Pathetic

Two days after getting home, I decided to bike into Hakana Bay.

I disregarded the fact that I had done no exercise for the previous month, apart from climbing into bed. It’s a 10km round-trip to Hakana Bay with 800ft straight up or straight down, depending on whether you’re pedalling furiously or frantically braking respectively; I also considered this largely irrelevant.

Apart from a brutal uphill sprint at the start, the rest of the leg to Hakana Bay is more a trade-off between setting your brake pads on fire, or doing a starfish off the top of a cliff. Despite these tense negotiations, arriving at Hakana Bay I felt PUMPED.

Shame I couldn’t say the same about the back tyre.

After a brief stop to inflate and let Jed roll around in mud, we struck out for home. About 200ft up the road, I thought my lungs were going to explode. 400ft on, I understood what dying must feel like.

I dismounted the bike, pumped up the back tyre again, and started pushing. I was averaging a rate of about 2km per day when, at the hairpin bend overlooking the valley, we came across three loggers.

I stopped whimpering and paused for a chat because, you know, I’m friendly. Also because I wasn’t sure whether walking another step was biologically feasible. Also the back tyre was flat again.

Jed tried to intimidate the loggers by barking; the strategy had limited success because they thought he was a giant poodle. He should stick to farting. In a bid to win him over, one of the loggers threw Jed a biscuit.

Watching my dog pounce on the biscuit, I realized I was starving. Ravenous enough to claw that biscuit out of my dog’s jaws and wolf it down myself, except that Jed swallowed too fast.

“Can I have one too?” I asked with barely contained drool.

The Irish amongst you will appreciate how hungry I must have been. In Ireland, asking for a biscuit is a cultural taboo on the same level as pointing at strangers, or necrophilia.

Obviously taken aback, the logger said, “Aw yeh.” He proffered the pack. “Take a handful.”

I momentarily considered snatching the entire packet and making a run for it except that I could barely walk, never mind RUN. Also, there were three of them, and just me and a giant poodle.

In the end, I thought taking any more than two would be rude.

Sometimes I wake up grumpy, sometimes I let him sleep

Now that summer is well and truly entrenched, Husband has taken to getting up at 05:00hrs to go desert biking.

 

Last Saturday, he returned from biking just after I got back from the beach. When I came out of the shower, he was collapsed across the bed infusing the duvet with his signature scent: a delicate blend of petrol fumes and sweat.

 

“Let me have a little doze,” came his voice out of the fug. “Then I won’t be grumpy.”

 

I took myself downstairs and was busy emailing My Agent, when Andrew goose-stepped down the stairs.

 

“I had a nap, but I’m STILL GRUMPY!”

 

“Well, stoppit!” I ordered sharply. This conduct was in wilful violation of the Terms & Conditions of our marriage, Section 3 Paragraph 1a: Any ‘Partner’ who chooses voluntarily without coercion or ulterior motive other than pursuit of Hobby to ride a ‘Motorbike’ for unspecified or specified length of time in any period that could reasonably and otherwise be devoted to the ‘Other Partner’ is prohibited from grumpiness or behaviour that could be reasonably and otherwise described as irritable, snappy, petulant, cantankerous, crusty or tetchy until the next bedtime subsequent to the activity described above (please see Appendix II for permissible exceptions) and furthermore shall immediately cease and desist from displays of such behaviour.

 

Andrew head butted the sofa and remained flung there muttering something about rhubarb.

 

“I’m HUNGRY,” he announced.

 

I brought him a cracker.

 

“Thanks.” There was a long pause while he nibbled on his cracker, then: “See how nice I was there?”

Ginger snaps

I have weaned myself off chocolate with the aid of ginger snaps. Nowadays, if you offered me a bag full of dairy milk chocolate or one single lonely ginger snap . . . ok, I’d still choose the chocolate, but I’d try and persuade you to give me the ginger snap AS WELL. Along with the rest of the packet. And if you refused, I’d steal around to your house later that evening and smash a pane of glass in the back door with my elbow and rob the packet of ginger snaps. Or I might go to the supermarket and buy myself a pack, whichever was easiest.

 

I’m not usually given to poetry, but the only way I can express what ginger snaps mean to me is with verse. I’ve composed a little poem and I hope you like it. Ahem.

 

Ode to ginger snaps

 

Oh small round disc

Of gingery goodness,

I am humbled by

Your wild, majestic, unfettered beauty.

Ravish me in your sugary embrace.

You invade my soul.

I want to snort you whole.

Why do you not?

Why?

Why do you not

Come in handy powdered format

For that very purpose?

Idle McVities Marketing Department

You all deserve to be fired

You worthless bunch of slackers.

(Although admittedly I do like

The easy open packaging.

Well done with that.)

 

Raunchy biscuity lover,

I will crush you into

Fine particles

And inhale.

My flaming nostrils

Hurt.

Ow.

 

What do you think? Am I better at the poetry than the prose?