And now the 3 old blokes can sit around and relax for the evening, endlessly repeating themselves and softly dribbling into their nappies. Happy days.
I’m woken with a gentle kick up the arse by The Twat. Keen to know if I’ve self harmed over night and managed to undo his work.
No I haven’t mate, but I have got something else for you to look at if you have a moment
. I’ve pushed the valve on the front wheel through the rim. Quite a bit. A big enough bit to put his mind at unease, but hopefully not enough to fail on the few hundred miles back to my bed. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
Meanwhile he watches his mate and his buddy through a 20 year telescope. That’s him that is. Exactly that. Which makes his inability to reach his goal this trip even more irritating. Life is running out, fast. Money is running out, faster, and opportunities are disappearing possibly never to reappear. That all adds up to a big steaming FUCK sandwich that he’s currently trying, and failing, to digest. He’s in real danger of falling out with himself if he’s not careful.
They say good bye, and The Twat is again reminded of the probable Finality. His mate's buddy is a really lovely fella. He’s funny, he’s warm, he’s kind and he’s good company. And he’s older than his mate.
There is a heatwave all across Europe so I’m told, except in Denmark where it’s 14 degrees, it’s absolutely shitting with rain and there is a fucking relentless bastard of a wind giving every windsock along the road a giant hard on. It’s not often I see The Twat genuinely frightened but today he was properly scared. It was all going well until we crossed the Øresund Bridge (£30
) over to Denmark. Then some bastard just unzipped the clouds and let out hell.
We were going over the New Little Belt Bridge (Den Nye Lillebæltsbro, another £15) and everything went sideways. It really was too dangerous to be on with a bike. It was just fucking insane. The gusts were pushing me right across the lanes into other traffic then just as I was coming up to the huge expansion joints I was hit a massive body blow that had me sliding sideways on the metal. One of those time standing still moments. Deathly quiet. Fate spinning the dice to decide if I stay or go. I hit the tarmac again at quite an angle and shook like a gundog after a swim. I never, ever, ever want to do that again. Not ever. But then I probably never will.
They hole up in a cheap guesthouse, eat an absolutely appalling meal in a kebab shop and reluctantly turn the page to the final chapter.
I’m thinking I might stop this right here. Perhaps it’s better to just go to radio silence until we both get home. It’s all gone dark inside his head and I’m just need a bit of time to go and try to switch some lights back on. I asked him to do a mood board this evening to see if that would help, but he just went inside, painted a wall black, drew faces like you see on speed checkers outside primary schools when you drive past at 100mph at 8:30 on a Monday morning, then grab all the knives from the kitchen and rammed them all into the plaster. The hotel was, thankfully, very understanding and has decided to christen this room “The Twatery” and charge guests a premium. Which is nice.
Until then, here are a couple of beautiful cars just squatting by the hotel. Harking back to better days when they were designed by men wearing shirts and ties and turn up trousers leaning over draughtboards smoking pipes while their hands traced beautifully lines onto a page.
I’m woken with a gentle kick up the arse by The Twat. Keen to know if I’ve self harmed over night and managed to undo his work.
No I haven’t mate, but I have got something else for you to look at if you have a moment
. I’ve pushed the valve on the front wheel through the rim. Quite a bit. A big enough bit to put his mind at unease, but hopefully not enough to fail on the few hundred miles back to my bed. I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Meanwhile he watches his mate and his buddy through a 20 year telescope. That’s him that is. Exactly that. Which makes his inability to reach his goal this trip even more irritating. Life is running out, fast. Money is running out, faster, and opportunities are disappearing possibly never to reappear. That all adds up to a big steaming FUCK sandwich that he’s currently trying, and failing, to digest. He’s in real danger of falling out with himself if he’s not careful.
They say good bye, and The Twat is again reminded of the probable Finality. His mate's buddy is a really lovely fella. He’s funny, he’s warm, he’s kind and he’s good company. And he’s older than his mate.
There is a heatwave all across Europe so I’m told, except in Denmark where it’s 14 degrees, it’s absolutely shitting with rain and there is a fucking relentless bastard of a wind giving every windsock along the road a giant hard on. It’s not often I see The Twat genuinely frightened but today he was properly scared. It was all going well until we crossed the Øresund Bridge (£30
) over to Denmark. Then some bastard just unzipped the clouds and let out hell.
We were going over the New Little Belt Bridge (Den Nye Lillebæltsbro, another £15) and everything went sideways. It really was too dangerous to be on with a bike. It was just fucking insane. The gusts were pushing me right across the lanes into other traffic then just as I was coming up to the huge expansion joints I was hit a massive body blow that had me sliding sideways on the metal. One of those time standing still moments. Deathly quiet. Fate spinning the dice to decide if I stay or go. I hit the tarmac again at quite an angle and shook like a gundog after a swim. I never, ever, ever want to do that again. Not ever. But then I probably never will.
They hole up in a cheap guesthouse, eat an absolutely appalling meal in a kebab shop and reluctantly turn the page to the final chapter.
I’m thinking I might stop this right here. Perhaps it’s better to just go to radio silence until we both get home. It’s all gone dark inside his head and I’m just need a bit of time to go and try to switch some lights back on
. I asked him to do a mood board this evening to see if that would help, but he just went inside, painted a wall black, drew faces like you see on speed checkers outside primary schools when you drive past at 100mph at 8:30 on a Monday morning, then grab all the knives from the kitchen and rammed them all into the plaster. The hotel was, thankfully, very understanding and has decided to christen this room “The Twatery” and charge guests a premium. Which is nice. Until then, here are a couple of beautiful cars just squatting by the hotel. Harking back to better days when they were designed by men wearing shirts and ties and turn up trousers leaning over draughtboards smoking pipes while their hands traced beautifully lines onto a page.
. He puts it down as another epic fail. The second in a row. It’s becoming a nasty habit. You can only imagine the scenes going on behind the eyes. It’s not pretty, so don’t look too closely. He’s got a “safety” face he can wear while he tears himself apart and jumps into the abyss but he is as fucked off as he’s ever been. I think this is it for him for a while.
