Karma's a bitch... Hopefully

I am literally 'back on the saddle' now, as my pledge to never, ever use the train to commute again continues. I cycled to work today. Boy oh boy was it hot. No breeze or anything. But cycling up Ben Nevis through treacle on a seat adorned with rows of razor blades whilst on fire would still be preferable to sitting (or more likely standing) next to all the other stinky and repugnant bags of flesh we like to call humans on an over-stuffed carriage with an internal temperature of 1,000 degrees. I really do hate the train.

I had been cycling to work for a couple of months, but this was rudely interrupted by my return from holiday, when I was greeted with a somewhat empty garage, with a blank space where my beloved bicycle used to be. I had all my ridiculous cycling gear on and everything, including my lady-pleasing cycling shorts and a cycling helmet that makes my head look even more bulbous and ridiculous than normal, my reed-like neck barely supporting my massive brain and gormless face. I was upset. Not knowing what to do, I closed the garage door again and walked off. As it was about 6am and I was jetlagged, I then went back to the door and opened it again just to check that my barely-functioning brain had somehow not seen the bike. But the bike was still gone.

I then went back into the house and looked for the bike in all of my rooms, even the upstairs ones, but the bike was not there. It's amazing how a bit of denial and jet lag can rob someone of all their common sense. Eventually, I had to concede defeat and change back into clothes appropriate for work and board the dreaded and despised train. Which was, of course, late. I got into work, and regaled my disinterested colleagues with my dreadful story. Then a few of them tutted when I said that I had left my bike in a locked garage. Apparently garage locks are just there for show, and can be picked with a bit of soggy tissue. I was then advised that I should have added some more locks, which is always useful to hear 6 weeks after purchasing a new bike, when none of them bothered to impart that same advice when it may have actually been useful.

So it transpired that I was a victim of crime yet again, as I have been several times in my life. All pretty petty and non-threatening crimes, admittedly, Apart from the occasion when I was threatened with what must have been a 6-year-old child in Trocadero once; he attempted to mug me, and informed me that we was Triad, at which point i soiled myself. I have lost about 4 bicycles to the nimble-fingered thieves in South West London now. In fact, my primary reason for not getting a bike for so long was the almost certain knowledge that the bike would be stolen. I just thought that I might get longer than 6 weeks with it.

And then there are my Car-related tales of woe. In my first car I was shunted into the middle of a busy roundabout by a moron in a huge Jag, which then sped off. My vast head nearly fell off, and I had to wear a spongy collar for a month, and my car was written off. I had to cut into the back shelf just to retrieve my stuff from the boot, as it had been rendered permanently shut. In a later car my stereo was nicked by some ratboy who simply bent the top of the drivers door until it was roughly horizontal which was very considerate of him as I could never raise or lower the window again and a lovely whistle could be heard when exceeding 40 mph. This then pretty much occurred again in a later car, although this time a SatNav was the target. But the SatNav was not present, so they just nicked all the leads and rifled through my wife's gym bag instead.

But I have a new bike now. Never let it be said that I give up. Well that has been said as I regularly start and then abandon things because I lose interest. So I give up lots but I did get a new bike, so I'm back on the road. I even put some additional locks on the garage and stuff. But what of the perpetrators of this sinister crime? what judgment will they face? Well in all likelihood, they will face absolutely nothing. I know that they live in the flats near me. They are the only ones who can see my route to the garages. I imagine them salivating, as they remove my poor bike from its home. Taking it back to their lair where they then disrobe and toss each other off and shit on each other, before swapping the bike for a wrap of skag.

But hope is eternal and I hope that whoever took my bike kept hold of it; and on one very steep descent when landing from one of their idiotic wheelies the front forks suddenly and unexpectedly snapped, sending their gibbering face plunging into the concrete. Then the Car behind them had no time to stop and ran over their tiny little head, which popped like a grape. Then the truck behind the car hit the car and exploded, setting the little thieving and dead cunt on fire, so even his mum who is also his sister and gran wouldn't recognise him.


  1. i have your bike

  2. you forgot about the twat in the vovlo @ the esso!

  3. thank god you were there to look after me.