Pitter, patter

Pitter, patter, pitter, patter...... No, it's not the sound of tiny feet (as if the boy could walk - he's not even been fitted for his new Colnago yet), it's the sound of rain, constant rain falling during the festive period. Today has to have been the absolute non plus ultra of shitty days with it seemingly never breaking into daylight. There have been only 2 days worthy of a good ride this holiday and both have been preceded by approximately 37 minutes sleep on the night before (why does he sleep all day and then decide it's time to talk at midnight?!). I worry, oh how I worry as I lie awake at night listening to the now 24/7 central heating draining my wallet ('he needs to be warm, dear') that things may never return to normal and that my legs will simply whither away and I will never get out on the road again for anything longer that my 45 minute commute. For this reason and this reason alone, I look forward to next week's return to work and my enthusiastic embrace of winter commuting.

The latest member of the metropeloton

So, finally, there is a new member of the team - Joel. He's a bonny little chap and I'm feeling pretty confident about his two wheeled potential. So far he's mastered the bidon technique, has no qualms about relieving himself whilst in the saddle (or cot, or fathers arms) and, after a brief course of antibiotics, is no stranger to the needle and will therefore be comfortable amongst the 'doctors' of modern cycling. Just between us, my beloved thinks that the name Joel came from a brainwave of cute names but little does she know that it actually comes from one of, if not the most vivid memory of a boyhood watching Le Tour. In 1989 Joël Pelier won a stage of Le Tour and immediately after crossing the line he fell into the arms of a media scrum only to shout 'mon père, mon père' it struck a deep cord and one day I dream that my Joel will cross the line, any line, in victory and cry out for me. Thank you my beloved - a greater gift you could not give x

The Closet Obsessive

It's a common fact that cyclists are an obsessive bunch of freaks at the best of times (latest kit, lightest weight, best eppilation technique etc, etc, etc) and I consider myself to be no different to any other. Well, actually I do consider myself to be slightly more obsessed than your average obsessed obsessive and, if proof were needed, this picture is it. For the last 4 weeks I have toiled, no I HAVE SLAVED over this f**king mdf monolith! For a man who has an issue putting air into his tyres somehow I had the bright idea that I would save money and prove to myself that I was a real man and build a cupboard. So drill, screw, sand, swear, drill again, screw some more (the cycling gloves came in handy to protect my delicate palms), swear, sand, swear, swear, chisel and SWEAR I did until you see what you see today. It's raw (like my nerves) and unpainted but it is solid and I genuinely think it will still be standing next week. And so, at least until the big arrival (Thursday is the due date!) I can now say that I will return to my forte of cynical scribe and never, EVER, pass a Homebase without a chill running down my spine. (PS - I have been up to some cycling stuff, some REAL GOOD cycling stuff, which will be revealed later this week)