• Nailed a good 12km dash in this morning from E Finchley and stopped off at Spianata in Brushfield Street for the usual coffee and cool-down. 10/10 Announced my arrival to the classy lady who sits outside on sunny mornings by blipping the front wheel up over the kerb immediately followed by the same for the rear only this time landed a bit early and hard on the rear. No issue. Took a table. Lights off. Helmet off. Cool scarf under helmet pulled down around my neck in a John Wayne High Noon style, remove honey coloured mirror shades, take a seat one table away from my fantasy conversation and wait for my coffee cos they know what I like in Spianata. She stares at her phone. I reckon she's shy. Best play cool. I 'read' the Spanish Newspaper left lying on the table ( I don't understand a word of Spanish). Coffee is done and I'm prepared to leave, putting this down as an investment that will pay off in due course. So reverse the procedure; scarf around the forehead, shades wrapped around eyes, rucksack mounted, helmet on but not fastened (John Wayne never fastened his helmet) and grab the saddle of my 'must-have' single speed to roll off the forecourt. F*ck. Rear flat. Didn't get away with kerbing that rear. A*se. Sh*t. My tools are in a Tesco bag in my rucksack. Classy. I've got grease all over my hands. The fecking tyre wont go over the rim. My pump won't nip the valve. F*ck f*ck f*ck. She got up and left. Not even a glance. I'll save you the trouble of replying. I'm such a twat. 0/10

  • Haa! euphemism opportunities abound.

  • She deduced that the creepy stary man was temporarily occupied with his broken bike and took the opportunity to make her escape. Not even a glance, as he'd only take it as inviting a conversation and would never leave her alone.

    THERE YOU GO I FIXED IT FOR YOU

  • She got up and left. Not even a glance.

    There was a man there? What man? With a bike? Really?

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