Sweaty Betty

The breaking news that I've bought a bike has meant several things; I've had to clear out the shed, buy some lycra cycling pants, a bell and a crash helmet, and have the piss gently taken by Grimy who's been a seasoned biker since his youth.  So far, Alphonse has said nothing.  Anyway, it all started when Them Next Door had been out on the tandem and passed by a 'For Sale - £25' notice attached to a vintage Raleigh shopper bike.  I'd been moaning about getting fit for ages and this seemed like the bargain of the century to Ian, who is a whizz with a set of spanners. Texts were exchanged and I nipped round in the car.  It was all going so well until we tried to fold the bike up small enough to get it into the boot of my 106 and, shame faced, had to ask for help from the 90 year old vendor.  It was the hottest day of the year so far, so it's no surprise I've called my new wheels (Sweaty) Betty.

Some people are natural bikers, mainly because their parents buy a small trike, then a bigger machine to get the kids to school, and then in adulthood there's a natural progression to a proper bike for fitness.  This didn't happen in my case owing to my big brother's casual approach to cornering and generally falling off, and our Mum's desire to have at least one chick mature to old age.  So I caught the bus to school and the day I turned 17, I applied for a driving licence.  Thus, the need for decent headgear drove me out of the Nest to one of the city's premier bike shops at the edge of Leicester's student quarter.

Unhappily, all thoughts of safety disappeared as I walked past a 'once-worn' clothing emporium called Revival.  I saw all the colours and bags and shoes and was in there like a shot, rooting around the rails for something magenta to go with my new shoes.  It's like a drug, this place, and utterly addictive.  An hour later, I'd found a perfect skirt and the right coloured top which turned out to be too big so will be recycled to a charity shop.  But I was now running late for work who would be calling soon to find out if I'd gone missing, so I legged it to the cycle shop burning off lots of calories.

Don't know if you've seen the VW advert with the parachute salesman?  Where the chap decides to buy the cheaper parachute because it comes with a free clock radio?  The chap in the bike shop took one look at me and after listening to my queries regarding safety, showed me the basic helmet saying,
"It only comes in grey."
"Oh good.  It matches my work uniform."  Ignoring my sarcasm, he assisted me in the fitting.
"And it has a light at the back."
"I won't be pedalling at night."  I won't be pedalling much in the day either but still, safety first.
"The next one up is very popular with the ladies."  Immediately, I could see why even if he couldn't.  It was white with silver flashes and fit properly which the grey one didn't.  I popped it on my head and smiled, except that he hadn't finished passing on his expertise.
"It doesn't fit like that."  He proceeded to tip it forward onto my forehead and then patted it down hard so it rested above my eyebrows.  "Much better," he quipped "you've got to protect your head not your vanity."  Brilliant.  I wondered which one Betty would prefer and settled for the white one of course, and handed over my credit card.  I daren't look on the internet to see how much I could have saved online because I thought of the VW advert again.  As Ian said as he wrestled to get Betty's handlebars on straight, "Don't buy cheap headgear because you only get one skull!"

Tip of the Beak:  And it only takes one relatively small change to completely ruin a shopping experience.  One of my favourite time-wasting venues is Wilko.  It has so much stuff I'll never need but where else do you get bargain cleaning products?  Certainly not the Pound Shops.  Oh no, it has to be the proper stuff and as I needed a refill of sunflower seeds for our new squirrel-proof bird feeder, I had to pop into the branch in town.  Wilko!  What have you done? They've reconfigured the queuing system to resemble the check-in area at JFK ... one long endless queue and if you've only got one bag of nuts, you still have to wait behind the vast legions of pensioners in front who are buying for the whole street with no option to nip sideways to the 'cash only' tills.  Please Wilko, put it back as it was and restore the ambiance and joy to shopping.  I won't come back until you do.

Raven