Long-gone Tommy the Mook,
the steadfast Slowrider,
the over-sensitive underdog,
Emperor of the North Pole.
Thursday, 17 November 2011
I headed out towards the blue hole in the grey sky pushing some tall gears on my road bike. My beloved mountain bike has been sent away after the back brake finally and completely failed once I'd crested the top of a mountain last Tuesday. It's gutting when you have to walk the long way down after the hard slog up- zero reward apart from the wholesome feeling of health for having completed the climb. Today there was absolutely nothing in the diary until band practice later so I thought I'd seize the moment and get out to feel what I could of the paltry heat of the low autumnal sun. The roads were greasy and covered in mud from farm vehicles and fallen leaves, the sort of shit that gets up in every part of the underside of a motorbike so i was happy enough to be on a bicycle. I had the Black Keys plugged straight into my head and a direction purely dictated by where the clear sky was. I passed an angry old man driving too slowly in a big car and wondered what he what he got out of being so angry. I got home and squashed a handful of minced beef into a hot pan, melted some cheese on it and stuck it between two slices of home made bread.
a)- a size of spanner in the Imperial sizing system to fit 9/16ths of an inch nuts and bolts. b)- slightly more than half. c)- Revelation 9:16 "The number of the mounted troops was two hundred million. I heard their number."
d) the standard thread for bicycle pedals.