Where there's a Wahl there's a way.

Herman the German has surrendered.  

I attacked the Wahl (1) trimmer with a sharp pointy thing and a meter multi-range so I could check for blood pressure and a pulse.  With a bit of determination I split it open.  I only busted one mounting lug which going by the number of lugs and the effort needed to split such a small device surely was design overkill by Herman anyway.  'Ve haf vays of prewenting jou frem fetterling our bitz!', says Herman.  

I'm in a darkened room with sleeves rolled up, wide eyed staring down at the now disemboweled body admiring the simplicity of its design.  With thunder and lightning flashing and crashing all around and with the crackle of high voltage electricity in the air I press on with my machinations and watch insanely as it finally coughs a little buzz and comes back to life!  'It's ALIVE! Ya ha ha ha harrrrr!'.  HERMAN!  It's ALIVE!!!  I wheel around the office in a wild phantom dance with my meter multi-range in my arms revelling in the power given to me and my ability to bring dead inanimate objects back to life!

With a bit of concentrated fettling the bloody thing now works!  Up yours TESCO!  Ha ha-ha ha-ha ha-haaaarrrr!

Bugger it, I wish I'd tried to fettle it before I bought the new one.  Now I have two trimmers.  Never mind.  I'll run the fettled one for a while in test mode before I put it back into normal use.  So that'll be one for my bald pate and tother for my other hairy bits.  I've already told my hairdresser to bog off after he refused to reduce the price of a haircut considering my cut is about one fifth of what he would do to a normal head of hair.  Yeah, I thought, a bit of discount for less than half a proper job was in order.  But he would not.  There ya go.  I'm a true Yorkshireman.  

I attacked the trimmer today 'cos my legs were dead.  A proper solid pair of thigh muscles which, in collaboration with Audrey II, were demanding extra food and rest.  Nearly 4000 kcals used on yesterday's bike ride in the Howardian Hills.  I arranged to meet up with the Howardian Pillock to encourage him to get out of the house at least once per year.  A big thanks to his other half Pat who supplied the crip car to transport him and some food to feed all of us at the pre arranged refuel stop at Kirkham Priory.  Very nice cheese and onion sarnies they were too.  Thanks Pat!

However, as moaned about previously in other blog entries the weather forecast was as unreliable as an unreliable thing.  How crap have the BBC and MET offices become?  Sunny morning they said - check, yep it was.  Nice afternoon too they said.  Oh dear.  I had been smitten by another faux weather forecast again.  

For sure the ride across the top of the Howardian hills to Terrington was worse than just damp and was pretty bare of any shelter.  As I cycled along a stinging little shower produced a low bright rainbow not more than 100 yards in front of me.  Well perhaps not all that bad then.  Through the drizzle I spotted some high vis under the one and only tree for miles around with any kind of leafage.  I decided not to stop unlike the old boy in the high viz who was positively hugging the tree to try to keep warm and dry.  I should have taken his photo as I'm sure there would have been a national photographic prize in it for me. 

Prize winning photo of a cyclist hiding from the rain or shagging a tree...

I said a polite hello but as I was now quite wet I decided to plod on.  I trudged on along high wet lanes which were blathered in slimy mud due to the autumnal Farmer Palmer ploughing and shit shovelling fest which was happening all around me.  I'm watching the clouds carefully thinking that if needed surely there would be some shelter in the village of Terrington?  Er no.  There wasn't. 

I reached the top of Terrington bank just as the heavens opened up proper like for the 3rd time.  Nonetheless down I went.  A long straight run >17% descent as though riding angry white water rapids on the worst of any river.  Tyres close to aquaplaning.  Braking gently to restrict speed to 35mph.  Bright lights on front and back.  The wind and rain was in my now squinting stinging eyes; so bad that all I could do was to stay in the middle of the bright bit between the two darker bits hoping that I wouldn't meet my brother (2) driving in the other direction.  Phewee!  

I eventually found a semi-naked tree on a straight section of the Strensall to Sherriff Hutton road which had a T junction adjacent to the place where I stopped.  Water and rain was positively smashing the remains of the greasy autumnal leaves off the tree and was bouncing a good foot back up into the air from the road surface.  I watched on in horror as a white van man approached the junction just as an idiotic Mini Driver decided to overtake Herman's TESCO delivery van in a huge cloud of spray.  Surely neither could see a damn thing.  We are all here sometimes by the grace of God and I thanked Him again that the white van driver did not pull out.  I'm still not sure whether it was the rain or the thought of a high speed T-Bone crash that made me wince. 

The rain abated.  I had some warm dry gear in my panniers so as soon as I was confident the worst of it had passed I stripped off my top down to the blubber.  I did my bestest impersonation of a beached whale at the side of the road and slipped into something drier.  But not quite as nice as a Martini.  

The ride back into York was miserable.  Something like cook in the bag stuff now that I had pulled to all intents a cook in the bag bag over my head.  Yuck.  But I was warm and as anyone knows when tour cycling there are no dry places to hide.  It's either sweat or rain.  Just one is warmer and the other fresher.  My legs felt tired but still pushed me along at approx 15mph which was good considering the conditions.  

I got home.  I immediately had hot steamy wet sex with my shower.  Phwoarrr!  Then pushed a gallon of tea down my throat.  I reclined in my comfy electric chair to watch TV whilst waiting for my cabbage dinner to warm through in the microwave.  But in an attempt to reposition my bum, I lifted up to the almost horizontal and tensed my right thigh which immediately cramped.  AAAARRRGGHH!  Aw FECK!  At the same time I dropped the remote control for the recliner on the floor and could not as best I tried reach it without making the cramp worse.  Ooh Ooh Ooh!  I'm stuck.  

I gritted my teeth and clenched my eyes.  The recliner had locked me in a semi bent head up feet up position.  I dare not move for fear that another accidental clench would result in a secondary cramp and fold me neatly in half like a rather well creased bit of origami.  I've no option but to lay still and try to relax and hope that the cramping would eventually abate whilst the TV show 'Pointless' laughed in my face.

Here are the scores on the doors from the last 24 hours:

 Hitler's moustache trimmer 0 -- The Allied Fettler 1

Kirkham Priory hill climb 0 -- Fat Bloke on a bike 1 (OT)

BBC weather forecast MINUS 1,000,000! -- The Drowned Fat Rat on a bike 0

Pork pies in the fridge 0 -- Crumby Fat Bloke on a couch 3 

Overall I lost today.  Cycling was abandoned at half time after I ran out of dry balls.

2020 is nearly done.  The opportunities for riding are becoming less.  Shorter wetter colder days ahead for sure.  So it's nearly time to get back on the magnetic trainer.  Oh Joy.  

I have a Diabetic review next month should the current increase in Covid allow it.  I'm hoping my HBA1C has remained good even though I've done my best to eat all the carbohydrates in York.  

Nonetheless, even with all my moaning and complaining I do feel rather good.  Fit and Strong.  Heavy for sure.  Hungry always.  But good.  

(1) The surname Wahl was first found in Oldenburg, Germany, where the name emerged in mediaeval times as one of the prominent sheep shagging families of these regions.  Later descendants migrated to the land of the free and the home of the brave where they then invented sheep shearing which, post the invention of electrickery was further developed in late 19th century Texas into sex toys.  Bzzzzzzzzzz!

(2)  My Brother.  Both of us have a habit of driving through red traffic lights.  When asked why do I always stop at green traffic lights I said ''cos my brother might be driving in the other direction.."