A Full Set Of Gears

I adjust and improve the brakes on my dodgy bike, slightly. So I have been able to stop today, sort of.

I now have a full set of gears and I probably put too much into it because my legs seem absolutely destroyed for squash. Perhaps I should have stuck to spinning my legs madly in a low gear, which seemed to work last week. The legs are not working at all tonight, nor the brain, and I don’t win a game.

I meet L afterwards in the pub. A quick pint then home for a naughty take away, beer and wine.

(Thursday 7^th November)

Some Repair Job That Was

The temperature seems to have dropped so not only do I have to transfer a lot of items from my best bike to my non-best bike, I also have to dig out some warm kit. All this sorting out makes me late and even then I’ve forgotten my tyre levers. So hopefully I won’t get a puncture.

Also my bike computer isn’t working but worst of all, the bike, that has just been repaired, won’t shift on to the large chain set, so I can’t get into the higher gears. Some repair job that was and I can’t adjust it because they've also chewed up the adjusting screws.

So I pedal to walk on the small chain set, at times spinning my legs madly like a teenager. At least it was a good cardio workout I guess.

(Wednesday 30^th October)

Summit Meeting

I decide to take the bike for a spin to work today but end up spinning more than I intended and going nowhere fast. I stop and realise that both my pedals are pointing in the same direction. Not good.

In fact I can spin the right pedal crank 360 degrees and nothing happens. Luckily I’ve only gone about half a mile and can just about scoot the bike home on one pedal. Then I hop in the car instead. Yet again everything seems to be going against my training plan.

In the evening we head up to Sheffield. Daughter has summoned us to a summit meeting to discuss the pros and cons of her continuing her studies with a master’s degree. The great debate takes place in her local Wetherspoons, The Sheaf Island, because it does food until 11pm.

We need to eat late because going up to Sheffield seemed too good an opportunity to miss as regards getting in a few lengths of the 50m pool at Ponds Forge. So L and I do that first.

I swim badly, very badly. Just as I do in open water, so in that respect it was good practice. I was actually practicing the strokes I figure I need in open water. Front crawl while looking forwards and a bit of breaststroke as backup, for when that fails. Then I re-injure knee getting out.

The Sheaf Island seems to have adopted a solution to the fact that all Wetherspoons meals look the same wherever you are in the country by serving everything in the dark. That’s if you can even read the menu in the gloom. Both of us old codgers, L and I, struggle.

 

(Tuesday 15^th October)

The Ever Spinning Roulette Wheel

Today is the day we depart for holiday. I have the morning at work, whilst L has the whole day off.

The ever spinning roulette wheel that is the airlines attitude to the additional baggage required by skiers stops this year on the instruction which says that you are recommended to pack your ski boots inside your normal luggage and pay an extra bag charge for skis. So I pay up £136 in extra charges to British Airways for the two of us. Ouch.

The other option is to take our ski boots as hand luggage. This is apparently allowed and incurs no charges whereas if we were to put that bag in the hold, which surely would be better for everyone, it would cost us another £136. Makes sense...

However we play the game we will take the same anyway, it’s just how we distribute it to avoid paying them less.

I head home for lunch where L is tempting me with a just banned bacon sandwich. 

I get home and take the dogs on park, which is their last romp of freedom before they are then dumped in kennels. Once that’s been done, then we’re off to a seedy London hotel for the night, before flying to the Pyrenees on Friday.

(Thursday 7^th March)

Spinning The Roulette Wheel

So Olympic tickets... here we go again. Let’s spin the roulette wheel.

First up an all events Modern Pentathlon ticket and in less than three minutes Ticketmaster told me I was having a laugh. So no change there then. I spin the wheel again.

I take a punt on the Brownlee boys and the Triathlon. Ticketmaster fell off its chair at this point, ROFL-ing for all it was worth, but only after making me wait 7... no 8... no 9... no 10 minutes... no 11... it just kept going up and up like something you bought from Microsoft. I remove my fist from my PC screen and spin the roulette wheel again.

I go for the lesser Modern Pentathlon option, a ticket for just the Greenwich Park events - the riding, running and shooting. Ticketmaster said 'yeah no problem'. Now it really was taking the piss.

I kept looking at the screen which was now saying ‘you have 1 minute 10 seconds to accept these tickets’... no ‘1 minute 5 seconds’ ... ‘1 minute’... hang on just one minute... I mean 50 seconds... I mean 45 seconds... this countdown is going down not up, that can’t be right. It’s also not long enough to decide whether I’m being defrauded or not.

Sod it. Buy buy buy. It’s only money and it’s the London Olympics. We all love the London Olympics.

So yes we have tickets. I still can’t get anywhere near the Olympic Park but it’s a start.

Buoyed by this success, I wonder what the hotel prices are like. The media have led us to believe that the only way to stay in London during the games is to pay someone a grand or so to sleep in their garage on the edge of the M25 and then walk in to London because all the public transport will have ground to a halt.

So I’m rather surprised to pay £85 for a double room with an ensuite bathroom and full English breakfast just over a mile from Greenwich Park. As I say, we all love the London Olympics. I really don’t know what everyone is complaining about.

Talking of London, L is there today for work. Good choice Dear, there’s a train strike on but then again isn’t there always. Does anyone know what they’re striking for? Thought not. They’re probably all sat in front of their PC trying to get Olympic tickets. Ha. Tough. I’ve got them.

Anyway, she has to get a taxi from Nottingham to Long Eaton, then get a train to Tamworth and then to London... coming back is via Tamworth, Derby and then by bus to Nottingham. Which is sort of annoying, sort of hilarious and just makes you really really hope that they don’t get given whatever they're demanding.

I take the boys to squash, well they wait in the car and then I wave to them as I go to the pub for a pint of ‘Traditional’. That’s what it was called and that’s what it was. Very nice, none of this ‘blonde’ stuff. Then I make it up to the boys by chucking balls on Embankment.

After her traumatic day, L texts to say she’s just got off the bus and will meet me in bed with a bottle of wine. Ok boys, that’s it, game's over.

(Thursday 17th May)