Poor Priscilla

Oh poor Priscilla. After my glowing account of our adventures together, I climbed on my beloved bike and immediately noticed a steering problem. Just a small one... the front frame had completely snapped down one side of the wheel. I'm not sure how it happened and I noticed it fast enough to be sure that I certainly hadn't cycled on her like that earlier the same day. 

My initial thought was "someone has sabotaged my bike!" because apparently I live in a world of espionage and subterfuge, where unseen enemies want me dead. Suspicions immediately jumped to volatile Mentopausal, as she has been particularly nice to me recently... obviously lulling me into a false sense of security. But then I took the paranoia down a notch and realised that the Prissy's frame had quite simply snapped like an osteoporosis-weakened scapula. One too many rough jolts, of which she's had a few. Poor thing. 

There was only one thing to do. I climbed back on and cycled her home, feeling completely guilty, like I was forcing a lame donkey to limp home with me on its back, despite suffering from a broken bone. Her tendons, I mean, cables are still fully connected, so the brakes still work just fine, but the the steering is completely shot. It was a bit like trying to direct two separate wheels home, one under my bum, one under my hands. Health and safety conclusion? Stupid. 

We have three bikes between GBM and myself. Well, technically four, but it's the landlady's and we don't have the key to the fourth, it just gets in the way in our basement storage. So I figured, I'd just use one of the other two and we'll sort out poor Priscilla's health situation on the weekend. 

Then, this morning... making breakfast, I managed to throw a full container of blackberries across the kitchen and dining table. The lid came off as I was removing them from the fridge, and instead of just letting it happen (this is sometimes a better option in my experience), I tried to catch them from underneath... which resulted in me changing their trajectory and hitting them back up in the air. Instead of leaving them all to fall on the kitchen counter, possibly onto the floor by my feet, I effectively splayed them in 270 degrees, across multiple dimensions. Some went down, some went up and forwards, others went left and right. It also turns out a few went behind me, which I learnt as I stepped back to assess the situation. It's amazing how many things look like a blackberry when you're at eye level with the floor. Dead flies, previous cooking remains (I think), possible rodent droppings...

Anywho, so once that was cleaned up, I went downstairs to assess the bike situation. GBM had removed himself from the vegetative carnage I had created in the kitchen and pottered off to gym, unfortunately taking both sets of keys to the remaining two spare bikes. I was left with two options a) tram b) cycle on my two-wheeled unicycle. 

I chose option B, but not before creating some semblance of a splint for poor Priscilla's shoulder blade. Insulation tape is a girl's best DIY friend. I hope it holds for the cycle home. And I hope it doesn't rain.