As Time Goes Bye

Blog No. 4 of 17 (or thereabouts)

Swiss precision my vast arse.  Father Christmas brought me a new watch - my first ever proper, swanky grown-up one, and it's losing time.  Not in an interesting Dr. Who or Space 1999 way, just in an oh-my-sainted-aunt-that-can't-possibly-be-the-time way.  Unfortunately, I only realised this as I paused on my cycle to work this morning to call a colleague, and thereby noticed a ten minute discrepancy as the puce numbers mocked me from the phone screen clock.   Having been held up in endless roadworks (it's the end of the financial year, councils are spending their remaining budgets like dispensationalists before The Rapture) I was a bit rushed already ... I arrived at work with 4 minutes to go before I had to read out loud in a vaguely sensible manner.  How can a new watch, mass-produced and with a battery rather than windy-uppy bits lose time? 

Anyway, speaking of taking time, I seem to only be capable of cycling r-e-a-l-l-y  s-l-o-w-l-y.  I know this because EVERYONE on wheels overtakes me.  Even people on Boris bikes.  Bloody Boris bikes, for Pete's sake.  They're made of solid lead, are extra-sensitive to gravity and only have three gears.  But they sail past me as though made of light-as-air flumps and ridden by Sir Chris Hoy.   Sadly, I'm going as fast as I feasibly can, which turns out to be not fast in the slightest.  I think I may have to drive some kind of support vehicle rather than partaking in the Milton Keynes to London bike ride with Steven the UniCyclist and anyone game enough to participate http://www.facebook.com/?ref=hp#!/event.php?eid=174564295907447 part of http://www.unicycle50.com/

I used to think nothing of pedalling off to the coast.  Sixty miles in a day?  Count me in.  Now I am, quite frankly, struggling.  If there hadn't been a coup in Kyrgyzstan last year, I'd fully intended to do an arduous cycling holiday in this curious land that vowels forgot.  Instead I've spent over a year with no exercise whatsoever, apart from flexing my bicep as I raise calorie-laden delights to my greedy gob.  If only I could've toured the Altyn Arashan valley straining on the climb to Teplokluenchka *sigh* this upcoming jaunt would've been a breeze, rather than the terrifying twister approaching from a mere week and a bit away.