Mostly lemon based

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  • In answer to my thoughts yesterday…

    I have a cold. A real stinker too; I woke up this morning at 6am with the headache to end all headaches, and my balance gone to shit. I ended last night knowing I had a cold coming (and thus supped Lemsip (Painkiller and Decongestant)) but to no avail. My sinuses are full of crud and my temperature is going all over the place. Thus I am unilaterally deciding to take today, and probably tomorrow off. The fact I couldn’t work out if it was safe to cross the road when going to get tissues / milk this morning may have something to do with this decision – I don’t think I could actually safely make it to university anyway…

    On the plus side I’ve finished Season Three of the Fast Show and watched 5 episodes of Azumanga Daioh today :-)

  • The Sunday Catch-up Post

    So, it’s very strange. If I’m here, no one updates at the weekend. I go away for a weekend and have seven pages of LJ to read through. 7. Pages. Seven. Gah!

    Anyway, on Friday I got home from a (shockingly useful and interesting, no really, Work Based Learning Day) during which I handed in my NP5 placement documents (I passed, thankfully; however now I’ve got 10 weeks of ‘work’ on a new ward, during which my only outcome is to not kill anybody) and struggled through shaving my legs well (as opposed to the ‘adequate’ I normally do when going swimming) and gathering together the stuffs for my trip to Rocky Horror. I even remembered to take the map, so as I could pop in at Ray’s and collect the Towbar. Of course, it being me I managed to get out the door a staggering hour later than intended (though to be fair I did spend rather longer than I’d intended at Uni / Hospital, what with popping by to greet the new ward. Of course, I neglected to ask them what time their shifts start).

    Having piled stuff in the car I headed up the motorway. And for the first time in my life I am thankful to a Bentley driver, because as I was heading up the motorway the engine’d got a bit louder. Not *lots* louder, but the level of louder I associate with the exhaust manifold managing to slacken off and thus, giving the effect of hole’d exhaust. But given the fact that the exhaust I’ve got doesn’t really fit the manifold very well (for reasons I don’t understand given that it is the right part) I’ve kind of got used to this occuring.

    But as I tore past the Bentley he dashed out behind me flashing his lights rather excessively; I pulled sideways, looked round as he came past and he mouthed ‘your exhausts come off’ at me. I thought ‘arse’ and made a dash for the hard shoulder. He was half right; it’d snapped. The high quality, long life, stainless steel exhaust’s snapped just in front of the rear silencer. The application of a substantial amount of force and the thing came off and was dumped, unceremoniously in the boot. I pondered for a second and decided I still had one silencer and that’s good enough for the original mog, hopped in and headed on up the motorway.

    And hit traffic. I’d planned to nip by Ray’s on Friday… but this was clearly a flawed plan; insofar as if I ‘nipped’ by Ray’s then I’d not get to Chrissy’s until after we were s’posed to leave. In fact, given the traffic I was encountering getting to Chrissy’s in time to leave would be hard anyway. Fortunately, I have a plan for moments like this… “Drive faster”.

    So, yes, ignoring the near annihilation by careless lorry drivers, the near-emergency-stop to avoid becoming one with the minor and a 7.5 tonne truck, and the insane number of people convinced that being overtaken by a Morris Minor means that they must instantly speed up, pass the mog and then slow down again; ignoring all of that, I got there at ten past 6. A mere 1.5 hours later than intended.

    I flumped into a chair and Chrissy offered me a tea. When she came back I queried when we had to leave. A quick check of the time table and the discovery was made that ‘in about 20 minutes’ was the optimum (*only*) time to leave if we were to make it to London in time. Thankfully I’m pretty quick at getting a basque on, although the stockings really didn’t want to play. The new suspenders were a bit tight on the stockings and it took a while, but at any rate, we made it; looking something like this:

    Lauren and Chrissy

    Kate on a Train

    So, err, yes. That’s me. On a train.

    The Rocky Horror Show absolutely, totally and utterly rocked. It was such a laugh, and made me wonder why I’d left it so long to go again. Apart, obviously, from the ever present monetary issues. And it really is quite fun being a shameless hussy now and then, wandering through the streets of london in my undies. Although by the end of the day, when we got home (at 1ish, I think?) my feet were saying something quite rude about the 3″ / 4″ heels. I’d measure them but all my rulers appear to have disappeared. Anyhoo. There’s more rather random picture spam here (although only one more underwear shot, and that’s blurry). It really is random by the way, what with covering my wander round Huntingdon this morning.

    So, yes, then yesterday I spent most of the day asleep; and then having woken up, wishing that I had much stronger painkillers. Eventually I downed my usual brufen / paracetamol combination, drinking lots having not helped, and started to feel remotely like some kind of human being – which meant that by the time Dr Who came on I felt human. Due to Chrissy’s NTL box having a fit of insanity we watched it in 4:3, which was very odd (no, seriously, really quite odd, it’s obviously a Widescreen program, on a widescreen telly, but the edges were being chopped off). Good episode, although very very much a second half to the first one. Probably want to watch it again with the first episode – so as to get the whole flow of it.

    Eurovision came on I could eat Curry and drink Cider. Which turned out to be an excellent plan. And watching Lordi win Eurovision has got to be the Best. Thing. Ever.

    They simply Rock, and I await the Arockalypse with baited breath. I also have the Lordi Album now…

    Um. So. Yes. I fear I have become sick, I have the lurgee waiting with baited breath to consume me.

    Anyway, so I wandered round Huntingdon this morning and took a few shots of an abandoned house. At least I think it’s abandoned. The bizzare thing is that the hedge is trimmed, but there’s no signs of use on any of the locks, and there’s lots of broken windows. So I suspect that the council may have nipped round with hedge trimmers.

    And then I spent a very chilled out morning back at Chrissy’s, before piling in the car and heading back (via Ray’s, this time).

    And then I got back and my PC wouldn’t boot. Yes. hal.dll was apparently missing, and there were a couple of corrupt files on the disk. Now I’ll just say this once, okay?

    WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH WINDOWS?!

    There.

    I shut it down, and it *dies*. Well, semi-dies. A reboot and a checkdisk and it thinks it’s okay. I await the collapse of the tower of cards with a real fear (since it’s my work machine). *sighs*.

    I am starting to wonder if it’s time to start from scratch. New *everything*, because I can’t help but wonder how it’s going so badly wrong. Anyway.

    Having got the machine to boot I read this. This is a very good post. You should all go and read it. Go. Now. I wish I had the skill to express thoughts this well, but she’s managed to put everything I can consider thinking about this and the related issues it conjurs up.

    But then I read this; which is Awesome (no, not like a hot dog).

    I think you’re sufficiently updated on my life now, so I’m going to eat food; and vegitate; because I feel rough as hell.

  • Dreaming

    One of the slightly irritating things about being me is I very, very rarely remember my dreams. Usually I have no sensation of having dreamed at all. Perhaps, given the falling / dying dreams / nightmares that used to occupy my mind this is a good thing; but in general I find it a bit sad.

    So waking up and remembering leaping about insanely to Oliver’s Army (Elvis Costello and the Attractions) and dancing up and down flights of stairs; well; it leaves me going “what on Earth was I dreaming about?!”.

  • Fuck! A Bus!

    Not, obviously fuck a bus, that would be twisted.

    No, so I went into town today to spend vast sums of money and be astoundingly girly. I spent vast sums of money having my hair cut… and having a conditioning thing done. I have no idea what the nourishing conditioning thing was, but it involved me feeling (a) very femme, and (b) like a movie character as I sat reading Marie Claire under a steam thing. Yes, that’s right, I’ve no idea what the thing is called. But it’s a steam thing. What’s worse is that I found several interesting and entertaining articles in Marie Claire (checks her temperature). Anyway, femmyness over, my hair was reduced in length, again, so it should go a bit more spikey.

    So I headed out and searched for prezzies for the illustrious Jakob; who, I’m told, in his third year of existance seeks a Microphone. Not a good, high quality one you understand. Just ‘cos he likes singing at things, so I got him one, & some colouring books. I also picked up something which my friend Kate had been on a quest for. It is alledged, by her, that in the States thoughts are allowed to dance, unfettered, unrestricted by the rules of the feint margin upon the pages of their notebooks.

    It turned out that here, being a more restrained, regulated sort of country, all our notebooks carry within them the power of the feint ruled with margin darkness. She railed against this restriction upon the freedom of her thoughts to roam, eventually capitulating only when she had searched the length and breadth of the globe Bristol.

    Today, unwary as I was, I stumbled into some den of iniquity, some place of heinous miscreancy where such dubious commodities were available to the imprudent and the irresponsible. However, knowing the depth of Kates desire I purchased for her one of the afforementioned artifacts and carried to her abode, much to her joy.

    So, err, yes, I bought her a journal with blank pages. And then I began my second quest of the day, to find knickers to go with the basque I own. Knickers that would both appear to be revealing and either cover plain knickers, or alternatively not really be revealing in themselves. Or to find velvet hotpants. Why? Because my (nice) basque (as opposed to the cheap and nasty basque) is, well, it’s got knickers with it which are somewhat unsuitable for roaming the streets of London; and so it was that I decided to roam the streets of Bristol in search of something that if not matching the mesh / velvet basque would be close enough for the Rocky Horror Show.

    Sadly I failed. I think it’s the longest time in my life I’ve spent hunting for underwear, I’d not really realised how picky I was about it. Anyway, to cut a long and unexciting story short in which I visit a large number of shops and stare dejectedly at a large amount of lingerie; I found a new basque substantially discounted in Debenhams (70% off) and a close-enough-as-will-do pair of knickers under which I can wear my black haynes ones (no, not as in the car manuals).

    So that was cool, and in the end cost me 12 quid. I just hope it all fits. I was in a hurry by this stage… because I was meant to be getting my, err, um, eyebrows done… yeah. Um. So much for the end of the femmy stuff. Yeah, I headed back to the car, and this is where the title comes in. I didn’t take my camera with me, and all day I kept spotting fantastic abandoned places, fantastic shots, and no fracking camera. Walking through an area undergoing more redevelopment I noticed an ex-pub which had the potential for some lovely shots (just as a side note, frustratingly the floor of the shop-o-crap which contained, I think, an earlyish valve TV set (I only ever saw the back, the shop was never open – but had some woman marketing crap outside it, and I kept thinking I should ask her about it)has gone, and although some stuff appears to have descended into what was, presumably, the basement; it looks like it was largely cleared. Meh.) I was being frustrated with myself for not bringing the camera and promptly attempted to walk under a bus, which lead to me shouting ‘fuck’ and sprinting out of the way. I really must not do that again. It would hurt.

    Anyway, I survived, made it to Subway for lunch and writing more to Rachel, made it on time to Wish, had my eyebrows done. Came home, baked cakes for work (last day on this ward tomorrow); made rhubarb crumble to take round to Nikki and Kates; went round there and watched ‘The Real Davinci Code’ which was dead interesting, but I’m now too tired to write anything coherant about. And now I’m going to bed.

  • I see posts like this and it makes me think…

    Last night I was watching a traffic police TV show (yeah, I know, but I was tired) – and in it was the death of (somewhat freakily) a young nurse who, it’d appear, lost control of her car at night in the wet, hit a crash barrier and was spun – the car at that point lost it’s electics, which meant she was sat; in the dark; on a motorway. The car was then hit front on by a van which didn’t see her until too late. And today, I saw this on my friends page – and this too.

    These things leave me in a somewhat reflective mood. As I said to Lauren yesterday, since my bike accident I have a somewhat more blase attitude about death. I tend to feel, if it’s your time, it’s your time and there’s not a lot you can do about it. Given how astoundingly lucky I was to survive my accident; I’ve lain in the centre lane of a freeway looking at oncoming headlamps and thought it was my time; I do think how close I came to death. And seeing posts like this, they scare me. More than death itself. Death doesn’t bother me, it’s the pain and suffering left behind.

    I’m not sure where I’m going with this. I didn’t know the woman that died (in either case); and the people being hurt by it are at closest LJ friends I’ve not met IRL and have a very poor understanding of, tbh. There you go, there’s a strange thing too, I can see into the lives of people; and they into mine; and I’ve very little idea about who they *actually* are; sometimes it’s an entertaining writing style, sometimes a comment on an LJ post, and I’m drawn into their lives. But my thoughts are certainly with them, losing someone is an incredibly painful thing. Hell, I still think about the friend of mine who died (hit while learning to cross the road, ironically) when I was 6. And I hope those around them give them the support they need.
    Hrm. Anyway, I should get back to baking now I’ve got my recipe for Banana cake. I may be depositing cakes all over the place – I appear to have bought the world’s supply of banana (it was cheaper to buy a big bag than guestimate how many bananas I needed. Same with carrots).

  • No, now I’m exhausted.

    I’ve reached a bad stage of exhaustion. I’ve reached the feeling pissy stage. I’m just having a quick drink (fruit tea, not several pints of wine, which is what I feel like having) and then I’m off to bed. I actually got comments at work about not being myself. Hopefully I’ll feel less like death tomorrow. But I am exhausted. Just exhausted.

    I was going to have a whinge, but I can’t really be arsed. Let’s just say:

    – Non recycleable packaging. Why?!
    – Excessive Packaging. Please stop, as an adult I’m able to discern when a packet consists of 90% empty space, I really don’t need that space around my food, please make your box smaller. All the big box does is unnecessarily waste material and the space in my bag.
    – Why did they stop using proper cats eyes and put stupid reflectors on the roads? Why? Cats eyes last (essentially) forever and are self cleaning and are incredibly reflective. Stupid plastic reflectors get covered in shite, don’t work nearly as well anyway and then flake off the road after a few months leaving no fracking reflective effect at all.

    So that saves me whinging about that later.

    In other news, the speedo on Cherry randomly stopped working on the way home tonight. It was working when I pulled out of the hospital, and then about 1/3rd of the way home, just stopped. I’ve had a quick check of the cable and it looks okay (when connected to the drive the speedo end wouldn’t turn; when not connected it would. Neither end could be withdrawn from the sheath). The speedo drive still seems to be turning with the wheel. So I’ll have to have a more thorough check err, tomrrow, I hope. I’ve also re-re-readjusted the stupid cheap mirrors (you have to undo a bolt to change the adjustment which makes it somewhat difficult to do while riding). Anyway, I need to fall into bed at this point. So that’s my plan. g’night.

  • Feeling surprisingly human

    Well, I have got no work done today, I’ve booked to spend money on my hair and I’m trying to get an appointment to get my eyebrows done. I really *should not* be spending this money. But I’m going to, just watch me.

    Anyway, yeah, good morning, I headed out after watching the last episode of Series II of the Fast Show over breakfast (I forget about the random touching bits with the characters) – one more series and specials left. I’ve started getting Lost again, so that I can start Season II from where I left off and then catch up. Once I’ve got the dissertation done.

    Anyway, so I headed out (did I mention that?) to go get shoes for Rocky Horror. Well, I say shoes. More boots. They’re not as good as the ones that disintegrated, but they’re cheap and cheerful; and seeing as I was out that way I nipped into Poundstretcher (but forgot what I went there for until I got home (cake tins for-to-take cakes to work to say thankyou)). And then twigged that rather than drive back and stop at Sainsburys I could nip to the ever lovely Lidl; which I’ve not done for ages.

    Having checked I had actual cash-money I headed to Lidl and picked up stuff, and then headed back to the greengrocers for some other fresh bits and pieces. I’d forgotten what it’s like to live near enough to shops to pop out and round them, which is something I miss out here in ‘burbia. I felt all warm and fuzzy. Sorta :-)

    Anyway, yeah, I booked in to get my hair trimmed (and a free conditioning treatment, bloody ought to be at that price (they only have senior stylists on the day I can go… :-/ )… ‘cos it’s getting messy and unwilling. Which is, I guess, the problem with short hair. I’ve never paid this much for a cut and blow-dry before, but hey. Just this once. It’s nice to spend money on myself, not on my bike or my car, just sometimes :-)

    And all of you can shut up about me being girly.

  • Knackered… again.

    So I spent the morning working on my dissertation. Well, a hour or two of the morning and I’ve finished (well, first generation finished) section 3.1; this means 1/3rd of chapter 3 is done. So, the list goes thus:

    Abstract – N
    Introduction – Y
    Methodology – Y
    Critical Review – 1/3rd
    Conclusions (2k words) – N

    That makes me feel lots better. Hopefully I won’t be too exhausted tomorrow to do more. I’m cooking rhubarb crumble on Tuesday (I’m on an Early) assuming I’ve not collapsed through exhaustion so if anyone wants any then just gimmie a shout… but I really am exhausted.

    I shouldn’t have gone out last night but Lizbuf tempted me with Dr Who and Chinese Takeaway; and also the fact that I love a challenge and getting showered, dressed and to her house in a maximum of 50 minutes sounded fun *grins*. I’d actually declared that I was too tired, and too poor to go to the cinema… so, err, I wasn’t shunning my other friends… I really wasn’t. *grins more*. I also managed to take my housemate’s phone with me, rather than mine. This is because we have the same phone. Exactly the same phone. This is unfortunate; especially as it was my only means of getting home should Cherry have broken, because I’d not even remembered the spare spark plug / spanner. Impressive huh.

    I’d also forgotten what it’s like visiting people when wearing bike gear. Unlike in the movies, if you want to stay alive after riding through a city you need to wear decent bike gear – with armour in – and so I turn up looking like the michelin man. Also unlike in the movies there isn’t a break between me taking my helmet off and the next shot of me, and the helmet fits, thus when I take it off my hair looks like shite. Always the best way to meet new people :-)

    Never mind eh, it was really good to get out, be sociable and meet new and shiny people; just a shame I had to bugger off so soon after Itm, sorry, Tim arrived, but having been up since 5:30…
    We seemed to spend most of the evening laughing and a disconcerting period of the evening talking about skunkies (don’t ask, okay?); Liz tried to explain who everyone is in CSI:something, which, incidentally is a very confusing show to half-watch when you don’t know the characters… as a result of which, I still have no idea who everyone is. It appeared to involve dead people, which I understand is a prerequisite for Liz :-)

    Liz also introduced me to a takeaway which had an entertainingly different take on the traditional ‘lemon chicken’. More, chicken with thick lemon-squash than lemon chicken as such. It was okay…but I’d not repeat the experience… and couldn’t exactly recommend it. Oooh, oooh, and the gay blokes on the cakes… if I’d’ve had my camera with me you could all share the tale of sorrow of the woman who either got married to or discovered after the wedding that her bloke was gay, and then on another cake you see him marrying his partner. Clearly a cake shop to be reckoned with.
    Ra.

    So yes, a good night. But now I’m tired. And I’ve got to go to work. At least, tomorrow is a late too, so I can maybe have a bit of a lie in…

    I’ve also learned that I am to be the only one dressed like a cheap harlot in a basque when we go to Rocky Horror; fortunately I’m used to this sort of situation (does that sound bad?) and also have no shame, so I don’t mind wandering round london like that. I just hope it’s cool enough (hah) that I can wear some sort of coat. Last time I had to walk any great distance before Rocky Horror I wore a friend’s fleece – and had time to break in the heels. This time I need to go buy boots (perhaps I’ll do that t’morrow) and attempt to break them in before Saturday. Oh, and I need to get my hair cut and my eyebrows done.

    Argh! There aren’t enough hours in my life to have a social life as *well* as go to uni. This is why I’ve avoided having a social life until now.

  • Music

    I was talking to Nikki about music, or more, she was talking and I was listening being as I was knackered. About how music can evolke a moment, an emotion, an experience that you’ve linked to it in your memories. This can be a good thing, songs can make you happy, or sad, or remember something. The New World Symphony evolkes my dad for me I can’t listen to it without crying.

    I still love it though, it’s one of my favourite pieces of music.

    One of the distressing things about my life, which I thought of when I got this, is that I don’t get to give music the time it deserves. Music is a huge thing for me, I love it, it’s the soundtrack to my life, with my memory being so lousy music and pictures pull great chunks out from places my brain had forgotten they existed in. And at the moment, the current ‘in’ music, well, a lot of it fits in with my tastes. My tastes are pretty broad, and seem to have got broader as time’s gone on. I’m hoping this will be a trend which will continue; like a much cuter version of John Peel (and without the presenting talent) – I just love hearing something new.

    But, because of my uni work and various other things. No, mostly uni work, I just don’t listen to music. Writing my dissertation takes up enough of my brain that if I do have music on (which sometimes I need, sometimes the quiet is overpowering) then I don’t listen to it, it’s just background. If I put music on, like now, then I listen to it on the crappy little ‘Creative Labs’ speakers which I pulled from a skip at Xebec. One of the things I’m really looking forward to, when I finish my course, is listening – properly to some of the music I’ve aquired over the last few years. And going to gigs.

  • I know, I shouldn’t have booked the MOT…

    …when the bike wouldn’t start.

    But honestly, I thought it was the battery. I left the battery on charge after it wouldn’t go this morning; booked the MOT, crossed my fingers and prayed. At 1500, a full hour before the MOT I wheeled Cherry out of the garage onto the paving, I strapped all the bits to the bike – my presumption being if the battery is iffy I don’t really want to try and start her and then stop her (him?). She wouldn’t go. There followed half an hour of fettling, of switching the exhaust to the nice in good condition one that I bought for Claire (I couldn’t find it earlier so I’d fitted the ratty battered old one from Claire) because I was working through things I’d changed and that was the most similar to the one I’d had before. Finally I dragged her down the road in a (vain) attempt to get a rolling start. She just wouldn’t run. I’d like to say that my memory of riding two strokes kicked in. I’d like to say that I knew what was wrong.

    But I didn’t. I just randomly cursed and decided to change the spark plug, the old one it turned out consisting of a good layer of oil and very little sparking capacity and thus with 30 minutes to the MOT she was running. I ran round throwing things into the garage dragged the rest of my gear on and sped off. Well, I say ‘sped’. Sped might be an overstatement.

    This is was for two reasons. The first is that my rebuilt brakes have not exactly ‘settled in’ and my first pull on them gave a retardation effect similar to that of loosely gripping the brake disk with some damp lettuice. A couple of squeezes and there was some braking effect, not a lot, but it was definately getting a bit better. The main reason for the slowness was that everyone in Bristol promtly decided that they needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else, at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon. The traffic was dire. I filtered, somewhat cautiously, I’ve not ridden for months, the sun beating down on me. Lord was it hot. Finally, the ring road cleared a bit… and the skies did the opposite. It started raining. Not terribly hard, but just enough to let me know the universe was laughing at me ;-)

    Of course, this was an optimum opportunity for me, out of practice as I was, to experience the wonder of Chin Hung tyres. I’m a stickler for good quality tyres, but not, apparently, so much of a stickler as to transfer them from my other ‘zed to this one. Actually, that’s mostly because I’ve not been so impressed with the Mag Mopus tyres on the 251. I think the bike’s too heavy for the tyres. Anyway. It rained. Not a lot, enough to make a mockery of my summered (de-wintered) bike gear and summer gloves. Damp, I continued on…

    I made it to Hanham at 1555, my MOT being at 1600. I pulled over and checked the map. I struggled through Hanham, it was solid with traffic. Thankfully the rain’d stopped so I could actually have my visor up, but it was so sunny now that I could feel myself melting in my black bike gear. Finally I pulled into the industrial estate, I hunted round and couldn’t see the garage anywhere. I hopped off again to check the address – and look at my watch. 1615. Shit. I might as well see where the bloody place is anyway. The brakes were still spongy as hell (imagine squeezing on a sponge with a frozen pea right in the middle, that’s what it was like) and I had no real belief that – especially with the new computerised system – they’d be able to do the test.

    Finally, after hunting round for about 5 minutes I realised they were on the other side, at the back, inside the large multi-unit workshop. I stopped, killed the engine, stripped off a bit (i.e. my helmet, I didn’t suddenly perform an impromptu striptease using the bike as a prop (or indeed some form of kinky accessory), and wheeled the bike in…

    …and the guy turned to me and said “MOT”?

    “Yep,” I said, “am I too late”?

    “Nope, you’re fine… D’you want a cup of tea?”

    I have never sucked down tea quite as greatfully as that cuppa. I had half a bottle of water too, I was so hot and tired. We chatted while he did the test. He suggested that I might want to get some red dye or somesuch to make the rear light more red (waves at Nikki (:-P)) but that it was okay this year at least. He prodded round the bike; I’ve not seen a bike test before and it’s oddly archaic.

    Eventually he came to the brake test. He rolled the bike onto the rollers and his wife operated the machine. From no-where the bike’s brakes worked. The front wheel locked and the bike rolled forward… off the rollers.

    The back brake though was shite on the way there. I’d tried to adjust it when I got there but the adjuster’s stuck. It’s still covered in quarry dust – and when that went on the roller, he had to press really hard…. to make it pass.

    We chatted awhile while he checked the headlamp alignment (something I’d not bothered with); he even got me to sit on the bike while he did it… Finally he declared that there was nothing really wrong, and that the bike had passed. Cherry. MOT’d. Running.

    As he did the paper(computer)work we chatted, and I joked about the tradition of it raining every time I got a bike on the road – and that it’d rained on me on the way there… as I entered my PIN in the machine there was a deep rumble and a flash of lighting. No, I’m not joking. There was a full on thunderstorm which broke out as I completed payment for my MOT. Piss = Taken.

    I headed out into the rain, the summer gear I had on now demonstraing it’s complete lack of waterprooficity, and rode through the appauling traffic. Now, I don’t know what you think, but as far as I’m concerned; rain should not hurt when it hits you. But it did. It felt like little spears attempting to dig into my skin. When I say, incidentally, rain, I don’t want you to think summer shower. This was torrential rain. This was an inch of standing water on the road. This was me fording streams.

    Finally, I got home. There was 2 inches of standing water on the gravel in the garden. There was a good 2 inches up against the wall of the house. Thunder / lightining. Incidentally, where’s a really bad place to be in a thunderstorm? On a bike.

    I squidged, dripping, into the garage and halfheartedly put away the tools which I’d thrown in there. And then remembered my uniform… ‘drying’ on the line. I continued to drip my way round the garage (wet, but not in a good way) and then wheeled Cherry in. I took my bag off the back of the bike. My mobile phone was sat end down in about an inch of water. Fortunately the MOT certificate was in a plastic sleeve (not just a pretty face, see), the phone however was less happy. I switched it off as I took it in the house, it switched itself back on. I took the battery out. I went outside, it continued to rain, I debated taking off my bike helmet, but instead decided to concentrate on making my uniform for tomorrow dry, so I pulled it all, stuck it inside, and I know no-one will believe me, but as I shut the door on the washing machine and switched it to spin, the rain stopped. I walked outside, yanked my helmet off and informed the universe that it was very funny, just this once, before coming inside and setting up a ‘drying room’ in my lounge using fanheaters so as to have bike gear for tomorrow.

    I still rock though. Even if I am somewhat damp.