On Yer Bike
At the recent Leigh Regatta, near Southend, for the posh poeple. I chose to obey the NO FLICKING CYCLING on the narrow pathway between Leigh and Chalkwell stations, even though being off my bike made my span twice as wide.

Some old dithering twunt and his daughter-age about forty, the daughter, he must have been sixty at least, was walking side by side in front at a speed less than a slug with a limp. So I rocked up behind at a fit pace and needed to get past twunt plus one as I had a pint booked and an urge for a wee after the previous six pints of Aussie piss water.

Luckily the daughter saw the urgency of my cause, and I'm sure wanted a perv at the muscle tone of my legs / bum in cycling shorts (no padding required) and asked Dad to move over. At this point twunt decided not to move and remained mute to her requests saying I should wait! 'Its two sodding miles till the beachfront-and I'm not waiting behind you the whole time, cock' I thought. So with the same noise, poise and girth of a German Panzer steaming through northern europe I pushed past, with an apology of course, more than Hitler gave!

The retort from said twunt, which was reminicent of the the french when their Marrigold (5 digits and yellow) Line was circumvented within 2 days of planning by the devious Bosch (good drills) was, 'bloody bikes, what a pain in the arse, shouldn't be ridden on ere'. Bet he said that to the Stuka's as they were blowing the shit out of his mates on the beaches.

Nevertheless, and like the French poofs, he was overun with two fingers and compliments of the chef.

Next time I'm going to ride full pelt and score points for how many whinging arsehole I can clip. Extra points for chavs.

Daughter deserved to .......
(Suck it and Sea, Mon 24 Sep 2007, 18:31, Reply)