So, there I am six miles into a forty five mile cycle jaunt when along a narrow country path I catch my arm on a thistle and draw blood. Moments later a wasp flies into the the vent of my cycling helmet and stings my head. In the ensuing pandemonium the chain comes off and I cruise to a halt while struggling to release the wasp and avoid being stung again.
On a more positive note, some twenty miles later I stop for a refreshment break in a layby and promptly discover a pound coin laying on the ground.
It sounds like you have been the victim of what, growing up, my father and I used to call "erk bushes" - those overgrown brambles, hawthorns and the like that one inevitably finds on such cycle paths and which would cause us to swerve out of the way with cries of "erk!". We didn't have any names for wasp stings or slipped chains, though - other than "a b_____ nuisance". Still, at least the dropped quid made up for it to some extent - did it go towards the refreshments?
ReplyDeleteWhat ho Brucie, indeed the twenty shillings went towards the refreshments. " Erk!" moment, I do like that and if I have the misfortune of finding myself in a similar state of affairs then that is what I shall utter, along with other appropriate expletives.
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