I’d had a shite day. The hearse was being laid to rest with a very poorly gear box that was going to cost four times it’s value to repair. Back to the Peasant Wagon again… I feckin hate public transport.
I nursed my automobile back from the garage to home and got ready for the ride. Fed, watered, suited and booted I was out of the door and on my way to Pete and Shiela’s. To say it’s August there was a twat of a headwind all the way there. I was fecked before I’d even started.
Pete and Shiela weren’t quite ready yet so I pootled over to the car park to see if anyone else was there. Rolling up to Gezz’s car, propped up against the wall was an On-One inbred singlespeed. “Which lunatic is riding that?†I asked Castleford’s own answer to Morresy (thinking we had another loon besides Roachy joining the one f*cking speed fraternity). Turns out it was his. Ah. I pulled my foot out of my mouth just as Pete and Sheila arrived. With Andy in Majorca (bastard) and Roachy with a bust knee (Don’t ask, It involves a wheelie bin) we got out shit together and set off. With Russell riding here from Wakefield and with the wind we decided on a shorter route for the night.
Down the track across from the school Pete and Russ played on the gravel mound as the rest of us made our way down. From the track through Nam, Pete became titsup in the foliage much to amusement of all us present.
From there I raced Gezz up the hill to the cricket club and lost. I’ll say no more.
Steady away to home, a good ride to finish a piss poor day.