Hello again

I wish I had an exciting reason for not blogging for the past couple of weeks.

I'd thought about making things up* but I did make a promise to myself that everything I blogged would be honest. So here goes.

I had a day off and all was going swimmingly until I tried to spend some time on Monty. Looking back on it, the balancing went well-ish.

In my head, and in the heat of the moment, it was a disaster.

I swore. I shouted. I actually threw a bike lock on the floor.

It was a full on toddler-style tantrum.

Now, I'm not proud of it but, for anyone watching, it would have been a hoot. A fully grown man going mad at an inanimate object (sorry Monty).

It was after that I decided I needed a wee bit of a break from things and the blog needed to take a bit of a break.

I'm feeling better now, thanks for asking.

Since my last blog, I've really been doing much of the same. OK, it doesn't make great reading but I'm persevering with the stairs, plodding on with the wedding plans, celebrating the WTB's birthday and thinking about cycling quite a lot.

Over thinking has often been a problem for me. It could be the thing here too. I understand the balancing aspect and how the pedals propel you forward, it's just the getting started bit.

Anyway, that's me for now. Normal service will be resumed soon.





* Ideas for lack of blog:

• Kidnapped by damned dirty apes
• Taking part in a coup in Cornwall
• Forming a superhero team to fight a giant robot dragon
• Interviewing for the England rugby post
• Running a cable TV channel dedicated to proper crimping
• Working on my rap album

They're sneakers... for sneaking

The weird thing about getting as organised as we are is that you're always wary about what you've forgotten.
I've developed wedding paranoia. I'm always thinking I've missed something at the moment.
Have the doves got matching outfits?
Did we buy enough shacklegribblers?
Are there enough 'lasers' for the wedding party?

It's the feeling something is sneaking up behind you. You're not sure what it is but you know something's there.

The paranoia is, of course, much better than a last minute panic. Where you find the trained racing pigeons, that we had to get instead of the doves, have all gone on strike.

Around that we're fitting in the bits of everyday life we all have, some Lent bits and the bike. It can lead to moments where you're discussing swatches for the big day and then wondering who is taking out the recycling (it's usually me), all the while trying to get out and balance.

I didn't have any stair music today but had some company up the stairs. It was fun, it's nice to have someone to walk beside. You don't feel so foolish.
Well, you feel silly when you see people coming out of the lifts, but at least you're not feeling silly on your own.

Yesterday, however, I managed, finally, to get some music by Rufus Wainwright for my journey. For those who don't know him, you're missing out.

Block

I've started this blog three times tonight and, so far, I've not found a satisfying beginning.

In fact, I've not yet decided on a good subject.

Usually, before I sit down with Annie, the WTB's Mac (chalk up another name for the list), I've got something in my mind that I will write about.

Whether it's Monty, a wedding doodah or something particularly odd that's happened, I usually can muster something for my fingers to dance over.

I sit and type, never really knowing how it's going to go or where I'll end up.

But today? Nada. It's a slow news day in my brain.

I assume this is a kind of 'writer's block' but, as I'm still writing I assume I have something to write about.

Tomorrow, I hope this will be better. It's Valentine's, as you probably know, and I've got a day off, which you probably didn't know. The WTB and I have something planned. We're off to the theatre. It's not a taxing piece we're seeing so my mind can relax, unwind and have a giggle. 

I think the last few weeks have caught up with my noggin. It's slacking a bit and I'm in danger of falling back into bad habits. I could kill a beer, an ale, something sweet or all three.

Instead, I'm going to look at this keyboard and hope something better comes out from my fingertips tomorrow.

The hard sell

"So, you'll want stabilisers."

I walked into my local bike shop for the first time and I felt like I'd entered a secret society.

Shacklegriblers hung from walls. Men with focused faces walked about with purpose. Words were whispered in code.

I felt a tad out of my depth.

It's weird. I've spent years hiding the fact that I couldn't ride a bike. Excuses were made with friends and, on press trips, I had to pretend I had a phobia.
But since writing this blog, I've been admitting it to so many people. It's now like a badge of honour. "Yes, I can't ride a bike. But dammit, I'm trying to learn."

And so here I was, in a shop I'd walked past hundreds of times before. By the way, this ranks as the second manliest thing I've done, after buying a hammer.

I'd gone in to pick up a pump. While Monty has a nifty one that I occasionally will use as a stand-in lightsaber (stand-in, that is, until they perfect the science), Diana needed a new one. She's got this weird valve (ahem) which needed an adaptor and a pump.

Anyway, in I went.

I went for the casual browser method of shopping to start off with. Just looking around and blending in with the background. I wouldn't stand out, I'd just seem like a man who'd been in a thousand bike shops before. I was one of them.

When I realised I was the only one in the shop,  I approached the chap behind the counter. He went for the hard sell at first, pointing me in the direction of the second coolest looking pump I'd ever seen. You could stand on it and push a plunger up and down. I guess it's based on one of those vehicles you see on train tracks in films, usually controlled by someone causing mischief or in a mishap.

When I told him about the learning the stabiliser suggestion hit the table. I gave a polite laugh, guessing he was joking.

He wasn't.

He seemed a little upset.

A little embarrassed, I picked up the cheapest pump in the shop, a free cycling map and a leaflet from the groovy people at Sustrans for a bike pack. Lovely.

I'm trying to get into the whole bike culture. I've joined The Times Cycle Safety campaign and now I've been in my first bike shop.

Let's hope the second visit is a little more successful.

No pain, no gain

There comes a time when you have a dining experience that blows everything else out of the water.

When the finest ingredients work in harmony with each other.

When the chef is at the top of their game.

When the ambiance and experience of your venue blends seamlessly with your state of mind.


Tonight I had baked beans and fish fingers for tea.


While it goes completely against what I should be eating, and while there was nothing fresh in sight, it was bloody good.
The tasty breadcrumbed fish worked beautifully with the tomatoey beans. The chef had cooked the meal perfectly. And, with an old episode of The Simpsons on, it was a nice time to relax.

So, while the WTB was enjoying a double zumba spectacular, I was tucking into the best that Cpt Birdseye and Mr Heinz had to offer. Pure comfort food.

Saturday. That's my next bike lesson. I spoke to my eldest brother Rich and he recommended the gel pad I fitted to the saddle on Sunday. "You'll get callouses in place you didn't know existed," he said, chuckling down the phone.
He's right you know. I'm pretty sure I've got a normal body but once I start riding properly (see, positive thinking) there will be aches and pains in my shacklegribbler.
And, while I'm laughing here at the Carry On-esque sentence I've just written, give me a few weeks and I'll look back at those words and curse that innuendo-laden sentence.

As I'm working Sunday I've got Tuesday off. Yet another day of avoiding the pub and I'm planning to do some riding on my own.

Bravery, don't fail me now.