"Don’t call ya blog hoovering movering," people here told me. "No one’s gunna know whatcha mean." With all due respect to everyone I knew before blogging, before I traded up to my new fancy network of friends, yous is all retards. I’m sorry my sweets. And it was precisely to edit you all from my Christmas card list that I did give my blog such a privileged title. And here, see, the gamble paid off. I’m followed by at least two nuclear physicists, who do things with maths we post-structuralists verisimilitudinously can only copy with words. One of these nuclear physicists, I must confess, is my own brother-in-law (hi Marty Farts) but the other is an actual reader, who found my blog, and who reads the words (photographers know, you wouldn’t come here for original pictures). Plus he aced my recent quiz: "what famous building is that, with bikes out the front?"
I am talking of course of Brian Ewins, who describes himself thus:
All that sounds rather like a Bosnian exodus, with damp rugs strapped to mules, but whatever, the dude has at least one awesome bike, and a rather quaint (okay, old fashioned) way of describing the same weather and scenery over and over in the weblog of his pan-British rides. Plus he will leave a few more Twitter followers to his estate than I’m able to match. So thank you Brian, truly, for deigning to read my, at times, scrambled thoughts about bikes. I’m not sure why you would give me your time. Perhaps I conjure visions of better weather.
From left: the Gary Fisher Singlespeed 29er with path racer bars, all informed choices; using the Brommie for touring, how frightfully cute; and, drum roll please, the titanium Van Nicholas amazon! God, now I’m jealous.