tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45740005556197824612024-03-12T22:56:57.367+00:00The Wheeled WeenieWoman, on a bike, in west London, just trying to get aroundWeeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.comBlogger374125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-59018124021250011312017-10-10T12:59:00.002+01:002017-10-10T12:59:32.215+01:00Is what lock did you use the new what were you wearing?A month ago, it finally happened. I had a bike stolen. How ironic that may last post here was an excited announcement that my husband had bought it for me.<br />
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In the year and a half since then, it's become a central part of the family. I used it nearly every day. The school run, shopping, runs down to Kew, carrying music equipment for work, it was fab. The kids loved it, I loved it. Then some motherfucker decided they loved it too, and now it's gone.<br />
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In the month since it was taken I have gone through various stages, but now I'm angry. And not just at the thieves who took it.<br />
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I'm angry at societal blame culture and I am getting more and more pissed off with one question. "What lock was on it?".<br />
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Who the fuck cares? Why don't you just look for the bike or shut up.<br />
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We are all well aware that it is, thankfully, becoming more and more unacceptable to ask assault victims what they were wearing when they were assaulted. But I was unaware that this idea of the victim being to blame encompasses all sorts of other crimes.<br />
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Turns out, The Beast was something of a local celebrity. I have been completely overwhelmed by the local community's response to its theft. I am still being stopped in the street by strangers asking if it's been found and offering their support, my local MP got it into a newspaper to spread the word and I have been reached out to by women who told me seeing me pedalling around with kids inspired them to believe they too could carry on with their passions after children.<br />
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The flip side of all this publicity has been the comments blaming me for the bike's theft.<br />
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Like most of the people I've spoken to with a cargo bike, mine was not always chained up. I often used the immobilising bolt lock on the back wheel, particularly if nipping into shops or the pavement was too narrow for me to leave it attached to something. The morning it was taken I had forgotten my D-Lock and, in a moment I've replayed in my mind countless times, I put the bolt lock on and rushed into the baby group I run as a volunteer and was late for.<br />
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I came out and the bike was gone. We think people (it would have taken at least two as The Beast is sodding heavy and huge) lifted it into a van and spirited it away to God knows where.<br />
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Well what did you expect?<br />
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You should have chained it.<br />
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It was your fault really.<br />
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Not any more people. The only person responsible for the theft of my bike was the thief/thieves. I am no less a victim because people have judged my lock inadequate. If I'd left my bike with no lock at all it still doesn't give someone the right to take it.<br />
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A lot of bikes have gone missing in my area, and you can bet your bum that the comments will include a question involving how it was kept (ie locked)/a summary of how shit the locking arrangements were/a good old mansplain as to how it should be locked next time. It's fucking unhelpful at best, and insulting at worst so just stop it.<br />
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We will keep looking and, hopefully, The Beast will return.<br />
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So thank you to my community in Hanwell and the amazing support I've been given and continue to receive.<br />
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And off you fuck, those of you who believe I should just expect it, because bike theft "is one of those things" and that I am to blame.<br />
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In fact, on your fucking bike.<br />
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<br />Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-19266829586553581262016-04-10T12:33:00.000+01:002017-10-10T12:34:03.059+01:00Back in the saddle.... AgainSooooo,<br />
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My adorable husband got bored of my whining. Two kids in, cycling is a challenge, there's not a lot of time at my disposal and Teeny weenie refuses the bike seat at the bike.<br />
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So my husband bought me a cargo bike! I'm the proud owner of a Christiania Light and I fucking love it!<br />
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It's big and it's heavy so I'm calling it The Beast. It's a game changer.<br />
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<br />Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-79477777997477958212014-04-30T09:00:00.000+01:002014-04-30T14:08:02.344+01:00Where is all the women's stuff at?So at 23 weeks pregnant, Rupert and I are still pedalling the means streets of Ealing and Twickenham.<br />
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Every week I wonder if I'll be too big to cycle, but so far Rupert is the comfiest place to be while growing an increasingly wriggly baby.<br />
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However, as time has gone on, my usual leggings and shorts have become increasingly uncomfortable. Luckily, I wear a rather lovely Foska jersey in the design of a Harlequins kit to cycle to work in (thank you lovely brother in law N). It's very big so is accommodating the swell. This is particularly important now that I have reached a point where my waistband tends to travel down to under the bump, while my base layers tend to ride up to under my boobs. It leaves a chilly strip of tummy under my jersey and a desperate need to wee as the waistband digs into my, already under pressure, bladder.<br />
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There's the option of pulling up the waistband to over the bump but that leaves me completely breathless as it digs into my diaphragm. There's also the option of maternity cycle shorts but at a minimum of £30 for something that I may not wear for more than a few weeks, it seems a bit steep.<br />
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With all this in mind I have been on the hunt for bib shorts. Lycra can accommodate alarming stretching, there's no waistband to dig into tender bump and no risk of rolling down. I can also wear them post baby.<br />
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But I have hit a roadblock. I can't find any. Well, I can, but they're horribly expensive or bloody tiny.<br />
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Looking for cheap men's bib shorts, you can find them all over the web. Many hover at the £25 mark if on sale or just a very cheap imported type. Women's seem to be an import from China at £25 quid risk or about a million pounds. Mr Weenie didn't believe me and put his considerable searching skills to use last night on the web. He too was stumped.<br />
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If we're all honest, women make up less of the market than men, so I was expecting fewer options under 'ladies', but I am shocked at the lack of gear.<br />
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At the moment the hunt goes on, but I have a nasty feeling I will end up shelling out a small fortune for big bib shorts.Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-22354152896617360892014-02-25T09:00:00.000+00:002014-02-25T17:19:37.909+00:00You're pregnant ... and cycling?!So, it turns out a teenie weenie will be joining the family in August.<br />
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I found out in January and, for the moment, am continuing to cycle into work. I am 14 weeks and, as I carry high so am looking fairly obviously with child.<br />
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I suppose I was expecting a few raised eyebrows but there have been more than a few incredulous 'you're still cycling?!'s. And it's getting old pretty quickly.<br />
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I cycle about 8.5 miles to work, it's not a huge distance if you're a regular pedaller and as one, it counts as moderate exercise. I'm not a racer on the road, I don't weave in traffic and I like to think I'm pretty sensible and risk averse. Perhaps if I had another option I'd take it, but public transport takes about 1hr 45mins because it's three buses and costs a small fortune. My bike ride takes about 40 minutes. Bit of a no-brainer there.<br />
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In the years I've been cycling on the road I've done about 6,000 miles, I did 5,000 on Reg alone (I know because I never reset his odometer). I have had one<a href="http://wheeledweenie.blogspot.co.uk/2009/11/car-bike-interface.html" target="_blank"> car collision </a>in that time. It was in heavy rain and low visibility. It was, shockingly, four years ago and, in that time, I have gained a huge amount of experience and a reflective belt.<br />
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Since getting the news about the impending arrival I've changed my habits. I no longer attempt the Chertsey Road roundabout (I promised Mr Weenie) and, instead, use the bike/pedestrian crossings either side. I am far less likely to come past the inside of lorries and buses even if there's a lot of room and, when the light improves, I may well choose to go via the canal and Syon Park to skip large sections of road.<br />
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The most likely way to be killed while pregnant is in a car accident, yet no one tells you not to get in a car while pregnant. People are hit crossing the roads every day, but no one tells you not to while pregnant. <br />
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I get that not everyone wants to cycle while pregnant and I totally support their choice, I just wish people would stop questioning mine.Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-59086447221464516212013-12-13T09:00:00.000+00:002013-12-13T11:34:12.707+00:00Angry man in an AudiI appreciate it must be frustrating when a cyclist is ahead of you on a narrow road. Perhaps you're in a rush and need to get somewhere. However...<br />
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Sitting on your horn and making patronising wafting gestures while laughing at your own cleverness is not a good look.<br />
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When the cyclist then overtakes and is in the bike box in front of you at a red light and sets off at a (perhaps deliberately) slow pace but at a wide junction at which you could easily overtake her, it is perhaps inadvisable to pull up alongside her, and, while still driving across the cross-hatched junction, lean across the passenger seat looking through the side window and not at the road and shout that she's something along the lines of a f***ing bitch and that you hope she is knocked off her bike and killed.<br />
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This is particularly not nice when your child is in the passenger seat and looks terrified and more than a little embarrassed at your behaviour.<br />
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My only consolation is that, following your appalling behaviour, I followed at a distance as we were going down the same rat run. Watching you nearly take your rear bumper off as you went far too fast over the speed bumps in an attempt to leave me in your wake was quite something and I was perfectly placed to enjoy the view.Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-31771447651379265702013-11-21T09:00:00.000+00:002013-11-21T09:43:19.007+00:00The new commute on a new rideMy company has moved us all to Teddington. Excellent. It's a good 8.5 miles by bike and nigh on impossible by public transport.<div>
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The purchase of Rupert (t<a href="http://wheeledweenie.blogspot.co.uk/2013/11/new-bike.html" target="_blank">he new bike</a>) was mainly motivated by the increased distance and the fact that I can no longer hop on a train if the weather's bad.</div>
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He was definitely worth the investment. The wider Marathon Plus tyres (32mm) may be heavier, but they grip the road and are completely unfazed by the wet weather of the past few days. Hopping down curbs is done with ease and the potholes going through Twickenham centre are never a problem. </div>
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The disc brakes are a revelation. Who knew you could perform an emergency stop in the rain?! I certainly didn't. I feel far more confident as I negotiate the Chertsey Road roundabouts that I would have with V-brakes. </div>
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Commuting from Ealing to Teddington is, by and large, a lot more civilised. Fewer sets of lights and better road surfaces are coupled with a good variety of routes available for exploration. </div>
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At the moment I'm averaging about 40mins on the commute and I regularly arrive at the same time as a colleague whose son is at nursery with Eenie. She is normally leaving as I drop Eenie off and drives. If that's not an argument for cycling, I don't know what is. </div>
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Oh, and the showers here work. Every day. With hot water. *Sobs a little with joy*</div>
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Having already accosted the company CEO on the lack of extra bike racks to accommodate the extra staff and been assured they're on their way, the future is looking bright...</div>
Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-25895598824563808722013-11-14T09:00:00.000+00:002013-11-14T10:43:33.012+00:00A dark week for cyclistsThis week in London, four cyclists have dies and another three have been seriously injured on London's roads.<br />
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I won't pretend to know the full details of each incident, nor am I stupid enough to apportion blame.<br />
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However, I do think that the numbers have now crossed the line from tragic coincidence to proof that something has to be done to improve cycling infrastructure in London. No longer do I feel irritated at the chorus of 'please be careful' from loved ones as I head off on my bike, now I understand why they worry and feel bad for being the cause of their concern.<br />
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Although I disagree with those around me who have decided that cycling in London means certain death, I'll admit there are problems to be addressed.<br />
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The cycle lanes that do exist need some serious work. The ones I regularly use in Ealing, Shepherd's Bush and west London generally are pretty poor. There are potholes galore, they stop and start at will and many are completely illogical. In addition, the problems identified with the Bow roundabout, and the recent deaths there, prove that paint on the road is not enough. <br />
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Separate cycle paths have their place but, in a city established hundreds of years ago, it is completely impractical to suggest we can build a comprehensive network from scratch.<br />
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I think we need to be looking at both cyclists and motorised vehicles to address some of the situation. Both are legitimate road users and should be respected and held accountable as such.<br />
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We need more access to awareness campaigns on the sight limitations of lorries, for example. Chatting to friends, very few were aware of just how little lorry drivers can see around their cab. The many cyclists I see creeping up the inside of immense articulated lorries are surely unaware of just how invisible they are.<br />
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Drivers should also be made aware of a cyclists' eye view when they come to close. Cars are meant to give a three feet of clearance when overtaking a bike, but few do. I've been brushed by wing mirrors or done emergency stops many times when cars, buses and lorries have come too close. I honestly believe most drivers would give more space if they experienced the feeling of a near miss.<br />
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what really gets me angryu, however, is that the laws already exist to make everyone safer, but they are not being enforced.<br />
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Since returning to commuting I have been horrified by some of the behaviour on the roads, cyclists and drivers alike have demonstrated reckless and dangerous disregard for one another and themselves. For every cyclist I see jump a red light, I see a car do the same. For every car that swerves into the cycle lane without looking, I see a cyclist cutting into traffic without any indication of their intentions.<br />
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I could go on, but the point is that there are dicks that drive and dicks that cycle. Their behaviour has to be addressed. There needs to be a campaign to clamp down on dangerous behaviour on both sides. Prosecute for light jumps, take on drivers that creep in ASL boxes, just bloody enforce the law. Bikes are required to have lights, so why are so many cyclists allowed to go on the road without them unchallenged. They are risking not only themselves, but everyone around them. It's not acceptable. Why are so many drivers allowed to get away with being on their mobiles phones? It's not acceptable.<br />
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Until we take road behaviour seriously as the issue it is and those in authority start enforcing the laws in place for our safety (and that of pedestrians), all the cycle lanes in the world won't be enough.<br />
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Cycling is on the up, with more people unable to afford the exhorbitant costs of owning and driving a car, it's only going to increase.<br />
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It's about time that those in charge stopped ignoring the problem and dealt with it.Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-18101511015732571222013-11-07T09:00:00.000+00:002013-11-14T10:03:41.887+00:00New Bike!!!!!!He's arrived!<br />
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I'm very happy to announce that Rupert has now joined the family.<br />
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He's Dawes Galaxy Plus with disc brakes and mudguards.<br />
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Gorgeous!Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-13344726125007707362013-10-28T09:00:00.000+00:002013-10-28T15:12:25.528+00:00Women's cycle clothing... it's rubbish.The Ride to Work voucher has arrived!<br />
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I am shopping furiously and working out the exciting new bits and bobs I will get. What depresses me, though is the dearth of women's clothing.<br />
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Yes, there is some but, on Wiggle for example, I was idly browsing clipless shoes (purely for giggles, obviously) and 84 options came up for men, in comparison to around 20 for women. In addition, while I love pink and wear it with abandon, not every woman does so why is it THE colour to denote the clothing was aimed at women?<br />
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And when it comes to sizes, are the designers aware that women have breasts? I'm a strapping size 16, so I expect to wear XL in sports wear, but even a size 18 in Muddy Fox stuff can't get over my boobs comfortably. Yes, I have boobs, that's why I picked a woman's jersey, I thought it might accommodate them.<br />
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Pearl Izumi jerseys I have from way back fit comfortably at XL, but most brands are obscenely tight. I am pretty top heavy but I would have thought a size above the rest of me would accommodate that, surely?<br />
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I'm also shocked that women's jerseys are so short. Again, when dealing with boobs, one has to factor in extra length in the front and back to accommodate them, it's not just about expanding the chest area width wise.<br />
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I think I will keep my Ride to Work voucher for the bike, panniers, lights and a lock. The clothing I'll have to work out when the sales hit and I can find stuff that actually fits. Sigh...Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-67481103670050566762013-10-25T09:00:00.000+01:002013-10-25T16:12:43.646+01:00A possible new bike: the grandad specialSo, the Ride to Work scheme is on again at work and the whole company is moving to a new location soon. The commute by public transport is a nightmare for me, but I reckon the cycle would be well under an hour.<br />
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<a href="http://wheeledweenie.blogspot.co.uk/2009/05/new-arrival.html" target="_blank">Reg, my trusty Sirrus</a> is ready to be put out to pasture. His odometer is showing a hideously high number that's gone above 8,000km (5,000 miles) and a friend's husband who worked as a bike mechanic visibly blanched at the state of him when he checked him over for me.<br />
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He will be kept as a second and I have a huge soft spot for him. He and I have done wonderful things together.<br />
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The problem with Ride to Work is that, suddenly, all those tasty looking numbers you passed by are available. But what to choose?<br />
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My grandad is a proper cyclist. He is now well into his eighties and only gave up two wheels in the past couple of years when he physically wasn't able to cycle any more. Bicycles have bridged the generation gap and it's what we talk about most of the time when we're together. He and 'uncle' Steve toured together often and it was the cycle to work in a rhubarb field where grandad and my grandma first courted.<br />
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On my 30th birthday he apologised when he 'only' gave me his bicycle tools. There was no 'only' about it, I was hugely touched and they're something I treasure.<br />
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Grandad's bike of choice was his Dawes tourer. He's always loved the brand and it was a bike he loved to ride. It was natural, therefore, that when I decided a tourer would be my next bike, I looked to Dawes.<br />
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Unfortunately, the classic Galaxy models are HIDEOUS. They're an insipid and ugly green. They're also very heavy and just not elegant at all. I generally fit men's frames better than women's, but I don't want anything so obviously and chunkily masculine.<br />
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But then I saw him, a flash of a vintage-style paint job, carbon forks, leather-look grips and seat. I have a serious bike crush, he's a Dawes Clubman and I'm desperate to try one to see if he's The One.<br />
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Of course if he is, the next problem is the name...Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-22417759885951612182013-10-14T09:00:00.000+01:002013-10-15T11:20:10.439+01:00Three years - a baby, two weddings, a new job and yet the potholes haven't changed...So I have returned to my old company in west London. My cycle commute is once again along the Uxbridge Road and, while many things have changed in the three years since I was last a regular on the road, the potholed hideousness that is the road surface hasn't.<br />
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In the summer of 2010 I was at the peak of my cycling. I travelled everywhere by bike, I was the fittest I've ever been, I was just happy. Then <a href="http://wheeledweenie.blogspot.co.uk/2010/06/no-bikes-were-harmed-in-breaking-of-my.html" target="_blank">breaking my wrist </a>was the first in a chain of lifestyle altering changes. I was sold to another company that was nearly two hours' commute from home under TUPE (boo), I discovered I was <a href="http://wheeledweenie.blogspot.co.uk/2010/09/apologies-for-my-absence.html" target="_blank">pregnant</a> (hooray), my sister got engaged (hooray), my <a href="http://wheeledweenie.blogspot.co.uk/2010/07/i-am-normandy-convert.html" target="_blank">parents moved to France</a> (initially boo, then hooray), I had Eenie (hooray), sister got married (hooray), I got married on the quiet (hooray), I couldn't go back to work (boo), I filled my time helping with a local parents' group (hooray), I got a new job (hooray). And that brings us to now, today.<br />
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Suffice to say, much has happened, it's been three bloody years after all, so why the hell is the Uxbridge Road still a pothole addled mess of a road? Muscle memory means I routinely pull round certain stretches of road out of habit and what shocks me is that in many instances the problem spots from three years ago are still a problem now. Why are there routinely 5cm or deeper holes all over the place? Why has no one rectified the hideously bumpy stretch of bus lane just before Shepherd's Bush? Why has no one addressed the melted tarmaccy mess of lumps in the eastbound lead up to the bike box on the junction with Gunnersbury lane?<br />
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I can't help noticing that the particularly bad stretch of cycle lane heading west from Ealing Broadway towards west Ealing is dominated by new developments. There are several new office blocks, hotels and residential flat blocks being thrown up on that section and nearly every one of them seems to need the road drilled. That I can understand, but who is responsible for checking the road has been put back in a state befitting its use? I can't use that section as the bumps put me at risk of coming off my bike.<br />
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I'd use the A4 off-road cycleway but that's another hideous mess worthy of a post all its own.<br />
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I am not impressed. I may, in fact, write to my local paper (oh dear God, I AM that person now)...<br />
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<br />Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-49745650822049441042013-10-09T16:00:00.002+01:002013-10-09T16:00:34.763+01:00Back in the saddleIt's been nearly three years since a baby, work woes and various life and technological crises got in the way of my blogging.<br />
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I'm back, I'm on my bike and Eeenie Weenie is now a strapping toddler. The rage has also returned.... Watch this space.Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-24004405716581733832011-02-24T09:00:00.000+00:002011-02-24T10:51:09.590+00:00I'm a horribly neglectful blogger...As you can imagine, it's been somewhat difficult to blog for the last few months as I'm not cycling and am knackered all the time. I also have that elusive and mythical problem: babybrain.<div><br /></div><div>I have, in the past, been doubtful that such a phenomenon exists, but it clearly does. I've chatted gaily to people on the bus only to think vaguely as I disembark 'Who on earth was that?', I've put the tea caddy in the fridge and the milk in the cupboard, I've forgotten to send emails then been mystified as to why people aren't aware of plans. </div><div><br /></div><div>Luckily, my work seems unaffected and I now only have six and a half days left before I'm off on leave. </div><div><br /></div><div>So what to blog about... Hmmmmm, perhaps what no-one tells you before you get pregnant.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>It's 10 months, not nine.</b> It's 40 weeks of waiting and, believe me, it really feels that long when you start to get big!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>SPD.</b> This wonderful phenomenon means that if you're a little bit flexible to start with your pelvic ligaments can get too loose. Oh the joy of feeling like you're being kicked in the lady bits every time you get up, sit down, roll over in bed etc etc. Go to your GP, get a physio referral, it's not normal!</div><div><br /></div><div><b>The judgment.</b> Wherever you are you are, whatever you're doing, you are being judged, by <i>them</i>. Carrying a Starbucks/Costa cup? Expect those filthy looks to come flying in. Yes, you're allowed some caffeine, yes, you may well have ordered a decaff but <i>they</i> don't care. <i>They</i> care only that they know everything about pregnancy and know that you are naughty for daring to drink that POISON while pregnant. How very dare you.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you're feeling particularly masochistic, perhaps you could order that small glass of wine when you're in the pub because that's worthy of a couple of horrified gasps generally. I have had about four glasses of wine/champagne over the course of the past five months, my midwife said I could have a glass a week. So nananananaanaaaah.</div><div><br /></div><div>'You shouldn't be working in your condition!' Oh really? Thanks for the input, but given that the modern economy works on the premise that most women of childbearing age work you can sod off thank you very much. Oh and get up out of the priority seat you lazy and nobular saddo.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Tube blindness.</b> This tragic affliction should not be underestimated. I am now nearly 35 weeks pregnant and the size of a small whale. I have given up asking for a seat, people pretend not to hear or just look at me blankly. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are people who are fabulous, they block others from rushing into seats and call me over from across the carriage. There are those who, also standing, loudly upbraid their fellow passengers for ignoring me and then there are those who, on seeing the bump, leap to their feet and demand I sit down. Bless them all. If only they weren't outnumbered by tw*ts who look m in the bump and then whip out a Blackberry/iPhone and start tapping away like their lives depended on it. Eyes glued to the screen they hope desperately everyone will think they just haven't seen me. Everyone saw, they share my opinion that you're a nob.</div><div><br /></div><div>I single out for particular vitriol those who have pushed me into poles, glass partitions and other passengers as they shove me out of the way to get the seat I was aiming for. Bravo people, being that much of an idiot in public takes balls. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>The touchers.</b> People are fascinated by pregnancy, hell, so am I. It's pretty damn amazing that my body can build a whole new person. That said, please don't get too excited and PLEASE don't touch the bump unless I know you or you've asked. Friends, family, even acquaintances who have asked nicely, it's fine. Strangers, it's weird, and a bit gross. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Medical students. </b>I've had a few in my time and I'm always happy for them to join in. They have to learn and I'm generally quite chilled out health-wise. However...</div><div><br /></div><div>When you're fairly new to the whole Doppler thing and you've been poking around for a bit without success, do NOT half-whisper in a panicked tone 'I can't find a heartbeat!' to the midwife. Most first-time mums aren't as chilled out as me, according to the midwives, they might have got a bit upset. Particularly when it was realised that you just weren't poking hard enough.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyhoo, rant over, hopefully this'll tide you over for a bit...</div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-43964782903703430172011-01-24T13:30:00.000+00:002011-01-24T14:21:01.263+00:00The dry shampoo revolutionI like to think I've played a part in <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/beauty/article-1349964/Dry-shampoo-cleaning--wont-wash-mum.html">this</a>.<div><br /></div><div>I've been banging on about it to friends and family for years. Since I started cycling it's been a constant pannier essential in the battle against helmet hair. </div><div><br /></div><div>With so many brands now jumping on board I'd advise anyone to give it a go. You'd be surprised at how much it can pep up your hair after a long ride. </div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-17591251879532850982011-01-17T13:30:00.000+00:002011-01-17T15:16:26.155+00:00Why I love Mr WeenieYesterday, Mr Weenie and I went for a walk. We've been attempting to change our usual Sunday routine of pyjamas and toast as I'm now meant to be doing light exercise every day and walking is about my limit. <div><br /></div><div>We went to the shops and were reminded why we get our food shopping delivered. My weird hearing means the ambient noise of other shoppers, freezers etc overwhelms my ears and I turn into a zombified simpleton. I can't hear what Mr Weenie is saying and, as he hates shopping anyway, we always end up miffed and fed up. </div><div><br /></div><div>On the slow walk home, on which he matched my waddly pace and we ended up walking for what seemed like forever, I saw many cyclists. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first were laughing over coffee in lycra, four drop-barred bikes chained to the lamppost nearby, clearly having just done a Sunday morning distance run, probably just for fun. I tore my gaze away and we walked on. A couple whizzed by, again on bikes with drops and in long-distance gear, chatting and clearly enjoying the window of non-rain. </div><div><br /></div><div>I confess, I welled up. I very nearly cried there and then. Forgetting our minor tiff and sweeping me into a cuddle, Mr Weenie asked what on earth was wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>I launched into a monologue of love for my two-wheeled companion.</div><div><br /></div><div>My bike is not just my bike. Reg is the instant mood lifter, the transport that takes me wherever I want to go, when I want to go there, the outlet for my grump when I'm in one and my main source of physical achievement. He's not even in our house at the moment and has been banished to the storage garage as more and more baby things start to accumulate.</div><div><br /></div><div>I finished, expecting a pat on the head and to be told to stop being ridiculous.</div><div><br /></div><div>The reply came swiftly: 'Well, let's think about getting you a Brompton then.'</div><div><br /></div><div>That, my cycling friends, is love.</div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-79395318207787743352011-01-12T09:00:00.000+00:002011-01-12T09:00:09.576+00:00Tube pluses: You wouldn't get a parrot on a bikeThe snow has receded and the air is crisp and clear. The cold means walking involves being bundled up like the Michelin man and the morning commute is full of glum and depressed faces as the realisation that Christmas is over sinks in. <div><br /></div><div>All that breaks the silence of the tube is the chorus of hacking coughs and wet sneezes that spreads through the carriage and reminds you of just how many germs you're in contact with right now. </div><div><br /></div><div>The highlight of last week was the appearance of a parrot on the tube. Yes, a parrot. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had climbed aboard the busy train at Farringdon and been pushed aside by a man intent on getting a seat. Thankfully, another one opened up opposite the one he'd found and I sank into it, faffing with my bag as I went. I looked up to glare at the man who'd pushed me and my now considerable belly aside and was stopped mid-look of death by the very uncomfortable expression he was pulling. The cause? The elderly gentleman in a flatcap who was sitting next to him had a parrot on his shoulder. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was green and very pretty. It sat on his shoulder semi-dozing, attached to its owner via a lead connected to the ring round its ankle. It occasionally glanced around the carriage or readjusted its wings, but seemed utterly unperturbed to be commuting at rush hour on a mass transit system in London. </div><div><br /></div><div>As we neared Paddington and I attempted not to stare, it began to coo softly then climbed round to its owner's front to nibble his cap. He spoke to it softly, reassuring it that they were nearing their destination. In fact, they got off at Paddington, and I had the joy of walking up the stairs next to them. And I mean joy, bizarre it may have been but the parrot looked healthy and happy and was a welcome splash of colour to my working week.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm really missing my bike and with Eenie getting ever heavier, walking is becoming a bit of a chore and commuting is rubbish. </div><div><br /></div><div>Bring on the parrots.</div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-3627437700793056282010-12-09T09:00:00.000+00:002010-12-09T09:34:21.664+00:00More bike trailer/seat stuff...<div>I too am dubious of the trailers if they're on-road as they're low-down and not terribly visible. I have visions of cycling baby through country trails... Sigh. </div><div><br /></div><div>The under handlebar baby carriers are called <a href="http://www.pro-bike.co.uk/23398-bobike-child-safety-seat-9-months-to-3-years-of-age.html">Bo bike</a> carriers and I think they're FAB.</div><div><br /></div><div>I do like <a href="http://www.practicalcycles.com/userimages/procart7.htm">Bakfiet</a> ones too (they're the bucket ones) and the <a href="http://www.trikidoo.co.uk/default.htm?gclid=CIron-Tu3qUCFcxO4QodVQrf0g">Trikidoo</a> is also worth a look. A lady near where I worked in Hammersmith had the Trikidoo and always looked terribly stylish on it. </div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-61481082609586871602010-12-07T13:30:00.001+00:002010-12-09T09:24:59.131+00:00Bike trailersHave been ogling bikes and, more specifically, bike trailers. <div><br /></div><div>While Mr Weenie is adamant that Eenie will NOT be making an appearance on a bike/trailer while in infancy, surely there's no harm in looking? Besides, some of them are purely cargo ones...</div><div><br /></div><div>To my shock, what I've discovered is a huge expensive array of options. For under £200 you can get a rather swanky bright yellow option with five-point harnesses for up to two children.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've also stumbled across the frankly disturbing idea of 'doggy joggers'. Yes, trailers so that even the most pampered of puppies can avoid getting their paws dirty while still enjoying the scenery.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I also found was AtoB, a sustainable transport mag that has a fairly comprehensive list of the available trailers.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.atob.org.uk/trailer_price_tag.html">Enjoy!</a></div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-80599690028591375192010-11-26T16:16:00.002+00:002010-11-26T16:41:28.455+00:00Spreading the love on the tube...This is my favourite time of year for cycling. Dry, crisp, cold and wonderful.<div><br /></div><div>And I'm on the tube. Sigh. </div><div><br /></div><div>The good news is that Eenie, the cause of my non-cycling commutes, is getting ever bigger. He (and he is a he we've discovered) is enjoying wriggling and kicking and has decided mummy's bladder is a glorious toy to be messed with whenever possible. </div><div><br /></div><div>He's also getting heavier and, with my dodgy hips, the regular long stands on the tube are getting increasingly uncomfortable. After a week of ligament pain I gave in and decided to try out the TfL 'Baby on board!' badges. </div><div><br /></div><div>Having approached three separate stations, two of whom had run out, I was handed two brand new shiny badges with not even a cursory glance to check I was, in fact, with child. </div><div><br /></div><div>I decided to try the badge out on the way home. I forwent it from Herne Hill but, when I hit Farringdon at rush hour, I decided to go for it. I put it on, unzipped my coat to display the belly and stepped aboard the packed carriage. Nothing happened. </div><div><br /></div><div>Crammed into a corner, no one had seen my badge. Sigh. I was resigned to another painful stand, refusing to ask for a seat in order to give the badge a proper go. </div><div><br /></div><div>One stop in, a miracle occurred, a girl lunged for a seat but, as she started to sink down she looked up, saw the badge, and blushed. 'I'm so sorry! I've just seen your badge, would you like a seat?' Hurrah!</div><div><br /></div><div>I thanked her profusely and sat down in relief, my hips were killing me. I thought the joy was over, but no. </div><div><br /></div><div>Having witnessed this chivalry, the man next to me leapt to his feet and, turning to the lady who'd given her seat to me, exclaimed 'Please have my seat, I don't need it'. When she sat I thanked her again for giving up her seat and she said she was glad I was wearing the badge as she often worried that, especially with winter clothing, she might inadvertently offend someone by offering and the badge swept away that anxiety.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the next stop a priority seat was left empty. Instead of the usual scrum to grab it, there was a lot of thoughtful looking around before an older lady stepped forward to sit down. I'd like to hope that the generosity showed by fellow commuters had reminded everyone that not everyone can stand. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'll admit I felt bit awkward and naughty, a bit like I'd emotionally blackmailed the seat out from under another commuter. It was far outweighed by the physical relief of resting my aching pelvis though. </div><div><br /></div><div>I won't wear the badge every day, but I'll certainly be whipping it out when I feel rough.</div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-18450100322597816722010-11-12T09:00:00.001+00:002010-11-12T15:56:05.210+00:00Check out those wheels...We've all done it. That attempt to give a stranger's set of wheels a nonchalant sweep of the eyes. The internal monologue of why your choice is eminently superior, the almost imperceptible nod of approval when it clearly outclasses your purchase. <div><br /></div><div>Yes, I have have pram envy. </div><div><br /></div><div>We have yet to purchase a contraption but the attitude and technique I perfected for perving on others' bikes has merged seamlessly with my new pregnant status and the brands of Colnago, Pinarello, Dawes and Specialized have been replaced with Maclaren, Quinny, iCandy and the dreaded Bugaboo. </div><div><br /></div><div>The only thing that now separates me from the others on Mumsnet is my chortles of glee at descriptions of mums and dads going to the local bike shop to get their punctured tyres repaired.</div><div><br /></div><div>Mwahahahaha</div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-84623436494649841892010-11-09T09:00:00.001+00:002010-11-09T09:41:49.132+00:00Goodbye houseToday my childhood home is handed over to its new owners.<div><br /></div><div>My parents have owned that house for around 25 years and I have lived in it all of the life I'm able to remember. My dad decided to up their already stretched budget after meeting the headmaster of the local school and deciding this was the man he wanted to oversee his small children's education. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was FILTHY when we moved in. A wooden parque floor so dirty my dad thought it was plain concrete until they started cleaning it. The back room had housed a large dog, whose wee ad pooled under the carpet and whose paws had ripped the paint off the door.</div><div><br /></div><div>Backing onto a local park, it was the envy of some of my friends. We were able to grab bikes or just wellies and play where my parents could literally bellow off the balcony that it was time to come in. When locked out, we became expert climbers as we scaled the eight-foot alley gate, hopped the garden fence and braced across the old outside loo roof to ascend to the balcony. The neighbours never worried, 'Is someone breaking in?!', 'No, it's one of the Amazonian women tribe whose forgotten her keys again.'</div><div><br /></div><div>Over the years mum and dad invested in a loft extension and, more recently, a kitchen extension, to accommodate three rapidly growing girls who turned into grumpy teenagers and then women. One by one we left, my older sister returning briefly after university and then my younger sister and her boyfriend moving in again when dad had the stroke and mum needed support. I moved out the week before my 21st birthday and have not lived there the seven years' since. I never moved for though. While my sisters have lived in Manchester, Norfolk and Walthamstowe between them, I always remained close by. I still live around a mile from that house and have always come home frequently for cups of tea, to reassure moomin that I wasn't killed by the car that hit me last year, to cook for my dad once a week when he was ill (and sneak him out to the pub) and, recently, to tell my parents that they were going to be grandparents.</div><div><br /></div><div>The local community that sustained us all through various massive upheavals is all around and many are sad that my parents have chosen to leave, but although the house remains, much has changed. </div><div><br /></div><div>When we moved in the neighbours were mainly older couples who had lived in the area since the war, even when new people moved in we all knew them. I babysat for local children when I got old enough and on Christmas day people would gather to sup champagne in the street together and comment on how big each other's children had got. </div><div><br /></div><div>With rising property prices and a rebranding of the area as a 'village', the only people who can now afford to buy in my parents' street are those working in banking, whose looking to rip the houses apart and resell them and no one knows who these neighbours are, because they rarely talk to us 'oldies'. The local school that so impressed my father has gone from strength to strength and there are far too many children vying for the spaces that inevitably go to those who can afford to live yards from the gates.</div><div><br /></div><div>My parents have had their bikes stolen twice in three years, burglaries are on the rise and last week a girl was raped in the park I played in as a child. It's time to leave. </div><div><br /></div><div>My parents chose a couple with a toddler who are planning to expand their family, in the hope that the house would become a family home once more. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sad that my parents will no longer live round the corner and that Eenie, when he or she comes in April, will never walk round the house I grew up in, but I understand why they sold it. Following dad's stroke it became financially necessary, but it also means a clean break. Their children are adults, and it's about time my parents followed their dream.</div><div><br /></div><div>Goodbye house, I only hope that the next family likes you as much as we did.</div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-32672234151780942942010-10-28T14:09:00.002+01:002010-10-28T14:10:45.742+01:00Cycling in pregnancy and beyondAlthough Eenie is not keen, <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/green-living-blog/2010/oct/27/cycling-pregnancy-london">this</a> lady was able to cycle right up to the birth.<div><br /></div><div>Worth a read I reckon.</div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-88386737786003777662010-10-27T14:18:00.003+01:002010-10-27T14:34:58.181+01:00Oh God I miss my bike, waaaaah!Yesterday was crap.<div><br /></div><div>Late night on Monday I moved in for a cuddle with Mr Weenie to be met with 'Wow, it's like a bowling ball! It's all hard and you're so much heavier.' Bastard.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tuesday morning I awoke with the horrendous mood carried over from the night before. I set off for work at 7.20am and took the train with Mr Weenie, all lovely. I had forgotten I was meeting Little Roboat that morning and missed out on a natter. </div><div><br /></div><div>One stop into the District Line journey, Mr Weenie hopped off to go to work. I got back to reading my Metro. I got on that train at 7.45am, I reached Victoria at about 9.05am. I was on it for what seemed like forever. It was hot, it was slow and t was full off commuting nobbers who insisted on stepping on my feet, tutting at each other and spreading their papers out wide to be as annoying as possible. </div><div><br /></div><div>I finally emerged from Hades into Victoria station. The next train I needed wasn't until 9.25am so I started to stride towards the Boots to pick up bits and bobs. As I reached the door the sirens began. An emergency evacuation of the station later and I was stood outside, in the rain, with 2,000 other commuters. Sirens wailed, fire engines and police arrived and many of us grumbled about the fact it was probably just some carrot batons in a dropped M&S bag or something. </div><div><br /></div><div>The station finally reopened and I had that sinking feeling. Baby was on bladder and I needed to pee. Needed doesn't even convey the urgency. In desperation I used a loo on one of the stationary and posh looking trains that weren't leaving for a while. I then did a waddly run down to the distant platform where my train was waiting.</div><div><br /></div><div>At 10.10am I was nearly at work. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sheesh.</div><div><br /></div><div>I then had an utterly rubbish day at work before trekking the hour and a half home without the capacity to pedal out my rage. This blows.</div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-82908442180217169732010-10-25T09:00:00.002+01:002010-10-25T17:24:00.821+01:00C*ck off!No, it's not sodding twins.<div><br /></div><div>Yes, I'm aware that the bump is big, I do not need to be told every time you see me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oi, tosser, I see you staring at the bump and the chalky complexion of someone feeling ill, I see you're able to stand and in a seat.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hmmmmm, why would a pregnant lady be lying across a couple of seats looking dazed, could it be she's near to fainting. So why be so f-ing rude?!</div><div><br /></div><div>Really, I see, you're an expert on all things pregnancy and feel I should be told what to eat and that cycling while pregnant 'is just irresponsible'? Thanks for that.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, finally, although it's not happened to me yet, but has happened to someone I know and has nearly happened to me a couple of times already:</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Do NOT f***ing touch me without my permission. </span></b></div><div><br /></div><div>I don't give a crap that pregnancy is fascinating, my bump is just that, MINE. I live in fear of this happening as I am seriously worried thatI will kill the perpetrator. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hormonal much?!</div><div><br /></div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4574000555619782461.post-39697231150075282122010-10-19T13:30:00.000+01:002010-10-19T13:31:51.617+01:00My converts live on....<div>Reg is still at my parents' house so I remain bikeless. There is also another problem. Eeenie weenie does NOT like exercise. </div><div><br /></div><div>He or she has decided to make me so exhausted I can barely walk home from the station, let alone get on two wheels every day. Stairs render me breathless and t's very irritating. I'm most annoyed because I've always thought that the attitude that pregnant women shouldn't cycle is completely wrong and I was hoping to be a good example. Sigh. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, while I stew in annoyance over my forced exile onto public transport, I have been greatly cheered by news from those I have or am hoping to convert. </div><div><br /></div><div>TM is a former colleague (pre-work woes). On mentioning he quite fancied giving cycling to work a go I pointed him firmly in the direction of the Ride to Work scheme and he promptly bought a Brompton. He fell in love with it and, as luck would have it, there was a tube strike shortly after his purchase. He used the LCC bike tube to get to an important meeting in town and hasn't looked back. As well as commuting he recently took part in the Brompton World Championships. Wonderful!</div><div><br /></div><div>The lovely S trekked out to my new office to say hello on a day off a couple of weeks ago. She's still cycling and is, in fact, encouraging others to do so. In a recent email she gaily told me that she was buying her husband a bike, as he had been inspired by her enthusiasm and fancied giving it a go. Rather than get the bike delivered, she had decided to venture out to an area she'd not been to before to collect said bike and cycle it home. Hurrah!</div><div><br /></div><div>Moomin has ordered her new bike after the theft of her old one but, not being able to wait, has been using Roger and Reg while they've been stored at her house. My sister, who had an unfortunate accident as a child while on a bike, has also decided to give cycling a go and I have decided to give Roger to her to cycle to vet school and back. Marvellous!</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm aiming to cycle to music school with my sister on Saturday if Eenie is amenable but even if I can't it makes me glow to know there are cyclists in London enjoying bikes and that I, in a small way, encouraged or helped them to do it. Sigh.</div>Weeniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07978271476811808607noreply@blogger.com0