But it’s an easy myth to believe—at first. A few days after arriving, Iwas sipping Earl Grey tea and feeding crumbs of carrot cake to the plump Canadageese that grace the Serpentine at this time of year. The Queen’s Cavalry weretrotting past in all their spit-and-polish glory—ramrod-backed upon theirmahogany charges. The flags above Whitehall were fluttering in the breeze; thewind in the lime trees filled the air with a hushing whishing, like pebbles on abeach. And the city was cheering and gleeful at winning the Olympic bid: "WEWON!" shouted the evening headlines, though more in small-Englander triumph atbeating our old rivals the French than anything more internationalist in spirit.