Sunday 15 July 2012


While I laboured away SITTING and WATCHING television my girlfriend was leisurely changing the wheel of her bike. Well she wasn’t – she was repairing a puncture. We haven’t come a long way as a species have we? How is the bicycle wheel still air and rubber? Still prone to being intruded by the objects of the roads. Can they not just invent something that does the same job that isn’t made of air?

I don’t really know too much about this kind of thing. Is this already in existence? It seems really odd that it isn’t. Mind you there is some probably massive global conspiracy by the manufacturers of puncture repair kits. Don’t laugh it off, a lot of people give credence to the theory that the electric car was held back by the oil companies. I am pretty sure the manufacturers of puncture repair kits are as powerful as the world’s oil companies. How many more wars must be waged under some subtext of weapons of mass destruction when we all know that the real reason was that America wanted to gain control of valuable puncture repair kit manufacturing plants in the middle east?

Of course the beauty of my amazing ability to link the small and the personal to the international is more than just realising that there was a coincidence as I wrote those two paragraphs. For the tyres of my girlfriend were not the only ones being punctured – some dickheads tried to bum up the Tour de France, picking up on the very frailty of the humble bicycle tyre that I have just been talking about.

For all the talk of the drug cheat human cycling machines that have dogged cycling for years, or – preferably – talk of the amazing human beings who punish their body only with relentless pursuit of victory, cycling’s glittering road race jewel and it’s participants are at the mercy of some (perhaps French) idiots with a box of tacks and nails.

It is typical of the brilliance of Bradley Wiggins that he chose not to take advantage of everyone’s pathetic tyres. In many ways the gallant humility of Wiggins, refusing to cycle his legs to a bigger lead was reminiscent of the impossibly dignified calm of me sat on my settee refusing to take advantage of my girlfriends ruptured inner tube and eat tea without her. No, like Jesus (some would say) I refused to be selfish and go about my own business – instead I waited for her to join me and, YES, to cook our tea. I don’t receive the praise of thousands – or even a yellow jersey for this act of heroism.

For my bravery the reward was only within; for a moment I could look myself in the eye – using a mirror – and think, tonight you are as a God.

Stuff Watch

  • Black Swan for some reason it  has taken me a while to watch a film by a director I really like that, yes, had Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis fruggin each other in it. True story: I had no idea that the black swan of titular reference was anything to do with Swan Lake, nor did I know what Swan Lake was about. Philistine.
  • Line of Duty is good isn’t it? If you’ve not been watching it I recommend grabbing it eye-ily off iPlayer with your eyes (and ears). Lennie James might sound like an East End barrow boy turned boxer turned Kray-hired-killer (I mean his name, not his voice) but he’s not, he’s just a very good actor. I’ve been impressed by the other lead, Martin Compston, as well. I’ve not had the pleasure of his acting before, I imagine I shall be seeing more of him. Anyway, I’m now up to date with it having watched the first three tonight. Bastardly, this means I now have to WAIT to watch the last two parts just like all the other fucking mugs (you). [There is a subtext of the banality and mindless bureaucracy of modern policing that is the least subtle thing about the whole show, about every ten minutes one of the lesser character complains about having to fill in endless paperwork because of something insignificant “cancelling a complaint isn’t any better, it’s a four page form” etc]

Oh Fuck Off Mate

My mate put a picture of his baby son on Facebook wearing the new United shirt. I was like ‘nice one’. He’d put a caption on the picture that said ‘could be worth thousands one day’ and I was like ‘that’s nice innit’. Then someone, someone I don’t know – but I don’t think it affected my thoughts, added the first comment ‘but priceless to you no matter what’. I was disgusted. I mean, come on. A lot of people put a lot of pictures and a lot of things about babies on Facebook, me included. Sometimes I have got mildly bored of some people who do it too much, but not really because it’s generally people being ok and proud, loving something. But that comment made me nauseous and is so wildly unnecessarily sentimental (to the degree where it lacks any real emotion) that I think the man who made it should either be sent to prison or be banned from writing anything. Anywhere. For ever.

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