A long weekend feeling that there’s more to life than this

My life, overall, is this:

I wake up, usually feeling like shit, and I force down a small bowl of Weetos. The cuppa slides down like a dream.

I hike to the car and wonder why people can’t drive at 7am, and get to work where I find another cuppa awaits me.

I do work, and work is work, it’s got tea — last week I was building things, screwing things in, and did in my dodgy hand because that still hasn’t healed from the exercise I did when rolling down that hill at Easter.

I head home and wonder why people can’t drive at 4pm, and then park the car someplace good for a hike.

I eventually get in, having popped to Waitrose, and I find this cuppa is the real dream, all the others were pretenders.

The TV goes on but I soon pause it because I need to watch this video, or I need silence so I can read this article.

My music goes on but I soon pause it because the phone rings or I’m writing, I need the silence to think.

I sit in silence for hours and then go to bed…

I can’t help but feel that there’s more to life than this.

There is the allotment and my Tuesday meetups with Myles. I have the occasional meal out with someone. But overall, my life is the above.

I hear ya!

Almost died from boredom writing it.

So what to do, what to do — I need something to do.

I could do swimming — I love to swim — but I’m fat, and although I’m not really, I’d get self-conscious and throw that into the mix and it just wouldn’t be the same.

I’ve always loved to cycle, I used to mountain bike when I was a teen — it was my space, no turmoil. But I live in a city and I don’t like road riding, besides, tarmac isn’t some rut-ridden trail.

I need to do something.

The writing I mentioned above is really just rewriting the same damn page, over and over.

I’m driving myself crazy.

Need to get out of my head, or at least get in my head when there’s wind ruffling my hair.

If conditions were always favourable, I’d paddle-board every single day. I’d have to own one, of course.

Same too for a bike.


With Center Parcs cropping up in conversation with Kayte, and all this talk of biking everywhere once we get there, I’ve ended up really wanting a bike. I used to love my bike…

On Saturday, I reasoned it’s my birthday soon so, since I want one, I should get one. But then I reasoned that I shouldn’t.

Saturday afternoon, I was looking online and I chose a couple I liked, but I didn’t know where I’d go ’cause I don’t like road riding, I like off-road. So I spent some time discovering that there are loads of places to go, some near, others a little further away.

By the evening I was sold on the idea but I have Bertie the Polo and, you know, how’s that going to work? Turns out, quite simply — a bike should fit in with the front wheel off and after that, I could get a bike rack.

I returned to those bikes I liked and wondered if it could be possible.

I flitted and flirted, and eventually reserved an orange one with Halfords. I went with orange because the black one I like I would have to wait for, and everyone has a black bike. I went with Halfords because I like the option of shouting at somebody where I can get results.

I got up early Sunday and headed to the allotment, which is just over the road from Halfords, and I weeded the onions still toying with the idea of getting this bike. My fervour of Saturday had been slept on and I like to talk myself out of things.

I finished weeding and was heading to see Myles, and I popped into Halfords to umm and aah and eventually walk away empty handed.

I met up with Myles and we went to the park, and he was telling me how the scooter I’d borrowed wasn’t good because I needed big wheels like his bike. I was talking to him and he talked me back into getting one.

Unfortunately, Myles wanted me to have a black bike like his and I’d ordered orange. On my way home, I was wondering if I should just wait for the black one I liked and forget about this one I’d reserved.

There was a bit of back and forth that saw me back at Halfords. I picked up what I’d reserved, got the box in the car (eventually) and drove home.

The building of the bike was going good until I got to the front wheel, which has a disc brake that wouldn’t let the wheel spin freely.

It was 2 hours before I eventually got to Jackie’s to have my dinner. My mood was a growl, I was not too happy with any of my decisions.

I got home, and it was 9pm before I walked away, utterly loathing this heap of shit that I don’t really have the room to store.

This morning, I woke to its sickening sight and eventually convinced myself to take it to this bike place down the road. They turned out to be a fat load of help, so I put it in the car and took it to Halfords.

An hour later, after blaming the bike place for my tinkering, I wheeled the bike out and it 100% works.

I’ve learnt I can get it in the car if I take the wheel off and shift every seat but mine.

The whole reason I wanted to build the bike was to get back into the bike thing, and I wasn’t far off resolving my problem, I just wasn’t right.

I didn’t throw it through a window. I have issue with inanimate objects that piss me off, I tend to break them, and I didn’t.

I rode the bike from the car to the house, and I’ve found it a place to live.

I don’t know when I’m going to get out on it next, either Wednesday or Thursday, I’m going to go to the seafront.

Next weekend, I’m thinking possibly heading somewhere — I don’t know — I can stick the bike in the boot and go.

And then soon enough, I’ll lose my wobbly bits and get to go swimming without the whole rigmarole of going on my own.

He still needs a name, but his nickname is Ginge for obvious reasons.

Tomos James

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