Author: Alex

Electoral Stroll

On By AlexIn Other stuff2 Comments

That’s what Carol did today; she walked into the voting booth in our local village and asked who we’d failed to bribe in order to receive a voting ballet. I’d assumed our lack of political capital was because there was some ritual with a tea tray, frisky chicken, window ledge and amusing handshake we’d forgotten to undertake. Either that or our ineligibility was sealed with having only the four fingers and one thumb on each hand.

Now you all know Winston Churchill was wrong and I am right. Because his view was that Democracy is a terrible thing, but what’s the alternative? Mine’s right here Winny, and we’re talking benevolent dictatorship – an extremely small pointy topped ruling party with me both at the top and brandishing the pointy thing. I’ve already allocated the key government posts of “Keeper of the Scorpion Pits” and “Head of Cheese” although I’ve been considering upgrading “Expenses Adjudicator/Baseball bat tester” to full cabinet status.

I wasn’t going to vote anyway because – as I’ve said before – it just encourages them. And my own political ambitions – constrained by our dumb democracy – were thwarted by apathy and sobriety, hence the “five door hatchback party” was stillborn as a single issue party. Leaving those who believe a protest vote has some validity voting for the fascist bastard’s or Major Loony and the Hang’em high silly sods.

And before someone – and there is always one -starts giving it the “my grandad fought and died for democracy, the least you could do is show it some respect“, just stop because you’re wrong. Badly, as it turns out because many, many brave people went into battle because a) they were told to and b) the Germans bombed their dads’ chip shop. There’s a great quote attributed to Bill Vaughan (but I don’t think it’s him) that goes “People will cross an ocean to fight for democracy, but won’t cross the street to vote for it”

I always though Universal Suffrage was missing an important ‘e‘. Sure allowing the “ordinary man” (rather lamentably followed by the ordinary woman) to vote on whose in charge was a big improvement that that vote being taken by those who already were. But it’s not like it’s going to make much of a difference is it? They’re all power seeking crooks with the morals of a heroin spiked alley cat.

It’s like the BBC TV license, I’m forced to pay it, but that doesn’t give me the editorial control to set fire to “The X-Factor” studio. But, at least I can throw things at the TV, or – as I am increasingly doing – turn it off. But I can’t do that with politicians, they grease up to your door, bombard you from billboards, score pointless inter-party points and so separated from our reality they should consider marriage counselling.

And there’s a beautiful – if twisted – irony that the electorate have only re-engaged with politics now the slimy twats in apparent power have been caught with their finger in the till. I honestly wouldn’t worry about that too much – it has merely proven what we already knew and, given the chance, we’d all do the same – but it’s a bloody concern that such incompetence can somehow collectively run a country.

So anyway, we found our house isn’t on the electoral roll, and we’ll probably get round to fixing it, but it did amuse me that the Inland Revenue, NHS, and a myriad of assorted public bodies can find where we live. But if I wanted to vote for them, I was told “you can’t vote today, sorry that’s the system”

I’m struggling to care.

Mad Cows if you please.

On By AlexIn Other stuffLeave a comment

Stupid things, yes? Useful for milk, steak, looking English in Landscape pictures, but essentially the magnolia wallpaper of the countryside.

Yes, and indeed no. The Hound Of Smell’s evening walk perambulates through a field full of long grass, many sniffable trees and the badgers’ back passage*. From about now until September, this rather idyllic footpath also includes a herd of cows or, and you will see why this is important shortly, more accurately bulls.

Murf doesn’t quite know what to make of them, so I generally attach the sledding lead and ski behind while he investigates interesting animal turds, served up with a side order of buzzy flies. The cows aren’t sure what to make of us either, which became obvious as they began to track us at a similar pace.

This apparent stalking made for one nervous dog and one slightly apprehensive Al. But – I told myself – they’re way more scared of us than we of them, at least one of us has higher brain functions**, and that fence looks jump-able.

I refused to panic because – well – they were cows, not elephants or lions and land-going sharks, and I was a man who’d faced down puffed-up commuters, people who have referred themselves in the third person, and small children pleading for ice scream.

And then they started running. Well one did at which point the horror of “herd mentality” became visually apparent. And this was not some unfocussed stampeding either – no these horny buggers were heading for us with the kind of intent that screams restraining order.

I loosed the dog believing he would play to the masters loyal hound stereotype, only for him to give it the full “see ya, wouldn’t want to be ya” before running off into the long grass, where a huge, scary black dog then went with the cowering in fear option.

Fortified by a couple of pre-walk sharpeners, I chose to stand my ground, arms folded, knees shaking and in receipt of about eighty mad eyes shaking about in tossing heads. Have you ever looked into the eyes of a cow? I have, and – having come out the other side – can authoritatively declare there is nothing going on at all back there.

Clearly juggling the chemical imbalance of four stomachs is more than enough for their knuckle head brains, leaving just enough to be stoke up the properly intimidating gland. I will say at this point I was mildly perturbed and not overburdened with good ideas. But as grisly visions of being butted to death began to play in my minds eye, the long grass – currently rustling with apparently unconcerned Man’s SortofBest Friend – offered a way out.

Hay fever, l pollen and my bent snozzle can have only one outcome, and that’s a sneeze so violent I’m always happy not to have popped both my eyes out. A path to freedom opened up as the cows unclustered in the blast radius, leaving both me and my dignity to exit in a brisk trot.

The remainder of the walk passed in a blissful non event and it wasn’t until I was encouraging the chickens to bed***, it occurred to me this may be a conspiracy. That last chicken was giving me the mad eye, and a bit of beak attitude to go with it. I used to think I’m in charge of this menagerie of beasts but I’ve read Animal Farm, and now I’m not so sure.

I am sure of one thing though – those chickens have been talking to the cows.

* An animal trail that the dumb mutt never fails to nasily mine every evening. And one I never tire of pointing the name out to the kids, much to Carol’s irritation.

** That’ll be me in case you were in any doubt.

*** “WIll you PLEASE stop fucking about and get into the hutch? Otherwise tomorrow there shall be one less of you, and chicken salad for everyone else“

“It’s not glandular”

On By AlexIn Other stuff6 Comments

Right there, that’s the title of my new healthy lifestyle book. I am somewhat conflicted here because I cannot comprehend how the almost infinite heft of diet books seems to make no bloody difference to the weight of the people reading them. And yet, I still feel there is room for one more written in the style of blunt northerner and focussing on some simple truths.

Here are my draft chapter headings, feel free to help me out with suggestive edits. I’ll feel free to ignore them of course.

1. Eat less, exercise more. Inspired by looking out of the office window this lunchtime. The leafy square was divided about 90/10 in favour of those who looked as if the last meal they missed was when their mum ran out of milk. The exercise regime of these individuals seemed to revolve around warm up cigarettes, reps of mobile phone texting, and finishing up on a big session of sugary cakes.

2. It really isn’t glandular. No it isn’t. You can pretend you have big bones, over-active glands or a sloth like metabolism. But honestly, it’s more the fact that you spend 20 minutes checking calorific values on nasty gas packed sandwiches, and then taking the lift to the second floor.

3. Being round isn’t a cool look. Which seems to be a bloke thing – the other day I saw two fellas comparing beer bellies, reaching forward to give them an affectionate pat “All paid for mate...” was the smug refrain. You can tell it’s nearly summer because the world is full of FPIO*, and most of them are men.

4. Dieting is dumb. It Just is. I do love all those adverts for slimming products modelled by lovely looking women** who have absolutely no body image issues or whatever marketing euphemism hides “looking like a sack of spuds” behind some soothing words. Creeping obesity is simply saying that adding 9000 calories a month is a shit load easier than shedding them.

But crash dieting just eats muscle fat and when the weight loss plateaus – as it absolutely will once that’s gone – everyone just gets depressed and eats again. And the body thinks “bloody hell, food, I tell you what I’ll store that in my fat reserves.” Or arse as the less medically inclined may think of it.

5. Stop kidding yourselves. If you’re fat and happy, then I’m happy for you too. If you’re whinging that your diet isn’t working/the food is shit/exercise is boring/etc/etc, then accept you’re going to be a human beach ball, or do something about it. And no, whining doesn’t count.

It’s going to be a best seller. Retirement beckons I think.

I know this is probably fatist, and I’ve done it before. But I don’t care, because I still find it bloody odd that we have a chunk of health system built to prolong a bloody miserable life, rather than fix the problem before wheelchairs are involved.

And I’m writing this post BBQ, drinking beer but I nearly bloody killed myself commuting, and spent a day eating stuff that was nutritionally outstanding, but digestively dull. So let me leave you with this; the local rag was showcasing a slightly less fat bastard than a year before, who’d been the only bloke in his WeightWatchers group.

When asked what the greatest benefit of losing four stone and becoming both more active and less of a hospital statistic, he declared “getting in and out of the car is easier”. Than what? Walking a mile? Getting on a bike? It’s like escalators in Gyms’ – when did we lose the link between feeling better and actually being better?

I know I’m a grumpy bugger with a myopic view of stuff no one else cares about, but I do wonder sometimes if the world went mad one day, and nobody bothered to tell me.

* Fat People In Oakleys.

** And it generally is, so testing point 3).

Life’s a beach

On By AlexIn Other stuff, PhotographyLeave a comment

H;mm beachy

I have spent much of the last two days in a state best described as “Moderately Damp”. This level of external moistness normally fires up the hedgy bilge pump to spray out exactly how wet/unhappy/in receipt of ‘trench willy’ my latest bike ride was. And followingsome random punctuation and naughty words, comes invariably a whinge that the bad weather has got personal, and there’s no one left to complain to.

Not today. An opportunisic very long weekend saw us heading out to the Welsh Riveria where golden beaches and stunning backdrops await. Not that we ever got that far, because a late start and early finish bracketed our sandy day. Which had started with a well known “low cost” tyre emporium cheerfully explaining that a) two tyres for the mighty Love Bus would be£330, b) They didn’t have any and c) tracking was extra.

How can it be extra? I am a major shareholder, surely, after that purchase and deserve some owner perks? And no wonder they didn’t have any, because at that price, I assume some Cuban virgin is hand rolling fresh rubber on her supple thighs. Hang on a minute, I just need to… er one more minute.. no I’m good…. right, as you were. Anyway I spurned their request for a large bucket of cash in return for some vague promise of future service, and instead deposited Baldy The Mini-Truck at the local garage.

Who, without any reference to far-flung, rubber rolling maidens, did the job in quarter of the time for about half the cost. This says to me that certain chains – okay KwikFit – are a bunch of racketeering, scaremongering rapscallions, and I shall not be darkening their telephone lines again. This is the first, and probably, last time the hedgehog does Public Service Broadcasting, and so I’d appreciate it if you could shout “THEIVING BASTARDS” ever time you pass one of their dens of financial inequity.

Anyway the beach was lovely, unspoiled and vast. The dog was mad, mentally disturbed and much chastised. The kids were briefly cold, often wet and full of the kind of smiles that only sand and ice cream can bring. I was merely sunburned on my extensive thin bit, and mildly exercised removing Murf from other peoples sandwiches.

The huge caravan park however is something else. It’s evenly split between people waiting to die, and those who are drinking such industrial quantities of cheap cider, they may soon be joining them. It was properly tacky with a betting shop on site, adjacent to a nasty looking greasy cafe and a gaudy bingo hall. It is also pretty close to my idea of hell, but – on walking through it – it seems I was in a minority of one. Although since I was the only bloke sober or not on life support in a twenty acre radius, this may have been contributory.

It’s not me being some kind of intellectual snob here. Mainly because I have neither the intellect or upbringing to be either, but I just don’t understand why you’d cage yourself in camp of 300 identical caravans, while there are delights aplenty all around. I am worryingly starting to view canvas bell tents in a non ironic manner, but the only good thing I can say about these caravans is at least they weren’t blocking a major arterial highway.

Having just about dried off, today we took 10 of Verbal’s friend’s swimming, ratcheting up the excitement with a huge floaty activity thingymebob*, before shovelling a zillion sugared calories and a similar number of e-numbers into their hungry stomachs. Parents love these swim parties as they get 2 hours of child-free weekend bliss. Having seen those kids at the end of the party, I’m not sure they’ve fully got the risk/reward gig here.

Anyway I must off to go battle with the eye high weeds with the Al modified strimmer**, because tomorrow the weather is again set fair. I think it would be wholly inappropriate not to enjoy that on some kind of bicycle.

* I fell off it three times. And then stopped, because I’d swallowed most of the pool. I told the kids I was merely prat-falling to amuse their little minds. They’re 10 and too lifeworn for that “Yeah, whatever“.

** Oh yes. Only a proper engineer can see something electrically certified and clearly dangerous, before thinking “right, to give it a bit of a kick, let’s simply convert it to NITRO“,

A year is a long time in..

On By AlexIn Other stuff2 Comments

… Herefordshire. No, I can’t quite believe it either but fifty two weeks have passed since we surfed into the county on a stream of storm washed mud. Tomorrow we’re celebrating with a trip to the “Welsh Rivera” where the dog shall attempt to unearth Australia through vigorous digging, and the kids may, or may not get washed out to sea.

They swim better than me, so it’s pretty pointless going after them. Worse case they’ll be swept onto the east coast of Ireland and the name tags in their swimming costumes should see them DHL’d home, before we’ve really noticed.

On the first day of my very long weekend, I graciously took time out to locate the perfect spot for a lovely family picnic in the warm sunshine. And while hungry offspring disemboweled some pork pies, I found – by happy coincidence – that 200 metres of big Welsh slope provided a bit of a lift for one of my silly gliders. Well it didn’t really, because it was as flat as it was it was calm, and the uplifiting thermals were hidden behind pesky cloud.

But I cared not at all because it’s a view of mountains – so perfect they must be CGI – that I can never tire of. When I explained we were celebrating our first anniversary in the six fingered county, the question of whether I missed anything was posed. I thought about that for a while, before responding that there was really nothing at all. And I’d counted all those reasons twice.

Although my perspective may be skewed by six hours of Motorway madness ending in Milton Keynes yesterday. Our spanky new office is so fresh from the construction packet, the SatNav can’t find it and niehter could I. Having parked some four damp nautical miles away, the irony of travelling 120 miles to participate in a video conference with an office closer to me couldn’t even raise a smile.

A smile which stayed deep stowed as I attempted to carve out a political niche with the “5 Door Hatchback and Anti Motorway Party“* using my 365 day old local knowledge (no good, got lost), and the ever reliable SatNav (reliable in that it’ll direct you up the back passage of a passing cow). It saved me 4 miles and cost me about an hour, but – in principle – a navigational triumph.

I did manage to crack a grin earlier today though as the four new chickens (BHD**, Fluffy, Lt. Nibble and Boudicia: it’s a long story and has a Random element – I’ll spare you) plus the surviving wonky necked Nugget have brought about the “Second Laying“. A single egg greeted us this evening, and by my calculation we merely need another 9,254 to break even assuming they never eat again.

So as the sun gently sets over the field, and the head settles almost as gently on a muched loved bottle of Hooky Gold, I’m feeling immensely smug. Which shall likely last all the time it takes for a man in a boiler suit to drag in a huge intake of breath, and demand a few million pounds for two new tyres tomorrow.

I wonder if he’ll take an egg as a down payment?

* Got as good a chance as anyone else I reckon. It’s not like those bonkers “The Sun hasn’t set on the Empire” yet nutters or the fascist twats in ill fitting suits. We’re campeigning on two issues, and our first policy will be a massive economy stimulating programme of building scorpion pits.

** Bad Hair Day

OCD

On By AlexIn Other stuff, Photography5 Comments

Or CDO as we obsessives like to order it. I have spent the majority of my Bank Holiday weekend polishing adequate to create something smacking of compulsive. I don’t know many people who would level four odds’n’sods bins with a spirit level, or even spend a hour on the web searching for a match for what they already had.

*Raises hang guiltily* It’s still not done, A couple of under-bench shelves will be harvested from some old fire doors, and the Swedish basket system re-made through the simple medium of re-allocating a fistful of drinking vouchers.

Notice the post project beer* taking pride of place. And if you think that side is tidy, check this out.

Workshop/Bike Store Workshop/Bike Store

Workshop/Bike Store Workshop/Bike Store

Worry not about bike removal versus possible shelf interference. I went all scientific with string and angles, before running a full bike removal simulation. Yes, it took some time, but being right is sometimes better than being quick**, so I could relax on my pimpy stool with a beer some bottles downstream from the topping out glass, and declare – with a satisfied nod – “That’ll do”.

It’d have been a whole lot easier without six silly model aeroplanes that formed no part of the original plan. But a on-the-job design mod saw a bunch of pre-loved plasterboard jimmied into the roof, delivering the perfect storage solution to filing lots of occasionally useful shit.

Although in my rush to get it done, I’m not exactly sure what. Haven’t seen the cat for a couple of days which may explain why one of the boxes kept changing shape as I attempted to stow it.

We’ve*** finished the office as well which is significantly less busy although that may just because I’m meant to be working in it. The view into the field would be lovely, were it not for the acres of “to be dealt with” crap outside the window. And until the wood fades a bit, I’m feeling tempted to strip off and set fire to the bookcase to create the authentic Sauna experience.

Before I filled it with electronic detritus and much loved – but long filed – pictures, it looked like this:

Workshop/Bike Store

Three things struck me this evening as three days of holiday came to a rather abrupt end:

1) I’ve spent most of it working inside. While it has been stupidly hot and lovely outside. I’d pay good money we no longer have to switch this weekend with the last one – so CLIC would have been fantastic, and finsihing this wouldn’t feel like penance for something very bad from a previous life.

2) I don’t need to finish a job I just started. The actual task doesn’t matter, but for the first time in bloody ages, it doesn’t have to be done by tomorrow. It won’t last, but it feels pretty damn good to actually finish something, and not have to immediately start the next thing.

3) We’re bloody lucky to live here. You sort of lose sight of that. But walking the mad mutt in the warm evening, and being immersed in a million acres of stuff gowing like buggery feels like quite a privilege.

Sometimes you spend so much time trying to plan for what’s about to happen, you kind of forget why you started in the first place. Having spent an giggly hour on the trampoline with the kids, I’m going to try bloody hard not to do so in future.

* not shown, two previously topping out beers quaffed in about 9 seconds after working inside on the hotest day of the year.

** A couple of examples come to mind that buck that particular argument. I’ll not be troubling the hedgehog readership with either of them, since one of that readership is my mum.

*** I had a “Mission Control” morning with a million cables and recalcitrant Wireless tat, Carol painted the hard yards of the floor. Three times 🙂

Compassion Fatigue

On By AlexIn Bikes, Clic-24, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography1 Comment

The Eighties were dreadful for so many reasons*, but even in that decade of pompous absurdity that phrase shines like a beacon of stupidity. Some quiff in a sleeve-rolled suit would wring their hands to a backdrop of starving African kids, and piously declare that the country had “compassion fatigue“.

No it bloody had not. The ones who could see further than their own self-importance measured by cars, cash, being a fuckwit that kind of thing continued to give what they could, while everyone else – from governments down to those believing AIDS was a solution made excuses.

The problem wasn’t people not caring, it was the explosion of the global coverage of dreadful poverty set against a pot that wasn’t getting any bigger. None of this was helped by a Western approach that patronised rather than listened, gave the money to the wrong people, and were somehow surprised when the misery continued after the cameras left.

I remember this making me quite angry at the time, and – even nearly twenty years on – the dying embers of when the world was black and white still burn a little. Good job as it was about the only thing keeping me going, as the rain charged in one way and my motivation slunk off in the other.

Neil (Organiser, all round top man, poor bugger whose wife died last year from Cancer) told me that while all the entries had been sold, only around 2/3rds of the riders had turned up. I have no issue with serious athletes using the CLIC24 as perfect training for the upcoming 24 hour race season. But what does piss me off is when they can’t be bothered to earn their sponsorship** because the weather is a bit shit.

And shit it was. I arrived early enough to sound out the perfect pitch at the foot of the big camping field. Perfect in terms of being well drained and flat, also geographically spot on for funnelling freezing winds into the nether regions of team “hardcore loafing“. After Nig and I had done our damnest to be fatter piggies than the hog roast, the temperature had dropped to the point of “is it me or is it fucking winter?”

We gave up with outside and cracked a middle aged bottle inside the back of my truck. A truck full of many things, which now included red wine stains. but sadly not my lights***. At least it was warm although I cannot imagine what our neighbours thought of a ton and a half of metal rocking in the stiffening wind. Honestly it was nothing more than “to you, to me, can I just stretch that leg out,? okay Dave you can come in now but you’ll need to leave at least one arm outside”

Last year Dave cleverly avoided the first lap by inflicting£200 work of crank based damage on his bike. We all joked that this time around no one could possibly trump that. But come a morning punctuated by squally showers and clamped in ball freezing cold, Jason put the Hardcore into Loafing by completely failing to turn up AT ALL.

CLIC24 - 2009 (9 of 26) CLIC24 - 2009 (7 of 26)

Dave was so stunned by this ballsy race craft, he barely objected to being sent out first although – in the spirit of loafers everywhere – we turned up ten minutes late for the start, even after arriving some sixteen hours before. We’re all understandably proud of that.

CLIC24 - 2009 (2 of 26) CLIC24 - 2009 (11 of 26)

The clock ticked on, the rain sheeted down, blue sky occasionally appeared before being distainfully swept away by a stormy wind in league with the God of Precipitation. Dave’s course report was largely irrelevant since Nig and I were instead checking out the state of his bike. Brown and Wet were the key indicators of trail condiitons and that’s never a good combination in almost any life experience.

CLIC24 - 2009 (14 of 26) CLIC24 - 2009 (20 of 26)

Jason joined us half way through the next lap, showing a worrying confidence in the future performance of his lovely new Titanium hardtail. Worrying as I’d built it three days before utilising the experimental technique of fitting everything with the largest hammer. Still it looked okay and with 14k of mud, rocks, stream crossings, fast descents and gurning climbs, what could go wrong eh?

I worried a bit for him as a displacement activity during my first lap. Because as quick as the course was drying out, fat rainclouds threatened to submerse it under the water table. And when those clouds did explode, the next fifteen minutes of my life were the ideal preparation for reincarnation as a trout. I was beyond wet and had entered that transcendental state known to riders everywhere as “four quick beers, a warm shower, B&B and a hot meal and I may live”

My team mates were waiting for me in the transition area. Well waiting to laugh anyway, which is the kind of team spirit that sustains us during the bad times. Of which , we were about to have another as a fierce gust dispatched the gazebo in a scream of tortured metal and extreme flappage. I watched Nig and Jas embodying this extreme flappage from the inside of the truck.

CLIC24 - 2009 (3 of 26) CLIC24 - 2009 (17 of 26)

Revenge is a wonderful thing. Still to ensure that team spirit wasn’t affected I made sure my laughing and pointing were delivered in a motivating and positive manner. From there until enough was more than enough, we greased our way round an every more comedic course, between hiding from the wind in any location pedalling food and beer.

Three things stand out; the brilliant organisation, the fantastic atmosphere even when it’s pretty miserable, and a whole bunch of riders on the course trying their first event. I lost count of the number of low cost bikes with nervous riders trying their best to stay onboard in increasingly difficult conditions. And when I came out in admiration they were giving it their all, that’s where we came in with compassion fatigue.

Everyone out on that course had a story to tell, a scary moment, a grin at the silly mud, a determined expression on the never ending fire road, a look of satisfaction on completing the lap and a smile at the shared sillyness of what we were doing. Oh sure, there are those occasional aliens who enjoy this kind of thing, but I’m not one of them and neither were any of the people I spoke too.

CLIC24 - 2009 (18 of 26) CLIC24 - 2009 (19 of 26)

But they carried on because they’d promised to earn sponsorship for CLIC Sargent, and I was very proud to be riding with them. It was hard enough when you’ve ridden a bit, it must have been bloody dreadful if this was one of your first experiences trying proper MTB off road. But I couldn’t help thinking about those who couldn’t be arsed, who decided being dry and war was better than being co-located with a moral conscience

Sorry if I’m going on a bit, I didn’t realise how much it pissed me off until I sat down to write this. It is not as if we did a million laps like the hero soloists or serious teams. But we gave it a good go, and while it wasn’t really fun, the worse times were not while you were out on the course. I quit after a dawn lap as I really wanted to be there when Verbal opened her presents, and the morning downpour doused what little motivational fire I had left.

Not Nig tho, he was kitted up and ready to go as I squelshed back in. And one lap in the seemingly unending rain and cold deterred him not at all. As we were herding flywaway tents into wet cars, he set off on a seconds lap clearly having imbued madness by a process of trail based osmosis. Although when he finally gave up, my suspicion is his tactic had been merely to lie face down in the mud for an hour before riding back to the start.

CLIC24 - 2009 (23 of 26) CLIC24 - 2009 (22 of 26)

He denies it, but I think the pictures tell the true story.

So that was CLIC24:2009. Bottom line is it’s upwards of£30,000 to a charity that clearly invests every penny it receives in making tragically shortened young lives as good as they can be. And somehow giving parents who are doomed to outlive their children, a reason to go on. I cannot imagine what that must be like, but while I can still turn a pedal, I’m bloody determined to make sure they have my support.

Talk to those people about compassion fatigue. I have a feeling they might not get it.

* if you were there, you’ll know what I mean. If not google “puffball skirts”, “Athena posters” and “everyone being a dickhead”

** Assuming they had any. And assuming they didn’t just collect it whether they rode it or not. I know this isn’t a perfect argument. but I was having it at 5am in the freezing bloody cold, and I wasn’t thinking entirely straight.

*** Or so I thought. I found them in the muddy sweepings of a forgotten spares box this evening. A serving of double numpty with a side order of dimwit for Mr. Leigh please.

The hedgehog is unwell.

On By AlexIn Site Stuff1 Comment

Much to tell, too much snot and general unwellness means it’ll have to wait. Until then, I suggest you all buy Lemsip shares and make a fortune. I’m considering just injecting the bloody things directly into a vein.

I think two days in a cold, wet and muddy field may be a contributing condition to my current malaise. I fully expect within the next day or so to a) shuffle off this mortal coil or b) soldier on, barely complaining *while creating the European snot lake.

Until then, did I mention CLIC was a bit horrible? And yet I find myself thinking that I may again be stupid enough to try again next year. I think I must have OD’d on a mixed bag of cold remedies.

* on the gounds that sympathy is significantly lacking in the Leigh household 🙁

CLIC24: 2009 – 24 hours of wet.

On By AlexIn Bikes, Clic-24, Mountain Bike Riding, Photography3 Comments

That is a picture of the 15:35 unscheduled departure of the “Team Hardcore Loafing” Gazebo. It was last seen heading towards Bridgwater, traveling at thirty knots and still accelerating.

More on this, and many other references to “cold”, “windy”, “Muddy” and “generally unpleasant” when I can properly use my fingers again. Chill Blains in mid May? You betcha!

Let us not forget what this is all about though. CLIC24 supports CLIC-Sargent and that makes a weekend of extended misery absolutely worthwhile. And, for the first time ever, my fitness outstripped my motivation – so setting the high water mark for my ability to go back out again onto the storm tossed course.

The organisation was superb, the food and beer tent fantastic, the number of “recreational” riders a real joy to see – let’s hope the conditions don’t put them off cycling forever – and the general ‘vibe’ properly not racey laid back.

Sure the weather was shit, and waiting around for the next lap became a study of chilly tedium, but my team mates were – again – properly ace, and the course held up remarkably well until the last few hours. At which point, islands of trail would occasionally protrude into the fast flowing, ten mile stream.

More soonish… until then I’m just glad to be unbroken, dry, warm and having full use of my legs. Oh and relaxing in the glorious knowledge I’ve turned down Mayhem, Bristol Bikefest and SITS again this year 🙂

The TOOL WALL is BACK!

On By AlexIn Bikes, PhotographyLeave a comment

Oh yes. It’s back. Having installed this and the vice, I am now ready to break things in a far more controlled and well ordered environment. It really cramps your style when you have to climb over fourteen boxes, two cabinets and the dog to get to your biggest hammer. Now it’s merely a stretch and a swear away.

You may notice how clean and tidy my tools are. I’ve been polishing them. Nothing wrong with that in the privacy of your own shed. Sadly I now have more tools that wall so only “A List” stuff gets put up there, the rest is relegated to the bottom of the toolbox.

Hang 'em high Office

I’ve yet to add two more storage containers, lots and lots of shelves, the rest of the bike hooks and – of course, how could we forget – the beer fridge. The design of this bespoke building works perfectly for bikes and associated stuff. Shame I’ve added six gliders and two proper engine-y planes. Might have to throw the kids bikes out.

But it seems churlish to complain about a lack of space, as most people manage with a shed/spare room/kitchen table/annoyed spouse. And I’d better not even offer up a whiff of discontent, because this building has made a sizable dent in the budget. So we may not have new bathrooms, but at least I can now furtively fettle my many unfinished projects.

By the time you read this, I may – however – have burned all my bikes and be found rocking under the table murmuring “the mud, you can’t imagine it, God I can’t get it out of my head (or eyes, fingers, toes, etc), you can’t know what it was like, YOU WEREN’T THERE“.

I think my next purchase may be an angle grinder in case any of them survive the funeral pyre 😉