I had a dream.
This dream was set in a London that was a bit weird and futuristic and in which bike racks were on the roofs of buildings. This dream involved a lot of cycling. Then it involved loss and hysteria, because when I returned to said futuristic rack on the top of a building, Roger was not there. I searched other racks, I asked other cyclists if they'd seen him, I mourned his loss and that of the lights and Kryptonite bike lock that were on him. And I was sad.
Then I woke up and realised I was dreaming about my bike. Hmmmmm unhealthy.
I only cycled once this weekend as I spent much of my time in pyjamas playing on a borrowed Wii. All in all, a great weekend. When I did cycle it was in the rain, that nasty wee-like spitty rain on Friday. But, sadly enough, it was still way fun and I felt a massive sense of achievement at cycling on him in such rubbish weather. And the journey was so much quicker than by bus it was unreal.
He needs cleaning though, the white spirit and hot soapy water treatment is way over due. Besides, he goes all shiny when he's clean.