I’ve ridden on pavements, two abreast in the road, with no safety helmet and my Brazilian flip-flops on instead of sensible cycling “shoes”.
I fitted my sensible saddlebag before I went, took out all the bicycle tools and put in other more essential items like my phone and some money in case I wanted a gin and tonic whilst on the road (I didn’t). If I knew where my Clarins red lip gloss was I’d have put that in too.
Oh and I didn’t take a spare inner tube or a puncture kit.
It’s called living dangerously.
This is Rebel, the Guv’nor’s old dog, with his old Beetle. I love the way Rebel is looking, waiting to be told when he can drop the pose. I love German Shepherds, they are very family-minded, but they form a strong bond with their masters or mistresses. Maybe one day we’ll get another one, but it would have a hard time living up to Rebel and his sainted reputation of good manners, total biddability and devoted loyalty.
The block of flats was their old home, the ground floor where the Guv’nor’s mum grew strawberries that were rampant in the garden. Truly a recommendation for the Jamaican “throw and grow” method of gardening. This was on the old Kingshold estate, demolished for being a rat run of balconies where people could make good their escapes in their badnesses. There is a new Kingshold estate now, built by a housing association, of mainly houses and a few low rises. It’s nice, Nana still lives there.
Round the corner from the picture was a pub “The Clarendon”. That’s flats now too. I met the Guv’nor there, long after he had got rid of the Beetle. A black man in a white VW was a pretty distinctive sight round E9. He got stopped by the police, a lot. Once his sister got followed home by them when she was driving the car with Rebel in it. She gave out to them big style when they had followed her to the very front door.
I hope she parked it like this too.