It was, for the record, fab, and if you get the chance to clamber into one of these boats and go wheeeeeeee down the Thames (or any other river, for that matter), I recommend it. Anyway, here are some pictures…
Mrs Soanes, scooting along at my side in the RIB. How does she keep smiling, when she’s married to me? I really don’t know, but I’m not going to question it out loud, in case she starts to question it as well, and at the moment I seem to be getting away with it. Shh, don’t spoil it.
On getting out of the RIB and once again onto dry land, we wandered along London’s South Bank, where, as part of the BFI’s James Bond Weekender, they’re exhibiting a number of cars from the Bond films.
Here, you can see me pointing at an Aston Martin from Goldeneye, as if mocking its blatancy as an *ahem* extension for the insecure male. Meanwhile, a passer-by points at a part of me as if to suggest that perhaps I’m in need of just such an extension. Tch, everyone’s a critic. Still, he could have been pointing about a foot higher at my gut (something which I could actually do something to correct, though in my defence I’d just had a splendid lunch).
So, a positively manly afternoon – racing along the river at a rate of knots, followed by looking at cars from Bond films. Grr, frankly. I can almost feel a hair sprouting on my chest. Which is a first.