Up the road is an odd institution where you can rent a dog for day. Let me quickly clarify this, it is for the specific purpose of walking it rather than any illicit acts with a hair trimmer, gaffa tape and a vacuum cleaner.
That’s a premium service which costs considerably more, especially if you’ve had previous history with the centre’s hamsters.
Anyway my friend Jason, who has admitted to hardly any acts of bestiality (but he is from New Zealand and – come on – it’s like a Welsh leisure centre out there), fancied a go with the a Prince Albert (I had to look that up – honestly – why would you want to to be pierced there?)*
The DMR is already being abused somewhere in Oxford by a mate who had all the skills but none of the bike. A bit Ying and Yang when you consider my multi-wheeled collection. However, this was a short-term one ride loan which clearly gave Jason license to thrash it in a way I found quite perturbing.
“I must ride it like that” I lied as he cleared off at a rate of knots not significantly distanced from bloody quick. Me and Roger gave chase and – because I’d craftily removed the granny ring (don’t just don’t okay) from his gear selection options – we caught him when the trails turned to “arrrghh that hurts”
And since Nigel managed to retain close formation with his pedals this time and the sun was shining, we shredded some warm mud for a short while before attacking lunch with significantly more fervour. Bits of the trails were still frozen, a significant chunk were giving us a big wet brown experience (I just can’t stop myself now), but there was still enough shoulder-dropping carvage to bring far more smiles that the mere miles would suggest. One second we’d be doing a middle aged housing conversation, before dropping it like a Premier League manager and getting on with the real stuff of life. If it’s this fantastic in winter, how bloody great is it going to be once it dries out?
I’ll never tire or riding bikes even when a short winter’s day is gone between prep-ing, driving, faffing, riding, cake-ing, driving, cleaning, beering. I may, at some point, tire of writing about it for which I’m sure you’d all be immensely grateful.
* Crossing your legs and eyes at this point is an entirely appropriate response. I cannot imagine the horror of Airport Security once you’ve decided spearing your cock might me an amusing way to spend a couple of hours.