Wednesday 11 November 2009


Look at how these three cops at this RBT treat me - they don't even wave me through - they just step out of the way, laugh, and ignore me. The thought of pulling over a cyclist for a breath test is hilarious to them.

Many decades ago, when I was a decadent uni student, I went to a birthday party that was themed "Dirty doctors, naughty nurses and perverted patients". Most of the blokes, including me, went as nurses. Most of the women turned up as doctors. It was a dirty, perverted night. For some reason, I ended up racing Yellowbeard back to college on our bikes. It was dark, we had no lights, and I am sure we were wearing sunglasses.

I was full of shooters and vodka, and I failed to take the gap in a low fence made out of coppers logs. One pedal caught a log, and down I went at high speed. Being drunk as a skunk, the landing on the asphalt didn't hurt that much. I went up to my room, pushing a bent bike, and passed out in my nurses outfit.

The next morning was not good. I had torn a lot of skin off both legs, and the stockings that I was wearing were now embedded in a thick crust of dried blood. It took about an hour of soaking and peeling to get them off.

Let that be a lesson to you. Drinking and cycling don't mix.

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