Pasties gate-crash the Olympics

James Whitmore on the Olympic flame’s journey through Devon, a lack of bespoke marketing and David Beckham (the well known Cornish Olympian)…

A recent trip to the West Country coincided with the arrival of the Olympic flame.

Staying in Exeter, I was a little far from the early action. Like most people in times of national import, I turned to the BBC. And like many cynical metropolitan types, I had more than half an eye on what might possibly go wrong. Would the flame blow out? Would a sponsor’s banner break from its moorings and floor a local dignitary? Would a limbless local legend expire before a throng of small children? And of course, thinking of work, would a non-sponsoring brand ambush the event?

It was not an auspicious start. David Beckham, the well known Cornish Olympian, oozed from an aeroplane and basked in his image as it was reflected back to him by dozens of camera lenses. Various talking heads talked. The presenters filled furiously. Not much to see. Not that different to any other media event. Everything was running smoothly. But what’s this? Nick Clegg ambushed by pasty tax protesters.A glint of a ripple.

Saturday morning saw the thing start in earnest. A real Olympian, more-or-less local,had a stint at Land’s End. A suspiciously nubile blonde got to carry the torch across golden sands at Marazion, St Michael’s Mount prominent in the background. The effect was somewhat muted by the formless, shapeless tracksuit that is standard issue but nonetheless, the tourist board was in ecstasy.

I walked into Exeter. Or the bit of Exeter that was open to the public. A large part of the city centre was blocked off. Everywhere there was the heavy presence of “security”. And the procession wasn’t due to arrive for over 24 hours. I thought that they might be laying a minefield on the Cathedral green. Others suggested that the Norman tower was to be sprayed with Coca Cola logos. They were nearer to the truth. The close was being fenced in. A stage was to be erected. Samsung, Lloyds and Coca Cola had indeed come to town. Their placards were in place. Everything was ready.

Meanwhile, back in the accessible world, the High Street bookseller boasted a prominent display of books about pasties.

The good weather arrived on Sunday morning. Early in the evening the torch appeared, together with its convoy and helicopters. It wended its way through the prettier parts of the city. There was a gratifyingly large turnout, almost exclusively of women and children. Something for everyone, even Titanic fans. Fun was being had. Nothing went wrong.

One has to admire the effort and organisational skill. Day after day, town after town, for two months. It is a Herculean effort. Actually, he is Roman. I think Jupiter is the Greek equivalent. He’d be impressed.

I didn’t spot much in the way of bespoke marketing. The national in-store promotions and ads are beginning to rear their heads but I saw nothing that looked like it had been done for Devon alone. I thought this was a shame. I guess the fry are small and that it is early days.

And by the following week, the front page of the Western Morning News was back down to earth. It splashed the exclusive that the boss of Ginsters is a covert funder of the Conservative party. They make pasties on an industrial scale and export them to England where, horror of horrors, they are eaten cold and tax-free. This schism threatens to dominate the rest of the summer.