Cycling along canals in North London, to see the Olympic site

In April 2011, I stayed over in London with Jay and Bridget - it was the year before the Olympics -

When I was at school , I loathed physical exercise - my mum would always write me a note to excuse me from taking part in PE lessons - Mr Emmanuel, the teacher, would scowl at the letter, and tell me to sit out the rugby game on the sidelines - he was Welsh, and was short and powerfully built, with very hairy arms -

Perhaps those early experiences coloured my view of sports - only very recently have I taken to attending a gym - I go twice a week - I have been seduced by the sleek sexy machines -

But in the hall of Jay and Bridget's house I saw two or three bicycles, serious racers, leaning against the wall -

Jay suggested that we cycle down to Stratford, along canal towpaths, to the Olympic Site - we might also, for a while, explore the Greenway - 

I was taken aback by what I saw - there were tall trees, wild empty parks, lock keeper's cottages, placid waters - all within a city I had assumed was just one vast whirlpool of glass and petrol soaked tarmac -

A white jet flew above me in the blue sky - four ducks stood upon a tarred wooden beam - I marvelled at their insouciance -

We had coffee in a disordered wonderful cafe - creatives sprawled upon old settees - a girl with long golden hair stood in front of a feverish mural -

We could see the Olympic site from a viewing platform - the stadium looked like a vast grounded flying saucer - there was a red structure that looked like the Tower of Babel, or the Monument to the Third International -

We saw a sign, saying Greenway - Jay told me that this was a cycle path leading to the Thames - I imagined cyclists on Boris Bikes, reaching the river, its silky mud covering so many secrets -

We, however, cycled back to Clapton, emerging from these green edgelands - back into the rows of late Victorian villas, with their parked BMWs, their stained glass fanlights -