Blog No. 14 of 17 (or thereabouts)
Today I went fell running. Alright, alright ... I fell running. As I pounded the undulating, bluebelled slopes of Whippendell Woods, Small dog in my wake was spooked by a huge Weimeraner, ran blindly after me ... and felled me. Bless the little feller. Down I went, like a sack of spuds, in a perfect Peter Griffin tribute - face first. Bleeding lightly, I was righted by the Weimeraner's concerned owners and I carried on running *cocks ear for admiring gasps*. Returning to base, muddied and bloodied, I showered and examined the damage. Grazed: knees, arm, cheek and hands ... swelling and bruising in latter two (ameliorated by bag of frozen peas). I could either be mistaken as having one cheek implant, or possibly as just returning from a date with Phil Tufnell.
Undaunted, I headed to Howard and Emma's to try out Emma's magic bike. Turns out it is indeed magic, and I wish it for my trusty steed as we ride out with the good Sir Steven, most noble UniCyclist of http://www.unicycle50.com/ fame. The bike is blameless in the short episode of carrying required today, during which I sprained my thumb. On the trial ride, I took a wrong turn and ended up in an unfamiliar one-way system underpass - escapable only by climbing some blasted steps *gives thumbs up and winces*.
Howard kindly lent me a bike rack to attach magicbike to the car, but without instructions, it appears to require similar technical savvy to building a space station. It seems it is yer actual rocket science, and although, spookily, Howard works with rocket scientists, he isn't one. And nor am I.
So the bike remains in the distant reaches of the northest of north London ... while I'm setting out from deepest, darkest, southest of south London - the day after tomorrow. Oh goody. It's all starting to get a bit too Raiders of the Lost Ark for my liking. Impediment after challenge after snafu. If I'd wanted the 12 challenges of Hercules, I'd've changed my name by deed poll ... to, um, Hercules.
And so to bed ... with painkillers ... it's all going swimmingly doncherknow. Trouble is, it needs to go cyclingly *sigh*.
Howard kindly lent me a bike rack to attach magicbike to the car, but without instructions, it appears to require similar technical savvy to building a space station. It seems it is yer actual rocket science, and although, spookily, Howard works with rocket scientists, he isn't one. And nor am I.
So the bike remains in the distant reaches of the northest of north London ... while I'm setting out from deepest, darkest, southest of south London - the day after tomorrow. Oh goody. It's all starting to get a bit too Raiders of the Lost Ark for my liking. Impediment after challenge after snafu. If I'd wanted the 12 challenges of Hercules, I'd've changed my name by deed poll ... to, um, Hercules.
And so to bed ... with painkillers ... it's all going swimmingly doncherknow. Trouble is, it needs to go cyclingly *sigh*.
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