SIR — It was with eager anticipation that we went to Washford to await the arrival of the Olympic torch.

We all attended: oaps, toddlers, babies, teenagers, housewives, househusbands, Olympic hopefuls, the unfit, the unwashed and even the family dog. We chatted, we laughed and we basked in the sunshine.

We cheered!

We arranged little 'uns at the front, big 'uns at the back and others between the two.

We cheered the numerous police motorcyclists who passed, blue lights flashing. A jolly police car sounded its siren and the occupants waved and smiled at us encouragingly.

We cheered again!

Excitement grew as the sponsors' shiny buses streamed along, whipping us all into a frenzy of excitement.

We cheered again!

A lone figure came into view selling flags to wave, but I had cunningly thought to bring along my RNLI tea towel to impress the crowd. Good thinking, eh?

We cheered again!

Finally, the torch procession could be seen in the far-off distance. We were euphoric.

We cheered again!

At this precise moment, some idiot then allowed a stream of traffic to enter Washford from the direction of Williton. It stopped, as you can guess, directly in front of us.

We had a superb view of a people-carrier with tinted windows and the little 'uns saw some super tyres and hubcaps. What a fiasco!

We jeered!

I do hope the gentleman in white carrying the gold, flaming ice-cream cone didn't think the jeering was aimed at him. The occupants of these said vehicles were given pole position and even took pictures on their mobiles.

Why wasn't the road closed for the half-an-hour it took to pass through Washford? The phrase couldn't organise an alcoholic party in a brewery springs to mind.

Disgusted of Roadwater - aka

A. Taylor,

Roadwater.