September means the Great River Race

Conveniently timed for my ride up to the supermarket this morning, the crews were beginning to launch and line up for the start of the race, all the way from Greenwich to Richmond under their own power (by oar or paddle, I think - no sign of a pedalo class yet).

As ever, the launch site looked like a colourful confusion of boats, flags and costumes whose practicability for 20-odd miles of effort looked rather doubtful.

And what better excuse justification for lunch at the Grapes than to get a grandstand view of the procession of Santas, Smurfs, sailor costumes, Dutch Marines - and someone catching a crab?