Sunday, 20 March 2011

Bike fail

I happened to be on a Tube the other week, carrying a bubble-wrapped Polynesian fishing spear (but that's another story - if you ask me nicely I'll tell you) when a couple got on and sat opposite me. Now I like a bit of people watching, me, but was a little sad when this happened:
I dunno, maybe it's just me but the way they simultaneously sat down, got out their phones and ignored each other was a bit....? I might just have underestimated how completely awesome iPhones are and am being pathetically old fashioned here, but pfft. WTF is wrong with holding hands and talking about the weather or sommat?


Anyway, apologies for not posting for a while (*checks previous blog post* OMFG OMFG it's been like a month!). Sorry :-(

I am going to name both (a) 500 fucking mugs arriving on my doorstep and (b) minor mental break down for my reasons for not posting for A WHOLE FUCKING MONTH.

As you may/may not know I'm organising the sale of these bad boys for CUWBC:
It was sort of fun at first, a sort of logistical challenge. "What's the most efficient way of delivering these x mugs to y different colleges before my 9am lecture?" etc. etc. I even laughed when 500 of the things arrived.

Yes it fucking was.
 However, it turns out that 500 mugs is quite a lot of mugs.

I quickly lost touch with reality.

 It just never seemed to end.

But anyway, superimposed on this was a bike drama of epic proportions. Like, EPIC.

So the back wheel has been bent for a while.
 No biggie. Just meant it was a little on the slow side. Then it got a puncture.

I decided it was time to change by back wheel (and get a new inner tube on the way).
 After about 2 fucking hours I had my bike in working order. The back wheel went round and everything! Excitement!
 I then woke up the next morning to find my lovingly repaired bike GONE. GONE I TELL YOU GONE.
 2 days past. Ranty facebook statuses were posted. I was well and truely pissed off.

But then! A miracle! I was walking down the road I had orignally left my bike on and lo! There it was! (Turns out some arsehole had just picked it up and carried it for 200m. I felt very silly. And yes, I know I should have locked it to something etc etc , but I've learnt my lesson now).
 Cue a day of happy cycling round Cambridge, scattering rose petals and giving Ferrero Rocher to people delivering mugs. I was content.

Then the next day I got another fucking puncture.
 OK OK OK breathe. I am by this point what is commonly known as fucking pissed off with fixing my fucking bike all of the fucking time. But I think that is a reasonable reaction.

1 week passes. Then for no reason whatsofuckingever:

As a result of all of this, I spent a lot of time riding round on my other, actually nice, bike, which happens to be quite a nice (if I say so myself) Bianchi track thingy. The hero of this post. Never usually left outside. Hmm. I therefore spent about 2 weeks cycling around on a very hipster-esque bike, with a messanger bag full of mugs, rolled up jeans.... bascially looking like a massive hipster twat. I think once I even wore my "Love me, love my bike " t shirt by mistake, so my twated-ness was all the more exaggerated.

Rage. But yes. Punctures always happen in 3s guys. Remember that!

Anywayanywayanyway. I should probably wrap this up. I have an interview tomorrow* for which my main preparation has been trying to ignore its existance. (*DAMTP, for a PhD. FUCK.)
I am expecting a complete intellectual massacre. The interview panel:

How I think the interview will go:
*Tries very hard not to think about it*


Anyway, I'm going to watch David Attenborough's "Life in the Undergrowth" now. I expect this will give me some fucking weird dreams, but what the hell :-)