I’m doing a 60 mile bike ride tomorrow, so tonight i’m going to watch rugby and drink IPA. Before I set off I shall have some performance enhancing sports cake.
Wiggins has been lacking isotonic sports cake and bitter this summer.
On the dining table, there are flapjacks, they aren’t mine. They belong to the girl I live with.
I really really really want to eat them, really allot.
I’m going now, to ply my charms.
Summer is incumen in. The Futureheads - Acapella.
There are a number of countries I really want to visit but just can’t.
I was going to book tickets to Syria in 2007.
It seems that Turkmenistan is out of the question.
The Hindu Kush is a no no.
New Orleans isn’t on the cards this year.
Basically if it’s a city or country with the culture and architecture that really really interests me. It’s boarders are going to be ‘edgy’, its government ‘unstable’ and the likelihood of my kidnapping ‘higher than I’d like’
Or there is the matter of price of flights.
Now I should state that the humanitarian in me is concerned with the plight of the people but I just want to see the caucuses. And ozymandias styled grandiose buildings.
Peace in our time, because war is taking its toll on my travel plans.
I don’t want to go to Corfu, then I don’t want gun toting militias or Kazakh gangsters, or teenage soldiers either.
So fuck it. I’ve not been to Granada.
I’m doing some temp work in a country pub. I’m doing it because they pay a good rate. However I asked what there is to do here. I was told, by a young chef: “well I sometimes go to Slough and have sex with prostitutes”.
I’m not sure which part of that equation I find more problematic, paying for sex or visiting Slough.