Boris biking fun

I have decided to defy the NHS and begin cycling again.* However, I decided my return to pedal power would be on Boris's marvellous cycle hire contraptions as the sit up and beg position means no weight is being lent on my wrists and the route from Paddington to Victoria is mainly through Hyde Park.

A week after signing up, my key arrived so, on Monday morning, I headed out with my helmet and Sam Browne in my bag, ready to hit the bikes.

My key didn't work.

I headed back to the trains after a call to the cycle hire line that said they were too busy to sort it out and that they would call me back. Train delays meant I was horrendously late for work. Boo. That evening I rang again, pointing out that no one had rung me back. 'Sorry madam, we're still too busy' came the cry.

After getting very cross. I decided to calm down and walk to Paddington as Mr Weenie was working late and it was a lovely evening. I planned out a route and had a lovely walk. This morning, having seen a lovely occupational physio who guardedly said that, while she couldn't tell me I was fine to cycle because of protocol, she could tell me that many other people started back doing everyday activities at this point and no harm came to them. Hint hint.

Yesterday morning I got to Paddington (trains were again late) and my key STILL didn't work. So I rang the line, and they picked up! After apologising profusely for the delay they reactivated my key and it worked.

Phew.

I climbed aboard and, once I'd secured my bag and strapped on my helmet, I was off.

Be warned all those who cycle light and modern roadies and hybrids, Boris bikes are heavy. Vary heavy. I wobbled somewhat as I began but I soon hit my stride and, as I've cycled around Paddington many times, I knew exactly the way to Hyde Park using small backstreets.

The brakes were sensitive without being too sharp and the gear changes were smooth. Yes, the bikes are heavy, but they're also stable and feel well built.

After getting a bit lost I arrived at Victoria in around 25 minutes, a vastly improved time than it's been taking of late. I saw a docking station, obeyed BoJo's instruction of firmly ramming the bike into the dock and the light went green first time. I walked 100 yards to the station and my train was already at the platform. I hopped on and arrived at work far happier than I've been for some time.

I've always supported the idea of the scheme and, although it's unfortunate that the call centre is clearly ill equipped to deal with the volume of interest, I'm heartened that the interest has been so great. Given that only members can use the bikes at the moment I've been impressed by the number of people I see out and about on them. Fingers crossed they work the kinks out as soon as possible.

*I should point out that the doctors do not object to my cycling per se, it is their concern that I will fall over while on my bike. My hip problems mean that I've fallen over about 15 times since I broke my wrist while walking around. Hmmmmmmmmm

Train commuting vs cycling, which is more dangerous?

I'm still not allowed to cycle... in case I fall off. This means that this morning I was yet again braving the train commute. After noticing I seem to be jostled often, this morning I decided to count the hits.

My right forearm was hit 10 times by people's bags or elbows, and that's only counting the ones that hurt. I also nearly got shoved off the train at Ealing Broadway and would have fallen flat on my face and probably thrown my arm out to catch myself.

The theory that it is somehow 'safer' for me to be doing this every morning instead of cycling is becoming more and more questionable. Dogs and small children are continually at my feet attempting to trip me up, I am shoved from behind as I step off high trains onto low platforms by people anxious to get to work, people with ridiculously large bags with hard edges swing them into me as they plough through the crowds.

I haven't even factored in the higher risk of obesity and heart disease caused by sitting on your arse on a train instead of cycling.

Oh God, I'm doomed!

PS: Am still waiting for my key to a Boris bike....

It's off... ouch

Yesterday the cast came off.

A large and friendly nurse waved a mini circular saw around with gay abandon and cut off the pink monstrosity that has made life so difficult for nearly two months. I was so excited the night before I could barely sleep. Little did I know...

First of all came the smell. Ewwwwwwwwwww. In my defence, no one's arm would smell like roses after seven weeks sweating into a cast.

Then there was the hair. Oh. My. God. Monkey-like dark brown hair. All over my forearm and back of my hand. My arms have always had quite a lot of hair, but it's so blonde it's near invisible. Not any more.

Then there was the skin. Dark brown scaly patches of dead skin were everywhere. Even in places where this wasn't the case, peeling was a major feature. And then there was the heat rash all over my inner arm and on the back.

The back drop for all this was pale skin (oh the tan line) wrapped around a somewhat thinner arm than the one I fractured at the beginning of June.

Manic arm scrubbing, Jolen bleach (the hair) and Sudocrem (the heat rash) later, it does at least look human. What's rubbish is the pain. And it really hurts. Apparently it's normal but owwwwwww.

Is rubbish. Put it back on.

Refusing to be bitter

As the job debacle rumbles on and my cast gets progressively more itchy it's hard not to be angry. I have to admit that the love I've received from friends, family and readers has been very welcome and has genuinely made me feel better. It's also contributed to my attempts at not being bitter.

Unlike previously shafted employees I've decided not to get angry. It's rubbish but I'll be damned if they'll make me slink off into the dark. Leaving do and presents please!

Cast off date!

It's been a bit of a rubbish week as I found out I've been sold to a new company. Yes, I'm being trafficked. Anyhoo, I have at least got a date for cast off. The 27th of July. At least there's light at the end of the tunnel I spose...

PINK!

Check it out...















Plus, the rather camp male nurse who put it on joyfully exclaimed 'I haven't done a pink one in ages' when I made my choice, ooooh matron!

Bored now

So, here I am, all casted up. And I am booooored.

The pain in my fingers means typing with my right hand is out and I'm doing this post over several days using my pointing finger on my left hand. On top of this, it really hurts. God bless Tramadol but it so isn't stopping all of the pain. I'm knackered too and am napping with Mr Handsome every afternoon. This combination means I'm off work, at least until Mr Orthopaedic surgeon man decides on whether I need it pinned. I'll also be getting my new cast then, I'm desperately hoping they'll have pink ones.

Having no right hand use is pants. Who knew that even going for a wee could be an adventure in balance and co-ordination? I was asked to sign for my prescription earlier and just looked at the pharmacist blankly. I'm starting to get the hang of left-handed Sudoku, but it takes a squillion years.

On the plus side I'm not able to do housework either, nor can I cook. Turns out Mr Weenie is a fabulous nurse. He's been downloading recipes to take over the kitchen I've run for seven years(amazing chilli mmmm), ensuring I don't have to go out braless (intrepid teenage boys who learn the one-handed bra undo I salute you), attempting to tie back my hair and telling me my new hair cut looks lovely (hurrah for Louis, hair saviour for ladies who have one hand with which to sort their bonce), and just generally being fab.

The love I've received from various quarters has been most marvellous. Not only have friends and loved ones been voicing concern and offering help but when you're a damsel in cast even teenage boys on the bus rush to your aid when you drop your phone for the third time.

When I pass Reg in the corridor, however, it pains me. Taking the bus and train has been crap and when I see cyclists whizzing past I wish it was me...

Anyhoo, enough ranting, I need someone to remove the wrapper from my ice lolly. Mr Weeeeeeeeeeeeeenie...