(Two weeks prior to the London 2012 Olympics). I boarded a number 88 bus to Piccadilly from Warren Street, to purchase the series 10 Smallville dvd for my daughter. I glanced with curiosity at the national flags swaying in mid air like washing on a line along Regent Street.. I looked for a flag with a nutmeg. A flag with a nutmeg is the flag of the place of my birth. I did not see one. I thought - no London 2012 Olympic entry. Hardly surprising, it is a small island . (Eight Olympic days later). I usually read my Bible on the bus. But, on this particular morning, I picked up a Metro newspaper, at Archway underground station. I boarded the 134 bus to Tottenham Court Road. I did not take out my bible. I opted to read the Metro. It was all London 2012 Olympic news, about athletes taking the stage, taking the gold, or taking the chance. Then I saw a familiar name. Grenada. The island of my birth. I could not believe it. I read the very brief account. I whispered to myself, "We have won a gold medal", I wanted to shout my whisper out. I read the account again, and recall I did not see the flag of my birth swaying in the Regrent Street breeze, but it does not matter, because, the islanders are now the proud owners, no, let me trumpet it out, a GO..OO..LD Olympic medal.