Thinking The Commute

Find the pedals…..Clip!
This gear is too easy from where I rode up the hill to my house last time.
Fresh, brisk air against my face, mind that loose sand at the bottom of the road.
I can see to the right, look to the left, no cars…freewheel.
I can see to the right, look to the left, no cars…pedal.
The church and graveyard.. ‘dead centre’ of the village.
Wind is streaming around my glasses into my eyes. Cold wind.
Wait there car, we can’t both squeeze through this section of road.
Thank you.
I hope they cut that bush back before spring, it nearly always hits me in the face.
Mind this corner, it looks icy.
It wasn’t.
The first hill, view blocked to the left by the hedge and blocked to the right by the house… so just listen.
Clear… GO!
Tear drops making wet tracks down my face, congregating into one water droplet under my chin.
I wipe them away with the back of my hand.
Turn my head and blow my nose into the open air.
Wondering how much of what came out is now gripping my shoulder.
Co………nstaaaaant craaaaavings.. is alllllllllll…..
Slippy drain cover, broken reinstatement, gravel.
I’m glad I’ve got these mudguards on.
Ah haaaaaaaaaaa, constant craaaavings….
Checking my shoulder… it’s clean.
They’ve cut their hedge… I wonder if they used cones and wore a hiviz jacket.
Watch out for splinters.
Thin strip of asphalt between the verge and drain cover… try not to touch either.
Pedal stroke smooth, full circles, nice.
These shoes make my feet numb.
I always drink at this corner.
Water is cold….I like it better when I put warm in it.
Grumpy horses in the field.
Horses are so perpetually grumpy..
Miserable horses.
Miserable horses face.
Not dissimilar to miserable horses arse.
Horses arse face.
Face like a horses arse.
I love the word ‘Arse’.
I decided I don’t like words ending in ‘ie’.
Smell of sugarbeet in the air.
Horses like sugarbeet.
Here, miserable horses arse eat some sugarbeatie, it’s sweetie.
Ugh.. I hate that.
Misty, foggy but oddly mild between the houses.
Smooth tarmac. My favourite tarmac.
Decrepit house, money pit house, nice house, PIMP HOUSE!
I feel like I’m floating.
White fence rattling past like a train track in the peripheral of my eye.
Garage.. mind the diesel.
Audi R8.. nice.
I think he works for Audi.
That’s what W said.
Open fields, I love this stretch.
Smooth, fast, quiet, dangerous blind bends.
Hill, stand up, push, ignore the burn….
You’re not as fit as you were.
Recurring words and tunes, say them in time with your pedal strokes.
Pedals like a metronome.
J….W….P…. J….W….P…. J….W….P
Left J
Right W
Left P
To the tune of your spin class soundtrack.
Motorcycle passing, looking at me in his left mirror.
Was he making sure I hadn’t fallen off after he passed I wonder.
Maybe he was checking to see if I was a girl.
Open field… my favourite field blighted by pylons, although I like them from this distance.
Left or right, left or right, left or….
Around the curve past the recycling centre.
Grubby mucky road.. muddy, damp, slippy.
Pigs used to be in that field.
They lived under these electricity pylons.
I hate to even ride under them.
They crackle when it’s damp.
Crackle like bacon.
If pigs got struck by electricity they’d smell like bacon.
Nearly at the top of this drag.. and stop.
The main road isn’t busy.
Across and into the next village, past the houses.
Pink house, white house, dirty house, pink house, white house, white house, cream house.
Parked cars, watch for opening doors.
Check over shoulder and move out.
Kids running along the pavement.
Mums walking them to school…
Kids on scooters one way, Mums carrying empty scooters the other.
Milkman delivering milk.
Car pulling out, looking the other way.
‘Wedding Show’ at Glemham Hall…
… wedding.. I’m unmarriable… no show necessary.
Beatboxing.. boots, cats, boots, cats, boots, cats
C beat boxes all the time.
C makes headbands out of twiddled up toilet paper.
Can I make a beatbox sound from the words ‘toilet’ and ‘paper’
boots, cats, boots, cats, toilet, paper, toilet, paper…
.. it doesn’t work.
Over the bridge… the water looks clear, but cold.
The weeds lean with the current like hair blowing in a breeze.
If I fell in, I’d be head first in the water with my feet awkwardly clipped to my bike pedals.
And the water would go up my nose.
And it’d burn.
And, oh.. that’s a nice car.. looks good in black.
I bet it’s a bitch to keep clean.
Black and yellow black and yellow black and yellow.. YEAH uh huh.. you know what it is…
I don’t know the rest of the lyrics… I’ll have to Google them when I get in.
Corner, cars darting out of the junction, get eye contact.. get eye contact, got it..
Stay put bitch.
Ha, I called  her a bitch and I don’t even know her… It was in my head though.
Up the hill, under the trees, stand up, get up it go on!
Push, pull, push pull…burn, push, pull, burn, ignore the burn, push, pull..sit…
Parked cars, watch for opening doors…
Bin lorry blocking the way.
Queue of cars waiting to pass.. filter down the side, to the front, squeeze past..
Hold your breath!
Looks disgusting in the back of that lorry
Blast of warm air from the exhaust.
Still holding breath.
Passed it… and breathe..
Turn left, up the hill, turn left, up the hill, turn left pick a good gear
Hillview Road.. much of a hill, lack of a view.
Wrong gear… how do I get it so wrong every time?
Puuuuuuuusssssssh, pull, puuuuuuuusssssshhhh
Puffed out.. keep spinning.
Mind this roundabout there’s always diesel on it.
Mind the pothole next to that drain.
Smooth road.. smooth straight fast long..
That’s a nice tempo, I’m floating again.
Cool down…
Another drag up to the office… enough to make me sweat before I have to stop.
Through the yellow gates, around the barrier.
A cool down lap in the car park.
Remove gloves.
Remove lid.
Remove glasses.
And earwarmer.
Lock bike.
Grab stuff, enter building, get changed.
Enter office, arrive at desk.
Now sit still.

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A Repost…

I’ve been reading through some of the archives and have decided to repost some whilst I’m not being literarilly creative…


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Welcome Home Now Fuck Off

You had a good night.

You laughed.

You drank.

You ate.

You forgot.

You get home.

The porch light blinds you as you stumble into the driveway, over the uneven drain cover and the gravel.

You unlock the front door, checking to the right to ensure no one is hiding in the bushes ready to pounce.

You enter the dark house.

You step over the random sock, school bag, shoes and other abandoned items in the lobby.

You put your keys in the cupboard.

The house is dark and quiet.

There is nobody here.

At least there doesn’t appear to be.

You turn on a light.


You check the phone for messages.


You check the back door to make sure it was locked during the time you were away.

It was.

Therefore, no one should be here.

You look at your mobile now that it has reception.

No one contacted you.

You turn the lights off and double check the doors.

And hang your coat.

And make your way to the bedroom.

It’s how you left it.

No one has been here.

No one else lives here.

You check your mobile.


No one knows where you are.

No one cares where you are.

No one is here anymore to welcome you home.

No one is here to give you a hug.

Or make you a cuppa.






Welcome to your life. Living in the dream you bought with someone else. And now that person can’t wait until you hurry up and disappear. Quickly. Get on, move out, go away. FUCK OFF.

I can’t spend it while you’re still living it.

And then your phone bleeps.

Are you ok?


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Deafening Silence

I awoke from my sound sleep without opening my eyes, my head embedded in a cushiony cave between the weighty feather pillow and puffy mattress topper. I lay there in the blackness without moving. Warm, comfortable, a sleepy dead weight, listening to the familiar constant tonal surround sound squeal of Tinnitus in my ears, when all of a sudden…….it stopped.

Plunged suddenly into complete and utter silence my brain became alert as though I’d just woken to the sound of a window breaking. I raised my head slightly off the sheet in order to pay greater attention to this unfamiliar world with both ears.

And there it was, something I last remember experiencing 9 years previously when I slept in a sleeping bag on a small reed mat on the sand, under the stars in the Sahara Desert. Saw the night sky with no light pollution, smelled air with no scent and felt the persistent eerie breeze without a single noise. No trees to rustle through or buildings to whoosh around… SILENCE in it’s purest form.

Empty silence.

An instant respite from the squeal, the buzz, the small Cessna aircraft and my own whooshing heart beat pounding away in my ears 24/7, 365. An event so marvellous I reached into the darkness for the spot where my pen lay and scrawled the occasion into my notebook.

From that pillowy cave, I smiled.

Then just as quickly as it had switched off, the noise switched back on.

I fell back to sleep still smiling.


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Gotta Come Back As Something Less Frantic…..

Photoshop Handsome – ‘Everything Everything’

I didn’t like this when I first heard it, but it’s a grower. Since I’ve heard it a few more times I’ve found myself humming the tune repeatedly.

YouTube Preview Image

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So I’m supposed to be fixing the toilet right now after the incident where the freshwater fill valve in the cystern didn’t close and it ended up pissing gallons of fresh water out of the overflow at the side of the house – while I was away in America.  Fortunately someone saw it within hours of it overflowing and turned the water off outside the house. Still, can’t wait for that water bill.

I guess before I started messing around with the insides of the toilet cystern I thought about removing my rings since there isn’t much room to move hands and fingers around and promptly got sidetracked into browsing jewelry on the net. I can totally see how one would get sidetracked down that avenue. Toilets/Jewelry…. yeah, not really seeing the link but I’m sort of used to that with my head.

Anyway, I’m not really into mainstream jewelry. The rings I have are either older pre-owned or unusual contemporary arty pieces and while I was having a look around I found some bits that I thought were luuuurvly… particularly the ones involving old spoons!

Right – back to that toilet.  Oh, that reminds me, must put dishwasher tablets on the shopping list.

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A Day Of Stern Letter Writing…


Dear Spin Class – Why come if you’re not going to put some bloody effort in?

Dear Man In A Van – If it was so important for you to be in front of me why didn’t it occur to you to put your fucking foot down a bit after you’d pulled out and made me slow down?

Dear Weather – For christ sake – make up your mind!

Dear Multiple Personality Disorder Person – You do my fricken swede in… a moment in your time is like doing the Hokey Cokey wearing one trainer and one stilletto heel with a strap and a buckle around the ankle but not doing the buckle up.

Dear Waster – I hate the way you throw money away like it’s the insignificant cellophane wrapping on a packet of cigarettes.  I can’t tollerate your disregard for the precious resources available to you, food, utilities, petrol. You don’t need as much as you throw away. Greedy. Think.

Dear Local Government – Enough of your utterly ridiculous offensive buzzwords created to ‘flower up’ something particularly mundane in an effort to make it sound modern and exciting. You’re insulting my intelligence.

Dear Corporate Wankeries – it would be best to sell something at a cut price than to get no money for it at all… talk about cutting your nose off to spite your faceless entity. I hope the recession kicks you square in the collective douchery.

Dear Beko CEO – I still want you to come to my house and allow me to *dry* your clothes on the *ready to wear* setting on this SHITTY ASS white goods storage facility taking up 9 cubed feet in my kitchen.

Yours sincerely

Foxsden (Ms)

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Every Day Ought To Be A Bad Day For You

Darwin Deez –

Bad Day –

Jake Bullit Remix

I wish I’d written this song……

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Back To Reality, Oh Here Comes Gravity

I have finally returned to the UK from two months away in the US.

The trip was everything I hoped for and so much more.

I’ve bounced back healthier, happier, fitter and hugely energised ready to crash into the new year head on and work towards the goals and plans I’ve decided for myself.

2011 is about getting my life to fit in my hand luggage.

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‘Only small rolling hills’ he said…

I can always count on J to ride behind me keeping check on things like my dirty chainstays, my pedal stroke and my gear choice – periodically calling me a ‘masher’ because I push a bigger gear than I should for the cadence I’m keeping – or something… I’m moving forward, surely that’s what counts – even if it is in a gear and pace that causes my knees to make noises only dogs can hear?

Far be it from me to question a pro sprinter with 8 million race wins in his legs and a commercial pilots licence to his credentials. The man can fly in more than one way … Go Jet Set!

About 8 leg burning climbs and 23 miles later we reached the turn around point. I always thought what went up must come down but funny enough every one of those 8 climbs turned into a climb on the way home too…  Never again!

Except maybe today….

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