City gents pedaled politely along on fold-up bikes. Detracting from the realism of the scene, there were no aggressive, swiveled-eyed cycle-fanatics jumping red-lights and swearing at pedestrians.

The band played a medley – a word that must be somehow related to muddle – of English tunes; Jerusalem, Greensleeves and so on. I didn't notice any Scots, Welsh, (Northern) Irish, or for that matter African, Caribbean or Indian sub-continent melodies. But at least the London bus queue was realistically multicultural.

It was not so much a queue as an undignified scrum for the bus. If this was an attempt at humor at the expense of Beijingers it was at least several months out of date. Relentless advertising on the theme of a civilized Olympics have turned the locals into a bunch of bus-stop pussycats.

The symbolism escaped me when a young south Asian girl tamed the scrum, got off the bus and, escorted by a lollipop lady, walked across a zebra crossing on the backs of the now crouching bus queue. Beijing drivers may not be any closer to understanding what those black and white stripes painted on roads are for.

Now I understand why they didn't use a Routemaster. The red tin can unfolds and forms into a giant, camouflaged tank. This is much more muscular, more Boris's style. Now we know why they are taking the bus back to London. This thing obviously has more secrets than the US spy plane that crashed on Hainan Island.

A woman ascends on a platform. Mercifully it is not Sarah Brightman. Next to her is a white haired rocker who turns out to be Jimmy Page of seventies band Led Zeppelin. But wait a minute, isn't the 1970s a decade that Boris repudiates? At any rate, the smutty schoolboy lyrics of Gonna give you my Love have been bowdlerized to spare Beijinger's blushes. Personally I can never forgive Led Zeppelin for ruining my chances with girls at university by filling the charts with tunes that are impossible to dance to. If you don't believe me, try it.

Beckham final appears, accompanied by (the same?) little south Asian girl, a female violinist dressed for beach volleyball, and a cellist. Speaking is not Beck's strong point; looking good is; he remains silent as the female half of the stadium lets out a full-throated roar.

The music degenerated into random noises – did I hear "Mind the Gap"? A group of athletes walked up steps to a non-existent airplane, on their way back to London no doubt. One of them examined a scroll, perhaps it was the first class dinner menu. Somewhere nearby, two nearly naked boys were wrestling, covered in flour. The plane never arrived; maybe we were in Heathrow Terminal Five.

Then there were some fireworks and suddenly the Olympic Flame was gone, mourned by the Olympic lament "You and Me".

(China.org.cn August 25, 2008)