Long before the lightest of hangovers had cleared, the yard of The Angel was humming with activity, as final preparations were made for the Race.
In the depths of the night, the final piece had been added, the symbolic image of the sphinx.
The raft was moved with due ceremony from its secret base to the trailer which was to be its ceremonial transport to The Quay.
The crew looked on with a mixture of anxiety and confidence. The Ceremonial Maiden,
When all was secure, Old Salty Phillips gave the time-honoured order to "Lets piss off then", and the blessed procession moved off to meet its fate.
When the procession reached The Quay, they were greeted by 19 other craft of similar but essentially different design. All manner of creatures were there, included refugees from Spaghetti Westerns, Planet of the Apes, Last Of The Suffolk Wine and even Essex.
The Little Egypt crew went through the final rituals, cloaked as they are in mystery and polyester.
Huge crowds had gathered to cheer, to hurl sacerdotal bags of self-raising flour (part of the Mystery surrounding this ages-old event) in celebration of the end of another fertile summer and to laugh their heads off.
The Little Egypt Barge forged forward imperiously, sweeping aside all competition,
Even amid the hurly burly, there was a certain serenity about the sylvan surroundings.
At the appropriate moment (known only to those with the Wisdom of the Ages)
As this page closed for press, the final result was unknown, but the brave Men of Little Egypt, sailing with the blessing of The Angel, had performed their timeless task with vigour and devotion.