A big bastard cat to start Sunday morning.
The bully boy tabby with the Nancy boy bell, bounded over our side passage gate before 7am.
Oh do disappear, you bloody Geraldine.
But instead he chased Daisy and Dotty down the garden.
I was half PJ man / half lycra man.
There was no dignity for a Sunday morning.
I legged it outside and hisssss-ed at the Nancy boy bell end.
The lard arse tried to leap over the garden wall. He literally hit a brick wall. I felt a little sorry for him.
Daisy and Dotty had their BIG tails – a sign of self defence, a sign that they are shitting themselves.
The bully boy disappeared behind the garden shed.
And take your poncey collar bell with you.
I swapped the 50% PJ to match the remaining 50% lycra. I took out the Tourer and cycled off to meet up with the rest of the CTC club.
Eight hours in the saddle followed for the club run. I spent most of it worrying about Daisy and Dotty.
As ever, I have no real sense of where we were riding to. Hadleigh had appeared on the Garmin. I haven’t a clue where Hadleigh is.
All that I knew was that it was bloody cold during the first third and the coffee comfort break.
Three MONSTER hills had to be climbed; three MONSTER descents then followed.
Each one witnessed a car coming up the lanes as we were bombing it down in the opposite direction.
Steady the buffers, Jase.
Luncheon was taken in a Hadleigh pub.
I was trying to avoid the Forest score, having recorded it to watch back at base.
Some fella wearing a Forest top was propping up the bar. He didn’t appear too happy.
I ordered a pot of tea, and ended singing to myself as I walked past the big screen with the commentary coming out.
The run in back to Sunny Colch was decent. The skies were blue and we had the head wind behind us.
I made it home in time to catch the second half of the Arsenal Vs Man Utd match.
And then the England cricket, the Giro d’Italia and yep, the Forest match.
I wasn’t expecting that.
Maybe the fella propping up the Hadleigh bar was a miserable bugger?
I celebrated with Daisy and Dotty, trying to teach them the words to:
“My old man said be a D***y fan, I said…”