tea and pedal grease

I’m pretty new to twitter. And last night I tried to utilise its community power for the first time: I wanted to borrow a bike from someone in London for the Big Ride. That way poor unemployed me could take the megabus for cheap as fucken chips. I guess I don’t have enough followers yet, though, so I booked my train tickets instead like all the other losers.

And all from the digital comfort of my laptop, no queuing in dark ticket offices, caked in commuters and noise. But hang on, you can’t reserve a bike online. So I pedalled across town, t shirt flapping in the breeze of a lucky gap in an all rain day. I locked my bike to railings with prominent “Don’t lock your bike here, punk” signs as the 20 or so bike racks were full to bursting, surrounded by a car park the size of Buckingham Palace. Another cyclist arrived as I left, looked at the racks and just sighed.

This is joined up transport policy, this is how National Rail

“encourages the integrated use of cycles and trains - two convenient and environmentally friendly forms of transport.” 

One laptop; one cup of tea; Regina Spektor through Flatmate Tom’s speakers ( “Samson, went to bed, not much hair left on his head…” ) ; DOT 5.1 smell still on my hands from bleeding some bloody brakes despite shower and scrubbing and soap; so let’s begin.

This’ll just be meandering thoughts.

And the brakes are still leaking. Olives anyone?