About nine months ago, a pipe band in which I have the honour to play received a phone call. Would we be interested in performing at a major summer sporting spectacle, involving secrecy clauses, tedious rehearsals, no pay, television, the works? By jiminy we would, said everyone apart from me.

Auditions followed. First musical, then costume. Hmm, said the organisers, don't you have feather bonnets? Well, no, we said. This is Britain. It rains a lot and they look stupid when they get wet.

We'll call you back.

Another band received a similar phone call and also jumped at the chance to get on telly. Happily, they did indeed have feather bonnets and were offered the job. For twelve weeks, they trundled up and down to a newly regenerated area of London's East End, rehearsing a special piece for this special, one-in-a-lifetime sporting event. Secrecy was paramount: not even friends and family knew what this piece was to be. Traditional? we asked. Newly written? Eyebrows merely waggled.

Four bars from "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life".

Ironic, really.