A Word of Warning Before You Read On.....
If you have even bothered to get this far, a big thank you. However, before you read on, the powers that be, have ordered me to issue you with a warning. (OK, Mrs B said to do it or spend a week on the sofa). So here goes.
The following "pile" contains references to animal deposits, bottoms and (deep breathe) gentleman parts. There, I've said it. If you think you may be offended, or do not see me in "that way", please do the following immediately:-
A) Close your internet browser.
B) Shut down your computer.
C) Burn said computer.
D) Seek immediate therapy.
The fact that this page has been displayed on your screen, regardless of whether you have read it or not, means there is no hope for your computer. Destroy it now, and maybe, just maybe, you have a chance to save yourself.
OK, I'm in the clear.....
As I am taking part in the London to Brighton Bike Ride later this month, I thought I should at least attempt to prepare this bag of old bones for the said torture. So, I have taken to sweating, cursing and puffing my way round the countryside on my £150.00 "Halfords Job" excuse of a bike. At 42, I am probably in the best physical condition of my life, which says an awful lot about my life up until now.
That aside, the physical excursions of recent weeks have not caused any problems except for in two areas. It seems my "behind" is not happy to have a bike saddle nestled amongst it's inner sanctum. This despite a gel seat, a gel seat cover, and bubble wrap. All is fine during the first few miles, but after that, the pain is excruciating.
I have tried to sit down and have said conversation with my rear end, but it did not go well. It's voice was muffled for some unknown reason. So, I thought I would treat it to a proper pair of cycling shorts. These are the ones with an inner liner, with padding in the "appropriate" areas. Having tried these on said cycle ride this morning, I can now conclude that they did not make the slightest bit of difference. Honestly, if I'd pulled the pin on a grenade, and placed it on my saddle, then got on, started riding, and waited for the "Bang", it would have been more comfortable, if a little messy.
Now this rear end discomfort is not entirely unexpected, but another symptom has also appeared IS a little more unexpected. It seems that the "Nether Regions" of my body lose all feeling just as the rear end decides to feel all the pain of the moment, and the pain the present Mrs B's felt during two childbirths.
I have done some research on this loss of feeling (asked a bloke down the pub), and am reliably informed that it is a recognized symptom. Indeed, some of the best cyclists in the world suffer from it. N.P.S. I believe is the acronym. The "N" stands for numb, and the "S" stands for syndrome. I'll leave you to work out the rest. Needless to say, I don't think women suffer from it.
Now, I don't know about you, but when I lose feeling in parts of my body, I either shake if it's a shakeable bit of my body, such as a hand, or rub it if it isn't. So, there I am cycling along, trying to get the blood flowing back into my "nethers" by rubbing. (I'm not even going to go into why I can't shake).
Two issues here. Firstly, others out for a Sunday morning stroll, failed to see my predicament. This, I don't understand. Rub your hands together to get the blood flowing, no court case. Rub your "private area" to do the same, and cries of "pervert", "sicko", and "grubby old git" are offered. And laws are quoted. What probably didn't help was that as the feeling returned, I was heard groaning "ooh, that's better".
Secondly, continuing to rub AFTER the blood has returned has "other consequences" I had long since forgotten about.
(Bet you're sorry you didn't heed my warning now eh?)
Can I have more vinegar with these flies please?
Now the warmer weather is here, it's great that I can get more saddle time, what with the impending "Butt Slaughter" only 2 weeks away. Also arriving with the warmer weather, is the explosion of flying insects.
Now, these two things do not mix. Whilst cycling, I breathe a bit faster than normal. Oh alright, I gasp, pant and wheeze like a goldfish out of water. So, my mouth may be open for longer, and wider than normal. What I don't remember doing, is sending out invites to every insect along my route, inviting them to a party inside my mouth!
In they fly, at the rate a blue whale swallows plankton. Some of them buggers are not small either. Three or four of them in your mouth at once, and there's barely room for the air to get in. Now that's bad enough, but when you consider what these sods feed off, it brings a whole new meaning to tastes like Sh*t.
Which brings me rather nicely on to my next point. Horses. I have no problem with these adorable animals. I do, however have issues with what they leave behind. I have, just this morning, cycled along a route shared by amongst others, the horse riding fraternity, and their trusty steeds.
Now I'm not suggesting horse riders clean up after their animals. I can see that carrying bin liners and shovels would be impractical. But surely, they can at least get them to go at the side of the path rather than slap bang in the middle of it. It may bring an element of excitement "Dodging the Doings", but when other users of the path cannot move aside, I am forced to ride through it. And the bike has no mudguards.
So, if you are out and about in the near future, and you happen upon a cyclist pedaling for all he's worth, spitting flies and sweat flying in all directions, covered in horse sh*t, shouting "ooh my goolies" and rubbing his "gentleman area" like a zoo chimpanzee, the chances are, its probably me.
On that pretty picture, I think I will end.....
P.T.F.O.
Wednesday 19 May 2010
Monday 17 May 2010
The Demented Ramblings of A Bald Git.
If you're reading this it means I am 1-0 up on modern technology and have managed to get it up first time. (Truly a world first for me). If you are not however, then at least I am safe in the knowledge that I am the only person reading this boring drivel.
So, about me. I am early forties, male and more than a little bewildered. The rest you already know having read the title of this page. Yes, I am married, very happily of course, (NOT edited in as an afterthought) to a woman who understands me too well for my own good. So, who is the lucky woman? She would probably tell you the one/ones that got away when they realized what a boring old fart I really am. We weren't childhood sweethearts. We've been together nearly 22 years, married for 13 (taking "Try before you buy" to a whole new level).
We have 2 wonderful children. And I DO mean the word wonderful. It's just my meaning of the word may differ slightly to yours. They get on very well indeed. That is, until they are in the same room. Then Armageddon ensues because one of them used the last of the milk or the other one wants to watch something else on the telly. Or one is breathing to loud or the other is brushing their hair. Real vital, compete for attention stuff. Of course, we are model parents and explain to them how we love them both, and there is no need to compete for our love. Or tell them if they don't "Shut the heck up", they will end up being adopted.
We live in the South of England having moved here about 15 years ago. All these time-frames are approximate, due to the fact I did not consult said wife before writing this. We all know that when it comes to these kinds of facts and figures, women can quote to fifteen decimal places. It's all I can do to remember to wear trousers when I go outside. Or which car is mine in the car park.
Deciding we needed more to occupy our lives, we are also owners of a cat and a dog. They get on fine except that the dog is addicted to the cats bum, and every time he goes for a sniff, gets 5 very sharp ones across the nose. He is supposed to be one of the more intelligent breeds of dog, but fear that when God said "Brains", our dog thought he said "Trains", and he missed his. We now agree that the pets were a step too far and we are overwhelmed by all the feeding, cleaning, tidying, walking, clearing up, grooming and health care responsibilities. The pets, however, are no trouble at all.
What, I hear you ask, does he do in order to feed, clothe, keep in Xbox games, craft and fashion magazines, beauty products, flea collars, dog chews and generally maintain in the manner to which they have not so much become accustomed too, more a case of feel obliged to be grateful for even though they know they could do better? I won't tell you directly, other than to say it involves:-
A) A lot of driving, being very organized, on time, professional, earning a great deal of respect and using my expert selling skills and techniques to meet and exceed my sales targets, and going home satisfied in the knowledge that I have done a full days work and truly earned my salary
Or
B) A lot of driving, being stuck in traffic, swearing, being sworn at, grabbing customers by the lower leg, and not letting go until they buy something from me, missing my sales targets by miles and going home wondering why I still do this "poxy" job, knowing I should have done better and feeling like a fraud.
Why start blogging? Simple answer. I have little to say, but a lot of words to say it with. I'm not saying I'm boring. In fact, I find myself managing to stay awake through most of my conversations with myself these days. It's just that I've always had a little dream of writing something that others might read, maybe admire, but in all likelihood, probably just pity. That and the fact that they now use anti graffiti paint in most public conveniences these days, meaning I have to find another outlet for my "thoughts".
I intend to post as and when I can be bothered. Be warned though, I have had intentions before. A few of them good, but very rarely follow any of them through for very long. So don't hold your breathe. It will be on a wide range of topics, including the news, music, personal experiences, other peoples misfortunes, or nothing in particular.
I will leave it there for now. I eagerly await your feedback. Or, I couldn't give 2 hoots what you think. You know it's drivel, I know it's drivel. But at the end of the day, so is 78.43% of what's on the Internet. (Figure quoted from how much battery life is left on my i Phone).
P.T.F.O.
So, about me. I am early forties, male and more than a little bewildered. The rest you already know having read the title of this page. Yes, I am married, very happily of course, (NOT edited in as an afterthought) to a woman who understands me too well for my own good. So, who is the lucky woman? She would probably tell you the one/ones that got away when they realized what a boring old fart I really am. We weren't childhood sweethearts. We've been together nearly 22 years, married for 13 (taking "Try before you buy" to a whole new level).
We have 2 wonderful children. And I DO mean the word wonderful. It's just my meaning of the word may differ slightly to yours. They get on very well indeed. That is, until they are in the same room. Then Armageddon ensues because one of them used the last of the milk or the other one wants to watch something else on the telly. Or one is breathing to loud or the other is brushing their hair. Real vital, compete for attention stuff. Of course, we are model parents and explain to them how we love them both, and there is no need to compete for our love. Or tell them if they don't "Shut the heck up", they will end up being adopted.
We live in the South of England having moved here about 15 years ago. All these time-frames are approximate, due to the fact I did not consult said wife before writing this. We all know that when it comes to these kinds of facts and figures, women can quote to fifteen decimal places. It's all I can do to remember to wear trousers when I go outside. Or which car is mine in the car park.
Deciding we needed more to occupy our lives, we are also owners of a cat and a dog. They get on fine except that the dog is addicted to the cats bum, and every time he goes for a sniff, gets 5 very sharp ones across the nose. He is supposed to be one of the more intelligent breeds of dog, but fear that when God said "Brains", our dog thought he said "Trains", and he missed his. We now agree that the pets were a step too far and we are overwhelmed by all the feeding, cleaning, tidying, walking, clearing up, grooming and health care responsibilities. The pets, however, are no trouble at all.
What, I hear you ask, does he do in order to feed, clothe, keep in Xbox games, craft and fashion magazines, beauty products, flea collars, dog chews and generally maintain in the manner to which they have not so much become accustomed too, more a case of feel obliged to be grateful for even though they know they could do better? I won't tell you directly, other than to say it involves:-
A) A lot of driving, being very organized, on time, professional, earning a great deal of respect and using my expert selling skills and techniques to meet and exceed my sales targets, and going home satisfied in the knowledge that I have done a full days work and truly earned my salary
Or
B) A lot of driving, being stuck in traffic, swearing, being sworn at, grabbing customers by the lower leg, and not letting go until they buy something from me, missing my sales targets by miles and going home wondering why I still do this "poxy" job, knowing I should have done better and feeling like a fraud.
Why start blogging? Simple answer. I have little to say, but a lot of words to say it with. I'm not saying I'm boring. In fact, I find myself managing to stay awake through most of my conversations with myself these days. It's just that I've always had a little dream of writing something that others might read, maybe admire, but in all likelihood, probably just pity. That and the fact that they now use anti graffiti paint in most public conveniences these days, meaning I have to find another outlet for my "thoughts".
I intend to post as and when I can be bothered. Be warned though, I have had intentions before. A few of them good, but very rarely follow any of them through for very long. So don't hold your breathe. It will be on a wide range of topics, including the news, music, personal experiences, other peoples misfortunes, or nothing in particular.
I will leave it there for now. I eagerly await your feedback. Or, I couldn't give 2 hoots what you think. You know it's drivel, I know it's drivel. But at the end of the day, so is 78.43% of what's on the Internet. (Figure quoted from how much battery life is left on my i Phone).
P.T.F.O.
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