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Anyone know where I can get a decent collarless shirt, not something you'd find in a sunday supplement ad next to the stair lifts. I'm thinking like my old Ben Sherman 'grandad', had square ends to the collar, cream and mixed pinstriping.
I won't be doing the top button up.
Levi's had a couple for spring. One cream/stripes and one navy/stripes. Check sale rails in their stores or failing that their Factory Outlets.
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The bike was dead. As dead as a newbie asking for advice on what tyres are best for skidding. It had died the way my dreams of a wife, two kids and a white picket fence had died the day Balki walked in.
I watched the cops draw a chalk outline round the hybrid and glanced at Balki. He was smiling that mysterious smile and as the street lights caught his chiseled cheekbones, I thought "Nice build".
I knew Balki had killed that bike and Balki knew I knew. Like two nodders on a busy roundabout we were locked in a square dance of damnation. "Fancy a pint?" he asked. "Yeh" I said, looking once more at the cops. I could tell them, turn him in and let them break him like a hoodie breaks a cheap d-lock. I could put all this behind me, forget about it just like you forget about your first OTP from Evans. But I couldn't. Balki had me in a grip tighter than Park Tools workstand.
We found a dive just off the hipster highway and Balki ordered two pink gins and a packet of pork scratchings. Just when you thought you had him figured out he'd surprise you. He made the service in BLB look predictable, he made the Bloomsbury bike lane look like the yellow brick road, he made every Bob Jackson look the same. Which they are.
"Why d'you do it Balki?" I asked.
"I fucken hate hybrids mate. They're weird"
"You killed that unicycle in Clapton too didn't you?"
"Unicycle's are shit".
He had a point.
"How many more Balki?"
"I topped a tandem in Tooting"
"Why?"
"Alliteration FTW"
He was mad, mad as using toe clips and straps in a world full of Time ATACS, mad as trusting a Halford's mechanic, mad as a baby blue fixie.
"It's time to go". As we unlocked what was left of our bikes and made notes of where we'd gone wrong so we could let GA2G know in the morning that question came back to me: Is Balki real? It didn't matter: I'd seen grown men checking each other's saddles and eating Wasabi Peas; I'd seen Xmas tree lights that were brighter than Knogs; I'd lived too long in this fixed up city to care any more. If Balki wasn't real, like a Unicorn or a cheap Rapha hat isn't real, then that's just the way the it was. He was my Current Project.Must spread myself before I can rep WW again!
Genius!! -
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wouldn't ride this one in the rain, hands may slip off of the bars...