaken, not stirred in that snobby way of his, and then says, “James. James Bond” to whomever is inquiring. Even if it’s only to remind himself.
But getting that view of the queen’s bloomers and those dangling white legs as she fell from the night sky was shocking, to say the least. I was relieved it happened quickly because I was embarrassed by that vision in peach chiffon. Sort of like a cream puff with appendages descending from the sky. I think I felt a collective shock all around me.
After that entrance, everything else was a let-down.