Get your teeth into this

You couldn’t make it up.


“You only have to look at someone to know they’ve had a really shit life. I look and think: wow this lady really has had a tough paper round.”

She tells me about the cervical cancer she had after the birth of her son. A son who is now in Rome learning about how to be a priest. Jesus-fucking-Christ, you really couldn’t make it up.

Yeah, blessed are those who wake-the-fuck-up and realise who did the damage and how to repair it. However, “not my problem” is her favourite expression, and you just know, someone who repeats this, has had a world of problems on their shoulders, all their crappy life. Not my problem translates into: “how can I make this a bigger problem?”

“Shit, what a mind, and now she’s running a shop that sells crap to an unsuspecting public who have nothing better to do than spend their money on useless rubbish: bottles of sugared water, chocolate bars and crappy newspapers, the likes that should have shut down the printing presses years ago, and done something much more interesting instead.”


It’s not necessarily a nice thing to be a bystander in all this bollocks. You have no choice but to be part of the nonsense, either that or walk the streets with wet-suit shoes on, stuffed with tissue paper because they rub your feet to fuck. And best not forget to put a wire coat hanger on your head to keep your hat on; I kid you not.


That particular homeless man has moved on, to who-the-fuck-knows-where. No longer scaring the shit out of the general public, in this poxy little town anyway, just doing it somewhere else; aimlessly roaming the streets, checking the cutters for discarded cigarette ends, TB not a worry for him, obviously.

Now I’m off to ride up some hills, stretch my lungs, burn my thighs, all for a longer life. So glad to no longer be towing anything behind me though, I’d never manage the 20 percenters. Let’s face it, most of us are towing some kind of shit around with us, and doing it all our lives. Fuck that.

Faceless Cowards

I did read about a 67 year old, (Maris Ozols) and how he suffered a cardiac arrest on the 46 mile challenge of RideLondon last week; so it’s true, we can overdo anything, if we’re not careful. The idea, is to find a little balance and enjoy a number of things, I guess. Unlike the control-freak-workaholic running the local store. Perhaps the priesthood will wake her son and it won’t be too late for him. I doubt it though, I really do doubt it. You couldn’t make it up. Could you?

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