Dog Poem

Poem to a dog:

Dog,
You are always trying to eat my wheels,
And snapping at my heels 
Have you ever wondered how that feels,
To be chased,
So one pedals in haste,
All over the placed,
And ends up crashing into a jogger called Sonia who is listening to Mumford & Sons on her mp3 player,
Causing me to delay her?

THE END

Angry Rant

Nicely balanced piece on the BBC Breakfast show this morning about how People on Bicycles are dying because they are riding themselves under vehicles. 
So effin angry I can hardly think. Every day, EVERY EFFIN DAY, someone almost kills me on my ride to work. I am just riding to work, obeying every road rule, being very considerate to every road user I come across, but this does nothing to protect me form people driving cars who see me as a cyclist, someone inconveniently in their way, someone not human with a family and a life and emotions, but something that an be hit with no consequences.
People driving have only their perspective of a situation that in no way risks their life, they calculate situations without factoring that an actual life is involved and at risk, mine.
Unless people change their twisted world view people on bicycles will continue to be killed over and over again, your father, your mother, your daughter, your son, your nephew, your niece, your neighbour, dead under the wheels of indifference.

Ambush

There was a tree across the bicycle path this morning, a perfect squirrel ambush sight, and right enough there were loads of the nut suckers raging amok, totally losing their shit, Percy the Park Keeper would have flipped his bleedin wig.

WORK LOAD

This morning I woke up at 5 and had breakfast then made a picture of chickens for my sister-in-law then made breakfast for everyone else then I put my one of my angry teenage boys' Xmas cards to his paper round clients into their envelopes then I helped the other teenage mope-a-bot clean his fish tank then I made everyone's lunches then I carried a toilet down stairs and put it in a car then I rode eight miles to work on my bicycle and now I've found out I'm not having a Christmas holiday due to deadlines at the beginning of January.

No wonder I just told the delivery driver a minute ago that his "van looks stupid and if you're not off my property in thirty seconds I'm respraying it"

Seasons Greetings

It was very dark as I rode home the other night for the start of my Christmas break. I was going a route that I don't usually travel along, along where the canal path joins the river path in Bath, due to it being the hang-out of flailing drunks and school children desperate to stab something.

There's a bit that goes very thin, called the Cataract, and only one Person Walking/Jogging/on a Bicycle can pass at a time and due to my innate politeness I always stop my Top-of-the-Range Bicycle-from-the-future for other people to come through first. 

One thing I do expect is a "thank you".

I know that your not meant to expect thanks for your acts of kindness, and you'll only be disappointed blah, blah, effin' blah, but if I don't hear those two words, or something amounting to it, I start to lose my world-reknowned cool.

Well on this occasion, I saw another Person on a Bicycle approaching the Cataract and I stopped to allow their passage. The rider had no lights on their bicycle, and they were in dark clothes, and they had no helmet, and their bushy mad hair stuck out in all directions.

"Merry Christmas!" I merrily chortled in my merry way.

"You Bastard," said the approaching bike-riding darkness.

A red mist suddenly descended from the sky and wrapped itself around me and I started to shiver with it's intensity. As the unfriendly dark rider drew near to go past me, I could smell his fetid, drunken breath, see his terrible flame filled eyes, and I could feel the demons within him. I knew what I had to do.

Flinging out an arm, I caught him across the neck. He made an odd gagging noise and then toppled to one side, over into the scrub on the waters edge.

"I said, 'Merry Christmas'" just incase he hadn't heard me.

He was struggling for breath and didn't seem that keen on answering me. I got off my amazing bike, put the composite alloy stand down, and walked over to where he was lying, entangled in his bike and the undergrowth, a shaking, open hand raised towards me.

"Here, let me help you up." I said.

I reached down and pulled his bike out from under him. It was an inferior, old make, that was probably stolen or something, it didn't even have a motor. I threw it as hard as I could across the river. It hit the other bank, bounced around for a bit then splashed down and sunk out of view into the black water.

"Looks like your walking, buddy," I quipped.

Then I turned my head downward to look at his pathetic, frightened body far below me. He slowly reached into his dirty, oily coat and pulled out something, something small, furry, and full of the furious furry fires of fetid hell; a squirrel.

I stumbled away backward, reeling in horror, fear and despair. He placed the squirrel on the ground and pulled another from his coat, an then another, and another. Before long, he had pulled some thirty or more hideous, rodent nut-botherers from a hidden cavity in his abdomen.

Wow, I look AMAZING. Pee-oww! Bang! Splat!

The squirrels formed themselves into one enormous super squirrel and shot towards me, arms flailing like a flail. I neatly side stepped them and then pushed off from the ground and shot into the air, only to crash down again directly as a gnarled giant clawed claw grabbed me. I lashed out with my other foot and sent the massive mutant howling into the river water, where it thrashed around screaming the many tiny squirrel screams that come out of a mutant ginormo super squirrel as it drowns.

Glad that that was over I got back on my bike and headed home for the Christmas break, safe in the knowledge that I had struck a deadly blow against those who think "manners" are just a cockney gangster's territory.

Psychopath

Today is my first birthday. 

For one year I've been jotting down my experiences of over five years, riding my top-of-the-range-incredobike, exactly as things happened.

But this is one story that I have never told. A story so horrifying, so steeped in fear, so despair giving, that until now I have been unable to speak about it.

It was the day I met a psychopath and almost died.

CLICK THIS:

It was an average kind of evening when I was making my merry way over the top of Widcombe Hill, past the University, when a car overtook me as another car was going past on the other side. The road is quite thin, but the Black BMW Licence Plate W*****R squeezed past me, within a bank vole's cobblers, doing about 40 mph. 

As I wobbled about trying to stay on my cutting-edge-of-technology bicycle, I shook my head in disbelief of what had happened.

Big mistake.

The Beemer, instead of just roaring off down the road like the bloated germanic nazimoblie it is, pulled up like it was going to turn right, but there was no right turn! What was this Person Driving A Car up to? I cautiously approached and made to ride through the gap on the inside.

Bigger mistake.

The BankManagingWankmobile, started up and cruised along side me, hideously close, and then the window wound slowly down.

"Are you OK mate?" came the vile voice, full of mocking hatred.

I said nothing.

Mega mistake.

"Are you alright?" he uttered like an evil Darth Vader or maybe even the Emperor it was that evil.

I kept my silence and rode on, I thought it best not to provoke him any more. 

Global mistake.

Steam was rising from my whirring legs, but he somehow he managed keep along side me. He could see I was trying to outrun him. I risked a glance to check out my foe. Just as I thought, a smartly dress out-of-shape fellow in his early thirties with a face full of unleashed evil and twisted monstrousness. As our eyes met, mine good, his burning with the devil's Maglites, I knew what I must do.

Switching my Bicycle-from-the-future into full auto, I leapt up onto the seat, and from there I jumped onto his roof. Just as I was pulling my Berettas from the holsters on the small of my back, his roof started to go backwards. I had failed to notice it was a convertible. I made a grab for the black canvas.

"What the hell are you doing?" he screamed as the car screeched to a halt. I was lucky to hold on. I knew I had to act quickly, before he could bring his laser eyes or mind control, or whatever these super-villains have, to bear upon me. Someone had to stop this psychopath now, and fast, before he killed someone.

"I am going to end your reign of horror now!" I roared, as lightning flashed all around me.

"Wha...?" He uttered in a guttural gurgle.

I pounced into the cab and proceeded to wrestle with him to remove his car keys. I easily overpowered him, because even though he was drenched through with malice and evil power, I am 6 foot 3 inches and really rather massively muscular, whilst he was really rather weak and didn't put up much of a fight.

I got the keys of evil in my just hands of good and turned and threw them into a nearby field full of cows.
"Thanks cows," I quipped.
"What the hell did you do that for, you...you...lunatic?" He raged.

I said nothing. Well, what can you say to people to make them realise what they are doing is wrong?

In one swift, smooth movement I leapt back onto my bike and rode on, safe in the knowledge that I had no number plate and was untraceable, unlike him, who I could easily find out where he lived and follow his wife home and stare at his children from across the street and burn his dog and poo through his letter box and get on his roof and kill his plants and rummage through his rubbish and live in his shed and appear in his bedroom one night and turn up where he works and form a sexual relationship with his widowed mother and wipe my wabblers all over his car door handles.

I think I have made the roads a little bit safer for everyone.

Now check out my Happy Birthday song video below.

Do it

or you're next.

Cheat

As I rode my merry way down the canal path the other evening on my way back from work, I spied ahead of me a group of Crusty Jugglers shuffling around.

As I drew closer I could see that there were two grimy males on a bench to the left, on the path was a female and a small Jugglet, and on the other side, next to a canal boat was another female and her male tie-dyed partner.

As I drew closer I rang my jolly bell as a warning of my approach and I hoped they would clear the path for me to carefully pedal on past. This did not happen. As a unit they turned to face me. I slowed my incredible super bike even further as I noticed the scraggly haired male on the bench, clearly the tribal leader, open his vegan pie hole and speak.

"Hey watch out, here comes that crazy cyclist."

I ignored this slight insult (cyclist, indeed!), said nothing, and continued at a cautious crawl towards them.

"Oh look, he's a cheat, he's got batteries on his bike!" 

This stopped me dead.

The other Crusty Jugglers laughed like the acid-cripples they were. The Jugglet just stared, dead-eyed, at me.

"What did you say?" I knew exactly what he had said, I was just saying it to be threatening because you say stuff like that if you want to be threatening, and getting people to repeat themselves is really scary for them, just ask deaf people.

There was a tense few seconds when no one did anything, and I glanced from Juggler to Jugglet to Juggler again, gauging them, looking for weaknesses. Their choice of knitwear was awful, a definite flaw. Suddenly there was an almost imperceptible movement from the other, shaven-headed Crusty on the bench, as he reached a hand for something just out of my sight. 

It was an ambush.

In one swift flowing movement, I leapt from my bike reaching for the twin Barettas in the holsters on the small of my back, and unleashed a hail of covering fire as I fell into the cover of the hedgerow. I heard a loud boom as a shotgun blast shredded the leaves nearby.

Glancing out I saw that I had felled the male of the crusty couple by the boat and the female was trying to drag his body to the safety of the boat. Two out of the action already, a great start, but I was lacking cover and the Alternatve-lifestylers had good firing positions. The female who had been in the middle of the path with the Jugglet had disappeared, which caused me some concern, but right now I had to deal with the two male Crusties who were firing on me from their position behind the bench. Shavehead continued to blast at me with his Spas 12, and Big Chief Scraggly had twin MAC10 Ingrams that he was firing wildly all over the place.

He was as high as Christ, and twice as dangerous.

"Die, you low down cheating sonofabeeeeeeech!" he screamed.

"Yeah!" agreed Shavehead shaking his hands silently above his head in agreement, then letting off another shot in my direction.

Suddenly, behind me the bushes erupted as the female and the Jugglet came crashing out. The mother(tree)hugger had outflanked me! Worse than that, she was wielding a glittering samurai sword which she swung with deft precision at my neck. I thrust my right Baretta up and blocked the blow in a shower of sparks. I was suddenly aware of a searing pain in my left leg and looking down I saw the Jugglet had pushed a ceramic combat blade into my thigh. It was looking up at me with a curious expression of curiosity on its dirty urchin face. Curious, I thought. I could see the other side of my top-of-the-range Gortex Water/Windproof breathable riding trousers start to bulge as the blade pushed it's way out. Blood splashed down on my very expensive cycling shoes, which are awesome.

"Drum circle this, bitch!" I quipped as I swung my Barretta around, twisting the sword arm of the ninja hippy, and then put my other gun under her chin and pulled the trigger. A fountain of stuff that was seconds ago safely inside her head showered down on me and the Jugglet, who was still putting the knife in. I knew I had to distract it somehow.

"Look, a pretty birdie!" I voiced, pointing to the sky to where I was pretending a bird was flapping about.

But there was something coming.

As the Jugglet looked around we could both see something huge flying towards us at great speed, silhouetted by the sun. Only at the last second, just before it's arrow sharp beak speared through the Jugglet's knife arm, did I realise this was The Heron come to help me again. He swooped low over the scene, carrying the silent, yet struggling, Jugglet away.

"No! Skylark, Nooooooooo!" screamed Shavehead as he leapt from his cover to catch the Jugglet as it passed. He missed. I didn't though, one shot from my still working Baretta took him down, like Bambi's mother.

It was just me and Hippius Maximus left. I took the initiative and whilst he was distracted with his buddies demise I pounded across the space between us. He stood and up, rage on his unkept face, and raised his MAC10 as I slid towards him. We both ended up facing each other, guns against each others heads. We both pulled our triggers at the same time, but only the clicks of empty chambers were heard.

"The next bell you'll ring will be in hell, bike man." he menaced, raising his other MAC10 to my head. It clicked empty as well.

Horror, fear and despair shot across his eyes as I reached down, pulled the ceramic blade from my leg and pushed it through his chest.

"Get a job, asshole." I whispered.

As his twitching body slipped to the ground I realised I should ask my doctors to try me on a different anti-pychotic drug as these ones really aren't working that well.

I blinked a few times, looked about myself at the path, and the confused and frightened faces of the Crusty Jugglers standing around me, got back on my bike, rode home, and had dinner. 

I think it was Three Bean Bake. Mmmmm, yummy.