Prologue
Was great to see Luigi (of Di Marco fame) out on his first 'Catwalk', sorry, meant to say Chain Gang!. Don't you just hate the Italians for their inherent styling?. It's not Luigi's fault, of course, but we now have an additional problem: not only do we have to categorise people according to speed, we now have to group them in terms of style. So we now have the usual 3 groups for speed: 'Supers', 'Wannabees', and 'Fasts' (yes, Smiffy, I'm sticking to the current nomenclature, so 'jog on' if you don't like it) and for style we have just the two groups 'Sartorial Gods' (containing Luigi) and 'Bike Tramps' (the rest of us.) I've always admired Bianchi bikes , but have always considered the colour ways a real 'bitch' (if you're the kind of cyclist who worries about creating a co-ordinated look) , Luigi solve the problem effortlessly - dress the same as your bike; like the pro's do - job done!. I did give Tom some assistance in this regard by gifting him a pair of Bianchi coloured socks, but - quite sensibly - he has decided to concentrate on upgrading his bike first. I had the pleasure of bringing home the 'Lantern Rouge' with Luigi it gave us a chance to have a bit of a chat; I really like him and I hope he continues to join us in the future. Not much to report on the outward leg other than the delay we had while Neil handed out orange segments to his 'Supers'. Stewart B was a little peeved at this and retaliated by reaching into his jersey and bringing out some sachets; passing one to me he said: "Care for a grouse gel?, Mamma has our cook prepare them for me specially, frightfully good aren't they?. I keep a few in my lunchbox; I find they keep one going after one has spent a hard day plumbing. I don't know why The Supers are so beastly to Neil, he only wants to ride up front with them once. Really!, is too much to ask after all that he does for them?."
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| Paul Introduces Fellow 'Spinner' Ian Webster To The Chain-gang! |
(This whole thing may make more sense if you have read last week's Part Deux)
Anyone remember the Wurzels?
The question hung like a hot air balloon in the still, sunset air of the Serengeti; "You know what your problem is don't you......?.
In 'Part un' I had considered, and then rejected, some possibilities as to what was about to come. I had decided that if I could preempt the question/accusation I would be in a stronger position to deal with it. It was time to delve - 'Once more unto the breach dear friends' - into my current list of undiscovered, unresolved and unforgiven misdemeanors. I quickly dismissed 'The Incident' of a few years ago on the grounds that she had promised never to mention it again once I had agreed to keep all root vegetables under lock and key, and that Vicki should be the only key-holder (the radiologist had also agreed to destroy all the X-rays.) Nah, it has to be something more recent. I know I had been annoying her in bed the other night - no, nothing like that!. Having devoured the latest copy of 'Bikes etc.'; in one sitting, I was reduced to picking up my copy of '1339 Facts To Make Your Jaw Drop', which had been lingering in the bed side cabinet since Christmas.
Me: "Well, xxxx me, I never knew that!"
Vicki : "What is it darling?"
Me: "Did you know that the last speaker of the Amazonian Ature language was a parrot!"
Vicki: "No, strangely enough, I was unaware of that"
Me: "That's, amazing! - a raw carrot is still alive when you eat it!"
Vicki: "Look do you mind?, I'm trying to finish this article."
Me: "Sorry"
Me: "Blimey O'Reilly - In 1999, the president of Niger was Major Wanke!" (pronounced Wanky - I can't find the accent on my keyboard to put over the 'e' )" This quite, naturally, is followed by much hysterical giggling and then wiping the tears away from my watery eyes with the corner of a folded up tissue.
No response from Vicki as turns the light off and rolls over.
Another possibility could be directly related to cycling. I have, for a while now, been sneaking in a few extra miles by extending my ride home. Anyone who follows me on Strava will note that 'Commute' is often followed by a '+'. This denotes that I have not taken the direct route back from Bexhill to Normans Bay, but have been rather circumlocutory , in that I have gone via Pevensey Bay. This 'bags' me an extra 24 - 30 miles a week. I hadn't mentioned this to Vicki as she would consider it a bit self-indulgent - especially on a Friday when we often do housework during the afternoon (Oh, goody! - although, to be fair, I was crushed at the prospect of missing the 'Cushion Management', half-day workshop, that Vicki was very kindly laying on just for me instead of the regular housework) It was on one such Friday that I had to declare: 'the game's up!".
The problem with the Coast Road, as some of the eagle-eyed Bacon Butty brigade may have noticed, is that it resembles the Somme in the amount of potholes it contains; and if that isn't bad enough, it's riddled with speed bumps. I find it is best to 'Bunny-hop' over the bumps, which I often accompany with singing to keep my moral up.
"... when the breeze blows cross the farm shed - HOP - you can smell the cow shed too" - HOP HOP
"...it's so cosy in the kitchen - HOP - with the smell of rabbit stew" - HOP HOP.....
It was then that I heard the unmistakable rumbling of Vicki's trusted 'Boxster' - creeping up behind me. The crossing at Normans Bay was unmanned and shut for the day (thank god for the automation we now have!) and so Vicki was also forced to take the long way home. She pulled along side me, leaned over the passenger seat, pushed her 'shades' onto her head and made the classic two finger gesture ( no not that one!) she pointed two splayed fingers at her own eyes and then pointed one finger at me. She mouthed something to me as she eased past. It took me a while to work out what she had said, but then 'the penny dropped' - I'm watching you sunshine!". I shrugged my shoulders and thought to myself: 'Don't worry I can soon smooth that over when I get home"
"....I am a Cider Drinker, I drinks it all of the day - HOP - Ohh, arrh ooh arrh ay - HOP - ooh, arrh ooh arrh ay - HOP- HOP- HOP......
Oh dear, 'Old Father Time' is poking me with the blunt end of his sickle (mind what you're doing with that thing, you;ll take someones eye out!)........
To be continued next week in PART DEUX (part trois).
Peter Buss
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