This blog been written for charity, and we will not use it for personal gain.... Unless someone offers us money, obviously
I have had many adventures over the last week or so. Most of which I cannot divulge here due to legal reasons (yes, it is against the law to be as gorgeous as I am) I can - however - tell you two tales. The first I have entitled
TWATTLE THE BEARD AND THE SILVER BEAST.
I have, as may have been mentioned before, recently purchased an electric bicycle. It is a thing of beauty, and - even though the front brakes may not be fully functioning - it has become an invaluable tool in the delivering of books.
Take last Tuesday for example. The gleaming metal monster took me half way to Tottenham to read to a class of year one children (we all had a fantastic time, but that's a different story) and then back again. Battling the traffic on the West Green Road is a nightmare for an unprotected man of prodigious girth. Just think of the splat I would make.....
Then my sturdy steed took me all the way to Tottenham to rescue a school in need. The evil Knights of Ofsted were looming, and only a book from the Big Green Bookshop could save the day.
Then I mounted my charger for a charge up the great Muswell Hill, and back. And after that I plugged the charger into it's charger for a much needed recharge.
Let’s be honest here. It's a toy. But a really useful one and I am really enjoying zooming around the lovely borough of Haringey. Mounting pavements, cutting up wheelchairs and generally making a nuisance of myself.
This is what I look like when I am delivering books Seriously those bags are full of books... About 66 of them.... Go on, pick up 66 books and see how heavy they are. Now you know how butch I really am. Bet you're impressed
And now to the meat - so to speak - of the tale.
One evening a week or so ago, We had just launched Bahamian Breeze by Ellen Johnson and a good time (and much wine) was had by one and all, and especially me.
I realised – at something past midnight – that I was not able to ride home. The planet and I having become somewhat out of sync. Obviously the Earth was drunk, bucking and heaving the way it was. I decided that the best thing to do was to partake of some healing (tap) waters and wait for Earth to sober up a bit.
I opened my eyes at something past three, and realised that someone had stolen three hours. Some people will nick anything. Ah well, I thought, no point in losing any more time. So onto my steed I leapt.
Then I got off, put the saddle on and got on again.
There is, at the end of our road, an alley. Well lit and safe, but with a sharp turn on to a one way street at the end. Normally I head the wrong way up the one way street, but this night I decided to turn left.
I don’t know if it was the change in route that confused me, or some unknown outside influence. But – for whatever reason – I rolled gently to a stop. And forgot to put my foot down.
There are some people who can balance on two wheels with no forward momentum.
Sadly I am not one of them.
Oh dear, I said, as I slowly toppled against – and then slid down – the adjacent wall. Luckily the Earth – obviously regretting its earlier behaviour – came up to catch me.
Yes, it’s a blog about getting drunk and falling of my bike.
And the moral? You should always greet Mother Earth, but not at speed. Probably
TWATTLE THE BEARD MEETS MR PARANOID.
Why is there always a fight on my bus?
Why is that woman in the queue in the post office looking at me like that?
Why is there a police officer always outside a local school when I am delivering?
Seriously why is she looking at me like that?
Why is the tree outside my house the only one that hasn’t been pruned?
I don’t recognise her…. But she keeps turning to look at me. There, she did it again.
Why doesn’t my eldest son look like me?
I’ll hide behind the person in between us in the queue. She moved. Really, she shuffled forward to look around my cover.
Why does my cat hate me?
She’s not looking at me now. She’s looking up….. At the CCTV monitor and I’m on it. Dear god…..
And the moral? Official definition of ‘Pruned’ to trim a tree by cutting away dead or overgrown branches. Means something very different in my circles.
TWATTLE THE BEARD BECOMES TWEEDLE THE BARD
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear the things I agree to do.
Before watching the attached video you must know two things.
One: I thought I was joining in with an ‘open mike’ session. And I had decided that I would back out.
Two: I was still hung over from Bahamian Breeze.
Three: (yes I know I said two, but I am too lazy to go back and edit this) I had been drinking. Whether too much or too little I will leave to your judgement
I think I look like an upside down badger.
And the moral? I have no morals, and no shame. Shame about that, isn’t it.