Album of the Day: Patti Smith – Horses
I know I should adore this album. Everyone else seems to. But I find it a little meh. I get the raw energy, but the songs sound half-finished to me. It’s not exactly a party floor filler, either. Sorry.
⭐ ⭐
Another morning, another half hour on the phone to silly Royal Mail. They’ve admitted that the unknown item I paid the extra £1.50 postage on has been lost.
Alresford sorting office is shit.
A refund is coming my way.
Whoop-de-do.
I’ve still no idea what the unknown item is. I’m not expecting any eBay goodies. It may be a life changing letter offering me financial rewards. It may be a dental appointment.
I wasn’t in the mood to haggle over the latest broadband bill. For some reason it’s £2 more than I was expecting. I know the prices are going up, but I factored this in. I’m switching next month anyway. I surprised myself in being able to let this one go.
I had the afternoon free to chase down the Ride London race as it rolled out through the bloody Estuary Wilds. I set off on the roadie against a ferocious headwind. I missed the electric assist boost as soon as I left Weird Wiv.
The wind turbines on the Tendring border were in panic attack mode. I was under-dressed, even with a pair of summer tights, arm warmies and a gilet.
I caught up with the Marshall bus outside of Little Bromley. This was dropping off yoof in high viz every half a km or so. They looked bored out of their brains.
I was unsure when the roads would be closed. I decided to tag behind the Marshall bus, thinking that as long as it was moving, the roads would be open.
One of the Marshall yoof clearly didn’t know that this was a women’s race. He clocked me on my roadie, and assumed that I was part of the peloton. He gave me a cheer, and wished me good luck.
Erm, chapeau, Marshall yoof.
I reached the outskirts of Bradfield. The dip ahead looked down below out across the Stour. This seemed like a decent place to set up camp. I wasn’t alone with two other cycling groups having gathered.
And then came the long wait.
It was a bloody long wait in an exposed spot.
I checked the various feeds and saw that the race was riding behind schedule. Blame that ferocious headwind.
Around half an hour later and the first race vehicles passed through. Then the team cars, and finally I saw the helicopter about 1km away.
Here we go.
I wasn’t expecting the race to be so fractured at this point. There was around ten different groups as the peloton was hopelessly split.
The final rider was struggling to keep ahead of the broom van. The poor girl had ripped lycra and the blood and bruises to show for it.
Bike racing is brutal.
And then it was over. I made my way back around a circular route back to base. I collapsed on the sun bed as soon as I got in.
I tried to listen to the latest Forever Forest podcast. Never listen to podcasts when you are feeling tired.
I had a new burst of energy as Surry were teeing off in the hit ‘n’ giggle back in S Ldn. We watched the convincing win over Kent.
It’s been twenty years since the ‘rrey won the Blast.
Blimey.
