Blossom

As I was riding along Brassmill Lane this morning a Person driving a Huge Articulated Lorry passed me. As they swerved back across the road towards me to avoid the other Person driving a Lorry coming the other way it violently brushed the branches of the cherry trees that line the road.


Pink white blossom and chunks of wood flew like thousands of butterflies and enormous pencils from the trees, twisting, dancing, spinning and clattering about me as I wobbled into the curb inches from my inevitable doom. Falling like snow, I found myself in a beautiful blizzard of petals and logs on the pavement looking up as the soft, feather-like tree prettyfiers fell on my purple wonder-filled face and twisted bone-heap of a body.


All I could think about as I lay there, the rain starting to hammer on my eyeballs, was "That Person driving a Lorry didn't even swerve to avoid those trees, what hope have I?"


"None" said the trees.


I guess it's time I booked another appointment with My Therapist.

Today's Top Insult Pt.2

"Goddamn you, you stupid bastard! Why don't you go and piss on a plug socket!"

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.

Today's Top Insult:

"Get off that bike, fuckwit! I want to shove it in your colon, turn the pedals, and empty you of all the shit you're made of!"

Heron Hitman

With his black stick legs stuck in the slick black canal water The Heron is the most awesome of all the motherlovin' creatures that litter my path to work. This guy is the coolest Bustard around, never moving a muscle when I pass right next to him on my bicycle-from-the-future. When he is flapping gracefully around in the sky bit of earth he looks so graceful and stuff, but what is best is that he looks exactly like a pterosaur.

He is also a deadly bad-ass hunter that uses total stealth like a Predator from that movie where Arnold Sweatynecker had to fight stuff...er...Kinder Egg Garden Cop-out, or something, I dunno, films confuse me, OK?

Anyway, I was having a lovely ride to work the other day, the spring sunshine was warm on my back as I slid, almost effortlessly, through the air that was in and around the canal path, my legs moving in a furious blur as they pummelled my pedals like two leg-like engines. The breathing gas about me was fresh and clean and I started to feel that the world wasn't maybe completely filled with horror, fear, despair and death, when I suddenly took a turn around a bend into a very dark area of the path.

The ancient trees grow very dense here, bending over to meet each other like sumo wrestlers, across the canal. Twisted gnarled Oaks and Ashes create a tunnel of dire gloom and watching terror that I fear to ride through. This particular morning that place of quiet horror was made all the more terrifying by the presence of a grey figure scampering about in the middle of the path.

When it saw me it stopped its incessant scrabbling and went on it's hind legs to look at me, it's hideous bushy tail shaking with a hideous hideousness that filled me with a hideous feeling, hideously like hideousness. Hideous.

I stopped my, frankly, incredible bike using it's brilliant Magura brakes, the red ones, they are the best, great for dry weather and wet, so easy to change as well, although adjustment can be a bit tricky, but when you've got them set up just nice they are AWESOME TO THE MAX, and stood there looking at the thing of evil blocking my way.

It was then that I saw the others, I had ridden right into a bushy tailed ambush! To one side, next to the canal water was another squirrel, and I can only guess at how many had closed the path behind me, I bet it was loads. Just as I thought this was it for me, and the squirrel I hadn't seen at first was about to pounce on my throat and rip out my veins and arteries and bathe in the shower of blood that erupted from my tubes of life, suddenly a beak like a sword shot out of nowhere and skewered the rodent alive!

The Heron had come to save me! In one incredibly swift motion he flipped the floppy nut-cracker up in the air only for it to land in it's wide-open gobble-chops.

"YEAH! TAKE THAT YOU NUT-NIBBLING TREE HUGGER!" I screamed as loud as my lungs could manage. The relief of not being gutted by some noisome fluffy beasts was quite obvious to the family that had just come up behind me, walking their dogs.

The Heron gulped down his meal and then flew off for an after dinner snooze in a tree or something, I guess, safe in the knowledge that he would always have a friend in me.

Please watch this video I shot as I think it explains a lot:

CLICK THIS TO SEE THE VIDEO IF YOU HAVE A MOBILE DEVICE AND YOU WILL BE TAKEN TO SEE IT ON THE FACEBOOK PAGE

Ghosts

There is a lovely road that I travel down in the morning in Bath called Prior Park Road. On a sunny day it is a beautiful whizz downhill at top speedy speed. The scenery is stunning, with Prior Park itself on one side and on the other, an ancient overgrown graveyard.


But at night, on my way home, this all reverses. The road is a steep incline for 1.5 miles and it is dark and isolated. Silence beats on me from all sides like a kettling Police officer. Prior Park House stands tall and menacing at the top of the climb, looking down at me like a police officer who has just beaten me to the ground because I had the audacity to accidentally find myself in the wrong part of London at the wrong time and have the misfortune to look like a Bloodystudent.


Then there is The Graveyard.


It goes on and on and on, bit like me. It is dark, ancient and unfriendly, bit like me. It takes the dead into its arms and holds them, forever, bit like...no not that one, legally I must say, not that one. The creeping horrors that lurk within, creep as they lurk about creepily. A creeping sense of horror, fear and despair creeps my very soul as I puff my creepily purple-faced way up the creepy hill.


Travelling past it I always see the dead just standing there, impassively looking down at me, yes you heard, their dark figures unmoving, their pale mask faces following me as I struggle pass. I'm just like that kid in that film with Bruce Willis in it, you know, Home Alone. I've got used to seeing their frozen faces and it doesn't really bother me now, but something strange happened this thursday night as I was travelling home very late from work that struck me as strangely very strange.


One of the dark figures was shuffling about nervously, I slowed and stopped at looked at it. Its usually unmoving mouth was trembling and it looked as if it was about to speak to me. This is something that has never happened before. Usually I don't hear a peep from these guys, but now one was about to communicate. What would it say? What secrets from beyond the grave would it tell me? At the very least it could tell me if being dead is really as boring as it looks.


As his mouth opened wide to utter words from The Other Side, another corporeal dude shuffled over and gave the first stiff a nudge. The open-mouthed one quickly shut it, shrugged at the nudgey one and hung it's head in, all I can assume, was an embarrassed admission of guilt.
I looked as meanly as I could at the spooky bully, he took no notice and just glared me down, bastard.
I rode off none the wiser to what the ghosts keep to themselves....after all, what else have they got? Eff all.

LINK TO VIDEO ON FACEBOOK PAGE