Wed Chain Gang - Part Deux (Part Trois)

Prologue

"Smoke gets in your eyes"

The Chain-gangers Gather !

I am afraid there was a bit of an incident between myself and 'newbie' Ian at the end of the return leg, when in a desperate attempt to pass me, he used my 'ass saver' mudguard to try and 'sling shot' himself ahead;  I had no choice but to retaliate by putting my right leg out to stop him.  Luckily no one was injured but we feared the action that Col C 'J' Parker may take had he witnessed it - which may have included being reported to the UCI.  As it turned out we needn't have worried.  Having got my breath back I looked around at the assembled group and could see no sign of Neil, but to be honest I wasn't really surprised.  Neil has omitted to mention in his blog the real reason there why there wasn't enough air in his tyre; so let me explain. Whilst awaiting the start I had been surprised to see Neil light a cigarette, as I'm know for certain he isn't a smoker, but I quickly realised the reason for this - he was mingling among his Supers offering to blow up their *rses.  They all politely refused immediately, I assume because they didn't want their expensive kit to smell of smoke, and had no wish to see Neil humiliated - apart from Nigel who seemed to take a while before also declining Neil's kind offer, but then he was only wearing cheap Aldi gear.  Neil seemed a little taken aback that they had refused his offer, but carried on with his usual routine of checking their tyre pressures.  Having discovered that Stuart's rear was about 10 psi down he reached into his jersey pocket and brought out a device I had never seen before - it was a pump with a presta adapter at each end which enabled him to take the air out of his own tyre and feed it directly into Stuart's!.  Stuart said to Neil: "It's o.k mate you can use my pump!", but so determined was Neil to display his complete devotion that he was happy to donate his own air and carried on pumping.  Anyway, I was now fully recovered and was attempting to have a chat with Paul who said: "HiPeteIsawwhat happenedbackthereIhopeyoudon'tgetintoany....", I said: "Slow down Paul, I can't hear what your saying".  It was then that the Colonel arrived wearing a pinky, coloured 'number', that kind of bulged at the back.

Chris Has A Moment Of Self Doubt!

He was looking a bit agitated so I assumed he was going to rebuke Ian and I for our unsportsmanlike behaviour.  As I said earlier, we needn't have worried, because once he got to us he just turned around and said: "Does my bum look big in this?."  We were somewhat taken by surprise and there was an embarrassing silence broken eventually by Ian who said: "I don't know you very well, Colonel, Sir, but you seem to have a good figure for a man of your age."  Chris seemed pleased with this and said: "No need for formality, call me Chris."  When Chris had turned his back to us I noticed trough the thin pink material there was a book of some kind in his jersey pocket which explained the bulge - I could just make out the word 'Pythagoras'.  It was then that I realised the rumours were true!.  You may remember from a previous blog that Chris, using an old brass telescope and tables of TT data,had exposed Hawkin as a fake.  He had proven beyond doubt that the universe wasn't expanding or contracting, but merely leaning a bit to the left. I now truly believe Chris was now going to do the same with Pythagoras's famous theorem, and this was confirmed when Chris wandered off towards his bike muttering: " .....the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the square on the other THREE sides!. ..that Greek bloke has got it all wrong!".  All this activity had got Paul even more excited and he was now communicating in short bursts of verbal machine gun fire: "rat a tat a tat....rat a tat a tat...rat a tat a tat....". Ian said: "Please make it stop!".  Stewart, Tom and I 'ran' for cover in the direction of Normans Bay.

earlier.....

Was nearly late for the start this week thanks to Stewart ('The Posh' Plumber') B's insistence in showing me his new 'toy' when I met up with him at The CBH.  "Isn't she a stunner!".  He was standing proudly alongside his new Bentley "Artisan". I entered a thought bubble: "So is that what they're calling the new 'van of the people' (I've seen their recent advertising campaigns and the cynical way they are targeting the 'nouveau riche' of the plumbing world ), well **** me, I've seen it all now!". Stewart continued: "I popped in for a 'snifter' at 'The Club' (by club Stewart means the new Cooden Beach Polo Club he's recently joined) and I bumped into that 'other' cycling plumber chappie - kind of took the wind out his sails I can tell you, he's recently gone for the new Aston 'Van quish', but it's hardly in the same league!; I mean those 'Gull Wings' are a little O.T.T.  He said he was thinking of setting up his own Polo team and was looking out for some nice ponies going cheap, I said to him they don't go 'cheap', they go 'whinney', 'whinney'; they also do that 'flapping' thing with their lips - he than demonstrated by blowing air out through his loose lips like a trumpet player- flapalapalapalapalapalapa and then collapsed into hysterical giggling!.  I waited for him to compose himself and then said: "That'll cost a **** load of money!". "Oh, rather!",he said, "I may have to start working 'apres-midi' (I wish I could find the accent to put over the 'e' on this keyboard)  - if you get my drift?. Oh, by-the-way I have to tell you a frightfully funny story - promise you won't tell anyone?". I nodded and winked to assure him of my confidentiality. "You'll never guess who I saw at 'The Club' yesterday?", "Go on!", I said. "Nigel of all people; he was collecting pony dung into two buckets held in a shoulder yoke - you know, like the milkmaids of old used?.  He was really struggling with it and his knees were buckling under the weight - I can now see why he has such over-developed calf muscles.  Apparently it is true when he says that he can't manage on  a computer contractors salary and is trying to make some extra cash.  He's stockpiling the dung in his basement and is waiting for the spring - reckons he'll make a proper 'killing'.- although apparently Lucy is none too chuffed.  "Anyway, how's the CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) going, are you making progress, old chap?".  "Well it's going O.K, but quite frankly, I don't see what the **** it's got to do with you!". At which point we both set-off for Bexhill sea front.


Part Trois

(This whole thing may make more sense if you have read last week's Part Deux (Part Deux)

'Mon dieu!" - I slapped my forehead as the awareness 'hit' me (you will note that I have shown great maturity by avoiding the obvious Del Boy 'Mange Tout' variation.)  Vicki was obviously about to confront me on an issue to do with cushions!!.  I surmised a possible conclusion to the statement/accusation: "You know what your problem is don't you?.........you know absolutely nothing about cushions".  The problem is we have so many cushions -  we have approximately twelve cushions on the two sofas in the lounge - in an assortment of sizes, fabrics and shapes.  There are cushions in Poppy's three dog beds (I  sh*t you not!.) Her 'master  bed', which is a luxury leather number, contains two cushions, her memory foam mattress bed (underneath our bed and embroidered with 'Princess Poppy') has two bone shaped cushions and her day lounger also has two cushions. Our bedroom has the 'special' ones!.  These have been designed by Vicki and have been hand sewn in purple and cream velvet - and quite frankly, they terrify the life out of me.  I have never mastered the stacking system at the foot of the bed prior to getting in bed, or the puffing-up routine when making the bed. The biggest problem, however, is the dressing of the sofas in the correct manner before retiring to bed. Even though I considered myself to be a model pupil on her recent half day workshop, I failed miserably last Monday evening when given the odious task of arranging them. I have always dreaded the phrase: "You sort the cushions out while I do the water" as we are retiring to bed. I knew I hadn't 'hit the spot' and the end one was definitely 2 degrees off; I chose to ignore it but it was subsequently brought up over breakfast. I had decided that I would make amends on Tuesday night, when after making excuses that I was going to watch the re-run of the Haisham - Polegate - Hailsham one day classic, I slipped down to the shed to get my tools. Two meter spirit level, brickies string line, large builders square; that'll do it. I also found my gaze resting on the pot of P.V.A glue - "I could stick the little ******* to the back of the sofa; that'll solve the problem for good!", Reluctantly, I had to concede that this would be a hollow victory and left the glue on the shelf. I settled down for the night and began the task. I had remembered from the workshop what Vicki had said: "A cushion should sit on it's points like a prima ballerina".  Well quite frankly after an hour the cushions were looking more like French and Saunders do the 'Sugar Plum Fairies".  The problem is that the sofas are leather and the cushions are a soft textile and just slide around.  They refuse to stay in position and flop forward and backwards like naughty, spineless children.  I laboured throughout the night until eventually things stated to take shape and I had those 'puppies' flying  wing tip to wing tip with less than a cigarette papers width between them - a formation that a Red Arrows squadron leader would surely see as audacious. Happy with my work, I just had time for a quick slurp of tea and I was off to the pit - "Take that cushion queen!" - I was now ready for any cushion related accusation headed in my direction.

To be continued in Part Deux (Part Quatre)......