Clubs, real clubs, not ones with pokies, but clubs devoted to kicking balls around, imagining god, shooting beasts, tying knots and the likes, have been forced to the margins by rackets parading as clubs (gyms), and by cafes. Now, this may be all well and dandy in cities with much rain and many incurable careerists—London, Sydney, New York—but in the second tier cities where most of the world’s billions actually live, we might resist this temptation to spend money just to feel like we’re a part of it all. Allow me break all this down for you:
You have been told career trumps family and friends in deciding where you should live—oh and that you’re "creative" for having been sucked in in this way—so have settled into an isolated life. Admitting this though, would be rather like admitting your employer is profiting from your one incarnation, or that your clients can call you at midnight. So you seek comradery in the guise of consumption, in turn disguised as connoisseurship. You take the family out for gelati!
We all do it, don’t worry. But you can try riding right by the gelati shop, like my brood last night and this morning. Last night we rode 10k all up, with our youngest in the kid’s seat snapping the first 4 of these pictures.
"This is the furthest I’ve ever ridden from home," I fondly recall my ten year old saying at one point.