Theme Song

Hey! Got nothing better to do? Well check out this Link below. It's my very own theme tune. What? You think that is awfully egocentric of me to have my own theme song? Well, yes it is, but don't you, as you ride along the roads, have a three minute rant pounding on the inside of your skull to get out? Thought so, well here's mine:

LINK TO PERSON ON A BICYCLE THEME SONG, CLICK ME!

http://catnipp.bandcamp.com/track/person-on-a-bicycle

Or listen to it here on this video:

Or if you can't see that then try this link to the Facebook page to watch it there:

PERSON ON A BICYCLE THEME SONG ON FACEBOOK PAGE LINK


It has my complete and utter official endorsement as well as my distain and pity.
Anyway, for any of you chumps out there who are interested in these sort of things here are the 'lyrics':

Verse 1:
Hello, I'm Person on a Bicycle
My adventures they can be farcical
But I'm not typically typical
'Cause in a crash I lost a testicle
Attention I crave isn't medical
Although a creme I use is topical
Please don't be over-critical
Of when I ride reading my Kindle

Chorus:
My ravings are non-sensical
Horror, fear, despair make me cynical
I try and write it in an article
Called Person on a Bicycle!

Verse 2:
When I see a big vehicle
Squish a bunny I get hysterical
They tried to lock me in a hospital
Said my problems were purely psychological
Calling me a cyclist is not advisable
Machopaths and squirrels make me flammable
I don't want to get to technical
But fugg 'em, I'm Person on a Bicycle!

Chorus:

My ravings are non-sensical

Horror, fear, despair make me cynical

I try and write it in an article

Called Person on a Bicycle!

Horror
Fear
Despair
Horror
Fear
Despair!

Chorus:

My ravings are non-sensical

Horror, fear, despair make me cynical

I try and write it in an article

Called Person on a Bicycle!

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!

I'm Person on a bicycle

Not a tricyle

I'm Person on a motherlovin' Bicycle!

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

I like the way everything rhymes with ickle. Sort of.
There you go, hope you have many hours fun screaming this at cars as they pass you by in the street. Go and shout it full in the face of some pensioners at a bus stop. Works wonders for the soul!
BYE!

Anal

I have had many a misfortune on my journey that takes me to hell and back. I have seen things that would make most sane people start writing a blog and go over-the-edge crazy in public. Not me though, I face these things with stoicism and patience, not for me is the route of vanity publishing and generally getting on all the people I know nerves with my insessant Internet vomiting. No, I suffer in silence, screaming horror-filled silence.


One of the worse things that I wish I could unsee and rip from my head like one of those brain control bugs that made Chekov go all crazy in The Wrath of KHHHAAAAAAANNN! would be the thing I saw when I was seeing the thing I saw going up Prior Park Rd one day.


It was a beautiful summers day, warm and sunny. Fluffy clouds of water vapour weighing hundreds of tons were somehow lazily wobbling about in the sky stuff. I was in my summer gear, baggy shorts and t-shirt pedalling furiously up the hill. Up ahead of me, a dot in the distance was a Lycra-clad Machopath, making his slow way up ahead of me. He was still ahead of me as I quickly gained on him, although he would not remain ahead of me for long, I thought, no, soon he wouldn't be ahead of me, he would be behind me, instead of being ahead of me. As I drew close to him, I could see he was wearing the customary Lycra short tights things those nutjobs wear, but with one, horrific difference.


This guy must have been a veteran of the roads, and these must have been his favourite skin-tight bottom coverings, but years of wear and washing had thinned these to a see-through state of transparency. I could clearly see his bum cheeks through the molecule thin material.


But worse was to come.


As is the norm with these dickswinging motherlovers, they cannot comprehend that someone else on a bicycle has caught them up. "How could this be?" they whisper to themselves, "I am fughugging AWESOME on a bike and no one alive can catch up with me, 'cause I am just so macho and I should be in the Tour de France if I wasn't busy being a go-getter business predator of the first order and I would probably win it easy, and leave all those Frenchy types behind me like the wangdangling croissants they are!"


But the truth is on my state-of-the-art-of-the-future pedelac bicycle I can whizz pass the Sucking Loaches easy-peasy japanesy. Not this time though. A large line of traffic was passing very, very, very close to us so I was unable to accelerate away pass him, I was trapped. And then the Macho one decided that the race was on and he did what they all try, standing up off their seat and really going for it, pedal-wise.


With a realisation of fear and despair, I now knew what I was faced with, the arse of horror. I could see all the wire-like pubes that covered his hairy spotty cheeks, all packed in and squashed against their Lycra containment field. I though that I would be spared the worse by the pencil thin seam that ran down the shorts covering his crack of terror, but the shorts, old and worn by too many pretend mountain climb stages had given up at the critical place, ripped, and a hole had appeared showing me another hole, the whole of a hole that leads into a person, the Anus!


Utterly hypnotised by this brown eye staring at me, wiggling at me, tensioning and untensioning with each pedal thrust, that for a few minutes I failed to notice the traffic had all gone and I was able to scoot on by him.


As I went passed I puffed "Excuse me, but I can see your asshole."
He must of misheard me, because he really let fly with some serious naughty words. 
Some people, they're offensive from the front and back.

Black bar added to protect the innocent.

Bank Vole Funeral

This week a terrible tragedy befell upon a small thing in this world. I bared witness to this sad and hideously horrific event.
 As I rode my meandering and serene way along the canal path I was suddenly overtaken by a Lyca-clad Machopath on on of those highly inferior racing bikes. At his reckless speed he failed to notice a large (for them anyway) Bank Vole using the path too. The Machopath's bike passed over the furry scamp compressing it. The Machopath rode on oblivious, but I stopped and dismounted and ran to the vole's side. I remembered what Vinnie Jones had taught me and I pumped away with my little fingers on the Bank Vole's squashed chest with the Bee Gees pumping through my brain.

The poor little guy. Wow, my incredible bike looks good though.

  After 30 minutes of resuscitation attempts I finally had to call it. The crowd of people who had gathered around me edged away nervously as I looked up at them. One by one they either ran off or reached for their mobile phones to call the emergency services I guess. 


  After they had all gone and I was alone, I noticed something I had failed to notice before when I wasn't noticing it. By the side of the path was  a curious sight. One Bank vole stood there forlornly, by her side were two smaller juvenile voles. They were staring in shocked horror at the vole on the path.


I bent down and picked up the still warm vole, when I did, I noticed that some seeds and grains fell from the voles limp paws and scattered in the cold wind.
The juveniles had tears trickling down their furry rodent faces and the Mother Vole turned and sadly beckoned for me to follow them.


 I carried the limp vole corpse as I followed them to the canal edge and into a tunnel cut into the bank. The tunnel was dark and led steeply downwards, the sound of the weeping Vole children leading my way. There were many side openings to the tunnel that I passed and the lights of many shiny eyes looked out at me as I made my way slowly down. I could feel something behind me, and I chanced a glance over my shoulder. A huge host of solemn voles were following silently behind me in silence.

A regiment of the Second Company of the Bank Vole Army followed me.

  Suddenly the tunnel opened up into a large cavern, the ceiling of which was the glistening water of the canal! I stood there amazed at the way the water was just held there above my head, but that was nothing to what happened next.


  Two dark shadows appeared above, moving closer to the intersection of the water and cavern. First one beautiful black beaked head, followed by a long snake-like neck, peirced the membrane beween the two elements, and then another. The two swans then passed through completely and fell gracefully to the floor.



"Please lay the Vole King on the stone" the first swan said to me in a voice that seemed to enter my head not through my ears but through my something else.
It was then I really noticed the rest of the cavern. It had been beautifully carved out in intricate designs depicting all kinds of woodland creatures. There were joyous scenes of frolicking, but also of war. The hideous creatures being fought bravely by the critters were none other than the grey squirrels.

With all the solemnity I could muster, I placed the stinking rodent on the stone altar.

I moved nervously to a stone altar at the other end of the hall and placed the Vole King on it.
"Thank you, you have done us a great service," One of the freakily-necked ones said, "We have watched you for many years and have seen your great kindness and consideration to the other things in this world, so we will entrust in you a great secret that we have long laboured with."


The second feathered freak now took up the mental story, "Eons ago an invader came to these shores, the Grey Squirrel, we tried to fight them off but the were just too powerful. Now they have taken over. The ones you know as Lycra-clad Machopaths are really a mass of squirrels jammed into that stretchy day-glo crap and they ride recklessly about squishing us and our friends and being inconsiderate to people."

I knew it!

"Please help us in our war against them. You must seek Croll-Agar T'glloac'ia, the leader of the Red Squirrels, only he can aid you blah blah blah....sword of Righteous Redness...blah blah effin' blah...."
I really at that point had totally lost interest in these certifiably paranoid animals and just wanted out. I decided to feign sleep and just curled up in a corner in a foetal position.


When I awoke I was in a very comfy room. So comfy someone had even gone to the trouble of padding the walls. Hello? Hello? Is anyone still there?

MACHISMO

I sometimes get a lot of hassle and animosity off of other persons on bicycles. I know, hard to believe that I could upset people in such a way, but it is as much a fact as anything else you might read on the internet.


The simple reason for this seems to be my incredible, cutting edge super bike, which is a pedelec. This means it has an electric motor that gives me a boost uphill when my ageing 43 year old body needs it, especially when I can be carrying over 20kg extra weight in my awesome Bikebin panniers. 


I have almost lost count of the times lycra clad psyhcolists have screamed "cheat!", "you know that's cheating, don't you?", "you're on a lazy bike, you lazy c**t!" at me as I have whizzed past them. They seem to be under the misapprehension that I give a shit about them, and that I am only there because they are, whilst in reality I am just trying to go home from work.


Once I had a very mental run in with someone who's machismo was way off the scale. I was happily minding my own business, pedalling away like the madman I am, going up Prior Park Road in Bath. This is a long, steep, picturesque climb of over a mile. About half way up I drew up behind a rather out of shape looking man on one of those fold-up bikes with teeny weeny wheels. The rush hour persons in cars were roaring past us, so I couldn't overtake him, but strangely he started to speed up, his wobbly legs moving in a crazy blur. Oh well, I though, he's just trying to get a move on and not hold me up, how considerate. I just stayed behind him, trying to look for somewhere else to look other than his jiggly arse.


When we were nearing the top he suddenly slowed, and as it was safe to overtake, I sped up to carry on my merry way. As I came along side of him he turned to me and said something that would have filled me with horror, fear and despair if it hadn't been so stupid.


"I'm...not...racing...you...any...more" he wheezed. His face was the brightest shade of purple I have ever seen on a humanoid. Veins stood out on his twisted face like shiny blue snakes in a ugly swamp. Puffy and sweaty, looking like a angry baby tomato, his fiery eyes focused on my bike.
"Oh...you've...got...a...motor, you...cheat!" he puffed with all the venom his swollen head could manage. I stayed silent, it's best just to let these macho psychos just blow it all out of their moronic faces.


Then he said something which I couldn't help bursting out laughing in his bulging, blubbery, slimy face
"I...am...my...own...motor" the swollen one spluttered. I am my own motor? What in Zeus' name does that effin' mean? If he was his own motor, he was one motor that definitely needed to have a large cooling fan, some seats, four wheels, an exhaust, a steering wheel and go-faster stripes attached. His head looked like a giant shiny purple bell end, and I wasn't about to hang around as he shot his anger stuff all over my face.


I'd had enough and zoomed off up the hill.


About five minutes later, when I was pootling along the flat plateau at the top of the hill, minding my own business, thinking thoughts that only I can think and going past Ralph Allen school, the same purple machopath shot past me at an incredible speed. He blurted something unintelligible (probably something unkind about how I was a rubbish person or something), cut across traffic coming in the opposite direction and turned off into the sports centre, presumably to further prove his manliness by getting sweaty with another man by whacking their balls about.


Still, he sure showed me who was the better man.


Oddly enough, I have NEVER had anything other than cheery "Hello!"s and "oooo, tough hill!" from female persons on bicycles. I wonder why that is?

These guys need to grow up.