Effortlessly Dropped

Still continuing on a little from last night this morning, must be the cheese, but only briefly before getting the bike out and heading off to work.

I catch up with a guy on a racer who I haven't seen before. I give him a cheery 'good morning' as I draw level and he totally ignores me. Hmmm. So I power on, he deserves to be dropped and I effortlessly leave him for dead. Well, effortlessly is the wrong word really, because it was bloody hard work but it had to be done.

Latest research says that people's attitude to the opposite sex can be given away by the look of their face. Researchers say men tend to be drawn to women whom they perceive are open to a short-term fling, while women are drawn to blokes they think look like good long-term bets. This is supposed to be news?

Men tended to think that the more attractive looking women were more likely to be up for a bit of casual. Ha, wishful thinking, I reckon. Whereas women who were after a partner for life avoided the more masculine-looking males because they perceived them as only after one thing. Hmm, I think someone's getting a raw deal here.

Anyhow they're all wrong; it's all in the eyes.

I bike home, struggling slightly with a sore shoulder that's added itself to my current knee and thigh problems but it's still a bloody good time.

L is out with a Doggo when I arrive, so I have to strip my lycra off alone. I get changed and prepare to tuck into some cheese and pate, as I'm off over to Bingham this evening to catch up with some friends from Polytechnic. When L gets backs she does her best to render me of little use to the women of Bingham, first physically and then by encouraging me to have multiple pickled onions with my cheese.

In Bingham our usual pub is stacked to the rafters so we nip into another, the Wheatsheaf, for a pint. It's a typical traditional pub but so unwelcoming, cold, dirty, a loud jukebox and noisy fruit machines. It's almost empty but there's still nowhere to sit because it's badly laid out. They also have only one beer on, Bombardier, which is so cold that it's tasteless. When it warms up and the taste starts to emerge, we realise why it was served cold, because it's off. We retreat back to our usual which has now empted a little. I find a cheeky little number from the Durham Brewery called, Pink Panther 4.9% which keeps me going all night.

Suitably sloshed we head home to my mate's house, his cats, and a selection of Chinese nibbles from his freezer.