It’s not a dark and stormy night.
It’s a bright, sunshiney summers morning.
Well, it’s an overcast spring morning, but in comparison to previous mornings recently it’s a tropical heat wave. It’s been less than eventful around here these past few weeks. This is mostly because my life has been alternating between vague depression and playing Knights of the Old Republic. Last night it crashed at the end of a fight that I’d spent the previous hour trying to win, and so I got vague depression _at_ Knights of the Old Republic, which was a Novelty and therefore Good Thing. Probably.
Wednesday I did something really quite stupid.
Wednesday I paid my rent, which involved going to Hitchin and paying in cash for various reasons that I won’t bore you with. Actually, I may end up forcing myself to pay with cash lots more in the future, as the whole “This is a lot of money you’re spending here” vibe comes across a lot more when it’s in twenty pound units. Anyway, cycle-cycle-bank, cycle-cycle-station, train-ride-Hitchin, cycle-cycle-Rental, cycle-cycle. At this point I was bored and saw a sign to Letchworth, where I live, and I thought:
“It’s not that far to Letchworth, I could cycle home”
This was really, really stupid. I’m not that fit, I don’t cycle enough, and although I was aware that Hitchin-Letchworth was a reasonably short distance, I kind of assumed that since we’re in one of the flattest areas of the country, it’d be mostly flat.
Most of it was easy, apart from the dealing with motorists who had never encountered a real live cyclist before, but you get that everywhere. The difficult part was the hill. Because there was a hill. Not a particularly steep hill, but a terribly, terribly long hill. The kind of hill that saps the strength from you and makes you scared you’re going to be arrested for minimum speed on an A-road. Then it became the type of hill that looks like you’re nearly at the top, but really you’re merely halfway up. Then, right at the crest of the hill, it became the type of hill with a “No Cycling” sign down the fun part. So I walked down the hill on the pavement.
Actually, it wasn’t a pavement, it was a cycle-path, But it was only marked as a cycle-path from one direction, and it wasn’t the direction I was going, so I didn’t see it. This made me Annoyed. Eventually I reached civilisation again, arbitrarily decided that the no-cycling sign stopped when the cycle-path did, crossed the road and cycled home.
Then died for a while, and flogged myself mentally for a while for being a moron. Proper Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. Probably.
It would certainly be helping now. Last night I used the last of the milk, so I have to get some more before I can get my morning cup of tea. Therefore I’m attempting to get a running start on the day without Tea. Bah.
I have my P45 now as well, which is going to help with the whole “Not being brassic” plot as soon as I sign on at the Delaundrette. A Delaundrette is a place where you become one of the Great Unwashed, obviously. But now, I feel I am awake enough to go on a Great Quest for the Milk of Cow.