I AM ON HOLIDAY (special)

I do not like going on holiday. I like working and staying at home and stuff. Holidays are for chumps who love to waste their money on fleeting things and feeble memories of forced happy times. Saying all that, I still have to go on holiday sometimes, but I have found a holiday that even I can stand. Centre Parcs, and I have got to say that it is AWESOME TO THE MAX.

Number one: I get to take my bike with me. Everyone is forced to ride bikes, even big fat 4x4 driving important business types who look like walruses having sex with a metal  super skinny supermodel with wheels as they puff red-faced up the almost vertical hills. 

Number two: Cars are banned, and anyone found driving one there is nailed to the road and people on bicycles can ride over their groins over and over again.

Number three: All the animals there are alive and not flat with their insides outside and they run up to you and talk and stuff.

You just crossed the line Flatso!

Number four: it has the best swimming pool in the world. It is just a shame they get all shirty when you try and ride your bike down the rapids when you've had too much booze. Those life guard guys have no sense of humour.

They really should put a sign up to say you can't do it, the fiddlewonkers.

Number four: if you live in a tiny crap hole like my house, well the Centre Parcs chalets will seem like a fonking mansion. They have everything you need and are so lovely I have to be pulled kicking and screaming outside every morning I am there. I will admit that is a bit like when I am at home, but then I am being pushed outside to face the horrors on The Route (to work).

Number five: No Dogs.

Number six: No Crusty Jugglers (they can't afford it. Anyway their whole life is like one big holiday at tax payers expense, eh? Am I right? Yeah, a holiday with very little food, no hope of an end and constant misery, like that time I was forced to go to Minorca.)

Number seven: There's a big sports thing there to if you're into that kind of shit. I stay well clear because that is where the very few undesirables who have slipped the net somehow and got in, hang out, drinking and hitting balls with sticks.

Number eight: The Pancake House. If you try and tell me there is a better place to eat on this bollock ball of a planet you are a liar who should stop lying, because people are starting to notice.

House of heavenly delights, sex with eggs.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

SWEARING

WARNING: This bit below contains offensive language of an offensive nature that could cause offence if you are offended easily because you are a fonkin spangwinkler.

Hello. I have a rather chilling tale to recount to you now. It's more chilling than a freezer on the moon and at least twice as pointless. 


If the rain comes down hard on the canal path overnight, the exciting bottomless pot-holes which keep me on my toes can become filled with cloud diarrhoea. This not only has the added benefit of hiding the cavernous earth-cracks from my eagle squinty eyes, but also satisfyingly splashes brownly all over the place as I career through them at dangerously cool speeds, looking like an awesome advert for something fast and cool and dangerous.

I like to pride myself on my total consideration to other path users (I got all 'A's in my own questionnaire (see an earlier blog entry)), so I will always slow or stop for a Person Walking, or tinkle my tinkly bell as a warning that I am carefully coming up behind them. On this particular day I was just riding along what is possible the most puddle-strew, but also the widest, part of the path, when I saw a young woman walking towards Bath, going in same direction as me. 

She seemed to be carrying everything that she owned, countless bags and rugs and shit, all topped off with a cheap crusty acoustic guitar. She was also dragging, in a careless way through the dirty smeg-ridden water, one of those crappy suitcases with those stupid tiny wheels. I duly rang my bell hard, like a teenager in the shower, to warn her of my approach. It had no effect.  Odd, I thought. I slowed down to a fast walking-pace style speed and went right onto the grass in an attempt to go around the wide-load. 

As I pulled alongside her majesty, she made a sudden start, like I had just gone for her and theatrically stumbled into a nearby skank-pool. 

"Ooooo, are you OK? Sorry didn't mean to startle you, I rang my tinkly bell in the direction of your earholes, but you must have not heard, sorry, sorry." I spluttered in what I attempted to be an apologetic tone.

"Piss off you fucking arsehole! I've got wet boots now 'cause of you, you wanker!" she spat with a crazed look on her crazy face, "I've got to spend all fucking day with fucking wet feet now cause of you, you fucking twat. Piss off, go on, just piss off you piece of fucking shit!"

She was only getting started.

"Sorry, but I really didn't do anything." On reflection, this was probably not the best thing I could have said at this point. 

What followed next was a stream of consciousness style swear-athon, which painted a picture of me that would probably win the Turner prize.

Then something happened that finally pushed her totally out of Sane Town and into Wack-job Woods. Three Lyra-clad Psycholists came tearing past her at full pelt, all, one after the other, splashing her with muddy stuff as their wheels passed. They raced on, without a word.

I have to say that my heart went out to the poor waif at this point, as the top of her head flew off and lava shot out of her skull.

"Kind of put things in perspective doesn't it?" I cheerfully announced.

I told the hospital staff that they were dog bites, I don't think they believed my lie, but they gave me the rabies jab anyway. 

"Bite me, lady muck!" Some people take things so literally.

 

THE TAPPING OF THE CROW

If the weather is crisp and fresh like a new packet of Golden Wonder (and not a pack that has been in a convenience store for 15 years and you were in such a hurry you forgot to check the sell by date and now you feel robbed and are having to eat bendy 'crisps'), nothing can be better than pedalling along the frosty canal path on the way to work. One such early morning presented itself recently and I saw something rather peculiar on that morning that I just mentioned.


I had just gone around a bend and into a rather secluded area of the canal, when I saw a very ramshackle excuse for a boat floating perilously in the black, thick waters, tethered to the bank. From the front of the boat, which was furthest from me and so hidden from my view, I could hear a strange, hollow, eerie tap tap tapping.


As I drew closer, in a mix of horror and fascination, I saw a large coal-black bird rapping it's beak on the glass at the front of the floating Crusty Jugglermoblie. With hideous trepidation I pulled up alongside of the demonic Crow, which ceased its ceaseless tapping and slowly swivelled it's head to stare at me, with it's unblinking jet eyes. It locked me in its feathered, winged, bipedal, endothermic (warm-blooded), egg-laying, vertebrate animal gaze, opened it's beak-like mouth and then uttered what I can only describe as a croaking laugh. 


Was the monstrous Omen star laughing at me? Laughing at my face filled with horror, fear and despair? Laughing at my stupid bike gear I am forced to wear so funt-heads can see me on the roads? Laughing into my very soul, mocking my existence, echoing around the void in my heart?


My questioning was suddenly interrupted by the hatch opening on the boat and a hairy thing emerged clutching a bowl in it's claw.


"There you go, Russell, I've got our Sugar Puffs for you." and it handed the bowl to the embarrassed Crow.
All I can say is that I had the last laugh that day, a full ten minutes of laughing and pointing before the police arrived.

Who's laughing now? Not you, you Budgie banger! It's ME, Person on a Bicycle!

CELEBRITY SQUINTS

I have to admit that riding along the canal path to work can be a bit dull sometimes as it doesn't always act like a teenager on a bandstand, throwing up hideous stuff at me all the time and then running off. So, I have to make my own amusement, and one of the great games I play is Celebrity Squints.


I am meant to wear glasses due to my eye lenses being all inconvenient shapes, but due to the outrageous speeds I reach on my top-of-the-line future bike they are in danger of falling off every 4 seconds. So my eyes go sky-clad, open to attack from flies, killer bees and Crusty Children. This all means my eyesight is a little distorted and I have to squint like Clint Eastwood if I want to see any details. Facial recognition is also greatly impaired, so hence my game.


As a Person Jogging, or a Person Walking a Dog, or even another Person on a Bicycle comes towards me I squint at them very hard, my jaw jutting out like an offensive weapon, my eyes staring into their worried and frightened face as I try and guess what Celebrity they are, or  vaguely look like.


During this game Stars who have appeared in my eyes have been many, such as Dame Judi Dench, Sir Daniel Radcliffe and Lord 007 of the Sith Daniel Craig. The Dench is one hell of a Person Jogging, she pounds along scowling, and always puts in an extra burst of speed when she sees me coming, I guess to impress me. Radcliffe, star of those films about a mental magic boy, is very friendly though and always gurgles a merry hallo as he dodges out of the way due to me trying to get a close look. I do keep my distance from Craig though, because I've seen him in a film where he shot someone and played some cards and he was all ripped to the MAX and stuff as he was coming out of the sea in his speedos and I reckon he could handle himself even though he is only 3 foot 7 inches tall.

Hey! Ain't you that guy?! You know the one who has that stupid Blog?

ALIENS part 2 (which was ALIEN3 i think)

So, last time I recounted how I was run off the road by some crazy-assed dock wipe driving a UFO like they owned the planet. Well, I was so shaken up by this Close Encounter that I decided to leave the road of mystery and continue my epic struggle to get home on the canal path. Little did I know what was waiting for me on that route of twilight mysteries...that was because it hadn't happened yet...but it was just about to...


I pottered along the path, feeling relieved to be off the road and away from the Fear Of Real Stuff (FORS), but it wasn't long before the Fear Of Made Up Stuff (FOMUS) came at me like a crack tramp on acid. Questions raised their heads in my brain like ugly children at a birthday party. What was that just out of my field of vision? What was that sound in my ear holes? My speed increased. Soon I was flying along at almost maximum warp, oblivious to the hideous situation I was about to slam head-first into.


Suddenly, I saw something white step across the path about 20 metres ahead of me, from the canal and into the hedgerow, it's dark, oval eyes shining at me. What was it? I quickly arrived at where I had seen the thing walk, or maybe trot across, but as I slowed I could seen no trace of anything traceable.

Don't look at it! It's trying to use it's mind control on you so you don't believe my story!

I was distracted then by shouts and calls from up ahead by the Dundas Aqueduct. As I drew closer I could see the lights of many torches flashing in all directions like a gang of over-excited chameleons' eyes with beams of light coming out of them. I was shocked to see that the people holding the flashlights were police officers in search gear, in their other hands they held long sticks, which I assumed was for rummaging in the foliage and undergrowth. 


But what were they looking for?


They totally ignored me as I carefully negotiated my way past them and I only caught a few snatched words of what they were saying, but a chill ran the length of my spine all the same, "Bloody training courses", "Effin' chilly tonight", "Hey look, mine is a lightsaber, waaannng waaaannng!".


Telling words.


I put two and two together. It was a four that equalled the white thing was an escaped Alien, (and not a deer as my case worker has suggested), with the police in on the cover-up and trying to catch it. This was confirmed to me by what happened next.


I was so engrossed in what the police were up to that I let my inbuilt Crusty Juggler Canal Boat Person guard down. Out of nowhere one staggered towards me reaching out to grab my arm with it's filthy claws, "She's gone!" it wailed, it's fuggy, fetid breath wafting towards me in great alcoholic clouds, "She's gone, and she took all the feckin' 'ome brew wiv 'er." Water was leaking from his eye holes and snot was running out of his red hooter. It looked like a clown who had just been told that he could no longer go within 500 metres of a playground.

ALIEN BOOB JUGGLIN' FREAK.

"Your Alien lover almost run me over on the road after she left you," I blurted. "She was driving her spaceship like a looney, but don't worry because she must have stopped and got out because I saw her going across the canal path, but watch out, a police search team are after her. What planet is she from? Is it nice having sex with her? Have Aliens got great boobs?"


For some reason, the crusty one backed off rapidly with a look on his face which I think was of horror, fear and despair.


Some people just won't be helped.

How I imagine they were in happier times. One filthy river dweller and their alien/deer Hybrid love interest.

ALIENS!

I am going to tell you a story that I have told no other humanoid, not even those chumps in my Anger Management Circle that I have to go to.


It all started one cold clear winter night as I was travelling home along the A36. It can be an enclosed and lonely place if you are riding on your own (even on an incredible bike like mine), and this night seemed to have loneliness in buckets, buckets that were being filled to the brim and then emptied into a swimming pool of full despair and solitude. I hadn't seen or heard another living thingy, or been passed by a autocar for about five minutes when I came to a very straight part of the road that runs through an ancient, densely wooded area of the landscape.


Ahead, I saw something that made me question my own sanity: racing towards me, spanning the whole width of the road were four very bright lights, flying, only a foot or so off the ground, in some sort of close formation. What the hell were they? In seconds they would be on me, so I had to think fast. I pulled over as quickly as I could to the side of the road and almost fell to the verge for cover. The lights whooshed past me, a rush of dirty air filling my terrified lungs. 


How can I describe the sound they made? It was like the roaring of a mechanical tiger mixed with the honking of an enormous robot goose. I was filled with horror, fear and despair as I saw that the first four lights were being closely followed by a set of four red lights! 


Then something happened that will live with me forever and will make me wonder if we are really alone here, is there intelligent life out there anywhere in our galaxy or on our roads? The red lights suddenly split into two pairs and the pair nearest to me incredibly increased in speed and overtook the other set of red lights!


Almost as suddenly as they had appeared the light vanished around the corner and I was left alone again to my racing thoughts. I had definitely seen something out of the ordinary, and for now I had now other explanation for it, other than it was a low flying UFO or something odd and unexplainable, and that it had just had a very close encounter with me!


"Why would they travel all the way across the vastness of space just to run you off the road, you sick, paranoid lunatic? Have you stopped taking your medication again?" you may scream across the living room at me, but I think the evidence speaks for itself.


This should have been the end of what the night had to offer me in Weird Shit, but oh no! I wasn't going to get off that lightly, my night was about to get a whole lot more extraterrestrial on my ass. But that is a story that I will continue with tomorrow....

PROOF that E.T. is a total dick. If more were needed.

SNOW!

You know that white cack that falls out of the sky sometimes?


No, not bird doodoo, the other stuff, that comes out of those other, fluffy, ominous sky hangers. Yeah, you got it SNOW. Now, some people I know are desperate for it to snow, They think that it is just effin' fantastic, because it can stop them from going to work and breaks up the monotony of getting a constant work grinding.


I, on the other hand (which is covered in a top-class techno-top goretex glove, which cost me a shed-load of wonga), I am less enthusiastic. "Hey, you grouchy cokesupper!" you might shout at me across a busy street, for not liking the White Death, but this isn't the case. I like throwing balls made of the mushy crud, and sliding down hills on an old shower curtain on it as much as any toddler, but when it comes to riding my bike on it, I want to fubb it's shit up.


You see, when it drifts, ever so gently, down from the sky, the first place it settles on is the canal path. It is also the last place it will cling onto well after the rest of it has turned into brown slush puppys in the gutters. When this happens, the path turns from something quite lovely and safe to a wild place, full of primeval horror and ancient fears. Bands of starving Crusty Juggling Canal People maraud through the misty drifts with impunity, their enormous packs of snarling dogs desperately snatching meat where they can.

In snow no one can hear you scream. Well, they can, but no one gives a crap.

Trying to ride your futuristic two-wheeled space-age transport thing on snow is an acquired taste, and I've fallen off more times than I can remember now (due to head injuries), so I am not looking forward as many others to this impending wave of white and icy man-traps.


Going on the road is a total no-no. Last time I tried that my gears froze in first gear, and although I was very good at going up the shiny slopes, the 15 mile tail back of very patient and polite drivers got a bit testy when I could only do about 8 miles and hour on the flat. This led to me being encouraged  out of the clear salted strip of road and into the soft welcoming sludge at the side of it. As I lay there with the soft flakes falling onto my bewildered face, starting to bury me, all I could think of was, "I hope when I am found come spring time, and they try and straighten my frozen corpse, they don't accidentally snap my cock off."