In my opinion there’s far too much rubbish talked about the joys of autumn. Anybody who has ever banged on about the crisp clear days and falling leaves and anything of that ilk clearly wasn’t out as I was at 7:30 this morning on a bike on a drizzly, grey, cloud-hung day where the fallen leaves had formed a treacherous rotting slick surface on the road and Vauxhall was, if possible, made more sordid than ever by a grey mulch of abandoned free newspapers strewn across the pavement.
Nor is it likely that they were in the tunnel at Vauxhall this evening, long after dark, discovering – but only after they had unlocked their bike and put away the lock and struggled into their cycling jacket and gloves and fitted their back light and switched it on – that some bastard had stolen their front light bracket.
Meaning they weren’t the ones who had to relock their bike and take off their jacket and switch off and remove their rear light and leave their bike to the tender mercies of the Vauxhall toerag night-shift and walk home in the all-too-seasonal cold windy soggy weather.
Grrr. Bah. Mumble. Curse. Swear.
(Oh, and a very Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers. As long as none of you was repsonsible for pinching my light bracket.)