I've been looking at other bikes.
There, I've said it. Roger may not fulfil my needs in the future and I've been looking around. The new Ride to Work scheme has started and you can't just buy accessories with the voucher so I've decided to get another bike.
They warned me when I bought Roger that he wasn't built for the kinds of distances I now do so I've decided to get another one for if and when the time comes and so I'm not taken off road every time Roger's unwell or in the shop.
I haven't told him yet and I'm worried that he'll be upset. I am, of course, projecting my own feelings onto my bike. I've never been able to drive and couldn't afford a car anyway so Roger is my equivalent. That bike has helped me take control of my arthritis and has been instrumental in me losing about a stone in flab. I just love him to bits and am dreading replacing him. Sigh.
Anyhoo, on the subject of love, when did 'birting'* become socially acceptable?
We've all been there, trapped at the lights with a counterpart of the opposite gender eyeing up your framework. "So, how far do you go?" or "What kind of bike is that?" opens the conversation and suddenly you're being birted with. Having said which, I find it quite comforting that anyone finds me attractive when sweaty and in flourescent yellow and lycra. I'm obviously a fox.
*Flirting on a bike with a fellow cyclist.