Call in the clowns!

Now, far be it from me to complain (🙀) but today, on a lovely ride out to get some scoff, I was approached by what I can only describe as a swarm of dissolutionally desperate doddery old farts on pushbikes. I can fully understand the allure of the Lycra if you sport the athletic frame of a world class cyclist scrapping around a velodrome on a ten thousand pound machine of a bike, but when you’re a grey haired overweight mess on a bike from Halfords, there is just no need for it.

I could smell the ralgex and rose water long before the snake (or worm) of putrid pinks and garish greens of figure hugging obscene garb hoved into view. The squeaking wasn’t just from the overweighted saddles or the tortured tyres, but the wheezing coming from the strained chests (wrapped in the tightest of tops) didn’t sound too healthy. I fully expected at least three to keel over and die at the roadside, but as I sped by, I mentally shrugged my shoulders as now it wasn’t my problem.

The plus side, (there’s always a plus side) was that the old fuckers weren’t driving cars! So at least I would be a bit safer on the roads, or so I thought. Of course without the men, the women got behind the wheels didn’t they! That spelled doom and gloom on the country roads I wanted to skirt along. To be honest, I only nearly died twice today, both at the hands of octogenarians who would be better off with a fucking bus pass.

All in all, it’s been a good day, I lived, I cooked, I cleaned and I painted! (You’ll see the painting later) have a beautiful Sunday guys and also enjoy the bank holiday (except those lazy fucks who celebrate the bank holiday even though they’ve never frikkin worked a day in their lives)

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