21st September

Martha has been hinting for a while now that she wants a pre-loved bicycle to keep at our house. Her 'hints' have, in the past, involved her physically pushing me towards bikes for sale in charity stores and I have resisted, telling her that we'll think about it in in the spring. She has a good bicycle at home but it's not convenient to bring it here. Here, there is a bicycle in the shed which is supposed to be Martha's but she never rides it.

Then there was today. Evie has a pretty pink bike that Martha rides at every opportunity. Today they fought and squabbled over it until I was almost demented.

Why can't you ride your own bicycle?

Because the handlebars are too low.

 Can't Bert adjust them?

He tried but they won't move.

Let me see you riding this bike.

So she gets it out and starts riding. Her knees are practically level with her ears as she pedals. I can see why she prefers Evie's bike.

O.K. I can see that is no good. We'll look at those bikes in Ahoghill.

Can we go now?

It's too late. Charity stores close at four o'clock.

What about Halford's? It will still be open.

(Martha lives a stone's throw from Halford's and is probably very familiar with its opening hours)

Martha! Bikes at Halford's cost over a hundred pounds. You don't have a hundred pounds and neither do I.

She got it. We're going to look at bikes at the mid-term break.

On looking for a picture to accompany this post I found that I have no pictures of the girls on their bikes. This will need to be remedied. Meanwhile here's one of the parents' pictures. It's over two years old and I think she was probably close to outgrowing that bike too.

Biking It

Matty and I went out for a bike ride probably a quarter of a century ago. I can't recall very much about it. I only know that I was with her for that is my blue ladies racer lying in the hedge. It's not that good a photograph - I should have got all of Matty's bike in there and avoided those pylons. And yet - it is a good picture. Look at her happy, happy face.

It is one of those pictures taken in the olden days that were not considered good enough for a frame or an album, just one of those photographs thrown in a box and forgotten about. Then decades pass and everything changes and then they become precious. That bike ride I can barely remember but there she is. We must have enjoyed ourselves for just look at her happy, happy face.

Think Bike

Most evenings, on the way home from work, I collect Hannah in Ballymena and we continue on our way towards Cullybackey. I don't drive that fast, it's a B road, pitch black so maybe I do 45mph tops. This evening we came across a cyclist riding without lights, without reflective clothing, the only thing drawing attention to his presence the tiny little reflective strips on his pedals. These caught my eye but not until I was almost upon him. I was able avoid him by pulling out at the last minute and, thankfully, no vehicle was coming towards me at the time.

I was quite shocked. Another moment and I might have knocked him down. It's a fairly narrow road. All the way into Cullybackey I wondered, should I turn, should I tell him that he was in danger? I didn't. What stopped me? Fear of being seen as interfering, fear that he might not speak English and wouldn't understand me, fear that I'd have to go the whole hog and drive him and his bicycle to his destination.

So if a cyclist is injured or killed on the Cullybackey or Kilrea road tonight I'm afraid I will be partly to blame. What should I have done?

The Artist Currently Known As 'Gorgeous' Gage

The orchard before

This morning Bert had to get up at 8am because Sammy 'Gorgeous' Gage was coming to level the orchard. Bert hates an early rise at the best of times but when the digger man comes, not only does he have get up, he also has to work like a navvy the whole day.

Of course it was raining, which didn't help his mood. It was only a fine mizzle but Bert didn't like the look of it. He's like a cat - hates getting wet.

How come when Clint had Gorgeous in, it never rained?

Because Clint's a good man who says his prayers every night.

Huh!

The orchard has been a bit of a disaster area for some time now. When we were having this house renovated all the rubble ended up in it and since then Clint's been dumping stuff there as well. When you climb over the rubble there are two poxy apple trees then there's a low bit with six foot nettles. It's a bit of a wild life haven - mostly rabbits with myxomatosis so hardly worth preserving. It has to go!

Gorgeous arrived bright and early and I headed off to work leaving them to it.


At lunchtime I set off for a brisk walk to the graveyard. When I'm working I try to walk for at least half an hour every day. As I've said before the village hasn't many good walks. And you have to watch your step as it's the dogshit capital of the borough.

In the graveyard car park I saw this poor remnant from a cockfight. I find it hard to understand how people can take pleasure in breeding fowl just to watch them tear each other to bits. And, call me pi if you like, I thought it was disrespectful to use church property for such a purpose.

The orchard project: Day 1

Home again and I take a few minutes to watch 'Gorgeous' at his work. As I remarked to Bert, that man is an artist with a digging bucket.

Then I went out for a bike ride and managed to ride up one of the hills! So pleased.

That Last Post Was Just Me Whinging

Despite being of advanced years I still get that boring thing where you feel really moody and down for a few days every month. Which is part of the reason why I was feeling so sorry for myself when I wrote the last post.

I was mean about Swisser and Jazzer too. I do love them and they love me - it's just that they love Bert more. He is much more lovable than me, not being prickly and moody and stuff...

And I had a shitty day at work on Friday which spoiled my (lonely) weekend so it's little wonder I took to the licorice and the wine.

Then I went to the FlabFighting weigh-in and didn't lose an ounce which was a bit of a bummer. So I went home and ate an entire chocolate cake. Did I fuck! I went home and jumped on my bike and went on a three mile ride. Well - I say ride. About a third of it was downhill, a third of it fairly flat and the remaining third was hills and I have to confess I walked up a good part of those. Still it was more intense exercise than I'm used to and it was a start.

Did I ever tell youse that before I met Bert I regularly went on twenty mile bike rides? Occasionally longer runs too. God I was fit then. And did I ever mention that it wasn't until I met Bert that I started smoking regularly. Spliffs of course - but that got me started on tobacco. Then when I gave it all up, over three years ago, I piled on the weight. A couple of people told me that after two years my metabolism would steady and I'd lose it again. So I ate like a savage for two years and just kept getting steadily fatter. It took another year for me to decide to do something about it. You see I was very anti-diet, fat being a feminist issue and all that. Hadn't attempted one since my early twenties. But fat is a serious health issue when your tonnage is well into the teens of stone.

Did that bike ride again this evening, still walked up most of the hilly bits. My aim is to cycle the hills eventually. I think I can do it.

After the bike ride Bert and I did a bit of digging and weeding and raking. Then we had dinner. He had pie and I had chicken and vegetable stew. He had chocolate buns and I had melon. He drank a Guinness and I drank tea. I'm getting so strong I think I could beat him at wrestling. Especially after he'd had Guinness and pie and a spliff. And if I fought dirty. Yes. It should be easy.