Remember when........

There was a time that I would sit and watch TV when I got back from work, or make airfix kits, or go to the gym, relax in other words. Mind you there was a time when I didn't have two bottle fed lambs snoozing by the cooker who are, on account of their poor toilet manners, in need of a new place to live until they are strong enough to join the rest of the little flockers.

Jason and Izzy are about to be introduced to the MKII Baby lamb shelter, MKI being a box behind a baby gate in a gap between the cooker and fridge. The MKII is now complete, save for a quick trim with a Stanley knife to tidy up the roof felt. Not bad for an evenings effort and all without using my new toy, a chop saw. Using it would certainly have saved effort but the inevitable trip to casualty would have slowed things somewhat and blood stained woodwork would have upset the lambs.

Night time was reserved for pig watch, Piggle still ignoring the inevitable, and for some essential bike maintenance. The nice shiny mountain bike still has a reluctance to allow the front wheel to rotate so I have been using the "new" racing bike sold to me a while ago by he who cannot be named. Today as I approached the first junction, the one where quarry lorries lurk waiting to splatter unprotected life forms, the front brake (theres a theme here) of the black racer detached from the fork and hit me in the face. This was a) a surprise b) painful c) less damaging to self than a lorry. Cause of upset was a missing nut, not your ordinary common or garden type available at all good hardware shops, no, this was a male type allen key operated sort. Specialist in other words. Rare. Unlikely to be found in the dark recesses of the kitchen drawer. As I cycled with brakes in hand I pondered how to fix this. Being a true hoarder spare white bike, who last saw action when he who cannot be named began his ill fated Lands end to John O'Groats trek (he got half way by day 3, and ended about 10 miles from home when a beer with a friend led to memory loss and sudden disinterest in cycling away from home)has been gathering spiders at the back of the workshop. It is actually white and yes the dust is that thick.

BY some sheer stroke of luck, or Britain's inability to update any manufacturing process since the Crimea, the white bike, code name R100 has the same brakes as black bike code name R200. Although there are slight differences they are in essence the same bike even though R100 is some 20 years older than R200. The difference in saddle heights is because he who cannot be named is taller than his dear old dad, and the black bike saddle is lower than it needs to be for me on account the allen bolt to adjust it has sheared. By the time of last patrol of the perimeter white bike had donated essentials to allow more cycling tomorrow. This is important now as we have taken a BIG decision at Rock HQ. Taking a leaf out of Andy in Germany's book (link to blog will follow one day honest!) I am resorting to pedal power as much as possible. So much so that Vic has been retired, for the short term anyway. He is resting under the trees, only to be used as a outdoor music centre for the next six months. If the planets saved its down to me.