Scragamuffin

I'm now into the final leg of completing the house extension and I'm gobsmacked at the number of small snagging jobs that have still to be done.  Things like screwing down floor boards and repairing holes in the plasterboard walls, both left after the electrician and plumber have been in / under them.  How about correcting stupid floor levelling solutions done by the builder on top of floorboards.  Duh!  Etcetera, etc...  The task list is longer than both arms but at least I've started on it.  This is the final push.  Fix all the snags then get the final wet glossy work done.  Sometime next week I should be able to plan a date with the carpet fitter and then finito!  Yay!  But don't bet yer mortgage on it....

It has been the world's longest project.  If I was married I'd be divorced by now.  There is no way anyone could live like wot I can in an unfinished project with the mess of it all.  So many times I could have done stuff but of the many reasons not to, for sure a biggie is that I'd rather go out for a ride on my bike.  

The other day I found myself riding the cold damp winter lanes around York - alone.  Again all the racing snakes are wrapped up safely in their eggs.   Even in the cold I tend to sweat.  After half an hour on a bike I feel like a boil in the bag chicken.  I do try to adjust the 'effort' whilst riding to reduce the amount of heat and sweat generated but that doesn't always work.  Anyway it's not something I worry about.  I am a fat bloke and so it's all par for the course innit.  

Getting a blob on is quite normal for me.  As a young man there were many times in the gym where, after a particularly hard weight lifting session, I would inevitably end up flat on my back sweating profusely gasping for air.  Eventually I would stand up and look back at the 'sweat angel' on the floor.  You know, like a snow one but just a teensy weeney bit more manky.  And not white.  At times so completely drained of energy that with a swimmingly light head (no change then) I would collapse and throw up in Priory street gym's cold Victorian toilets.

So yes I am prone to over exerting myself and so will sweat copiously during hard exercise including when riding my bike.  In fact any kind of exertion will break me into a glow.  My last girlfriend almost drown when we had sex until she started wearing arm bands.  Umph!  Urgh!  Yeah.  Horrible thought innit...  Anyway I finally got home.  Clammy and wet but not cold.  Time to get undressed and have wonderful sex again with the shower.  Arm bands are not needed today.

My cycling shorts drop to the floor with a *fwump!*.  My undershorts are magnetically stuck to my skin so I roll them off similar to how a fat lady might try to un-sexily roll off a pair of tight fitting surgical stockings.  Now the difficult bit.  The cycling shirt and merino wool pullover combo, both of which do an effective job of keeping me warm even when wet, grip me like a tight fitting straight jacket.  Gahhh!  Fecking hell!  

There I am with both garments partially pulled up my back with their hems stuck just above my head.  Both refuse to budge as though glued to my carcass.  I'm swinging wildly in the bathroom cursing the feckers.  Hulk like getting angrier with every passing second and just about ready to rip them off my torso.  Balloon Dog and Ma Boys think they've been taken on the waltzers at the fun fair and are laughing their tits off as they swing to and fro.  I have a flash back to my days as a child with mum helping me out of my romper suit happily calling out things like 'skin a rabbit' or with a bit of a tune in her voice 'Where is he?... Hi Dere!'.  

With a *pop!* both garments suddenly detach from my back, hit the bathroom ceiling, and stick to it.   I walk back to my undershorts and carefully poke them with a stick.  Oh dear.  What a mess.  I need to figure out just how to prevent further cycling initiated nappy crashes.

Yes, cycling is messy.  For me it surely is.  As I have written before riding in the rain is just a much fresher and nicer non-sweaty wetness when I'm out on the bike.  However, I have a problem with Hairy Melon.  Diet related I guess.  There I am staring at the result of the ride which looks like the remains of a riotous chocolate fountain / fondue party that has been hit by an Exocet.  

For sure the greedy girl has been deep into the Quality Street, stuffing chocolate into her face under the duvet.  Cycling often leaves her with warm hands and numb lips and so she cannot help but dribble and wipe the now molten chocolate across her padded room walls.  It sure felt like she was also licking her fingers the other day.  There must be a solution other than laying on my back, lifting myself up by my ankles and sprinkling alum powder on her face.

Ahh, I know.   I'll add some disposable liners to my cycling shorts.  Yes there must be cycle short liners for tour cyclists mustn't there?  I cannot be the only one suffering like this can I?  I'm sure of it.  I trawl Amazon and other internet shopping channels but no, there's nothing.  

A dim light bulb flicks on.  I go to Tescos and buy a pack of Always Ultra!  You know the ladies 'ahem' thingies to hopefully catch Hairy’s errant chocolate dribbles.  With wings too!  Sticky backed so they should stay put in my shorts! Result!  Great idea, Wayne.  Yes yes, surely this will work?  

Well, there I am 15 minutes into a test ride on the magnetic trainer with Dawes.  Head down, arse up, feet in stirrups, grunting and groaning in what my neighbours thought by the sound of it was some sickening sex game.   With legs akimbo I thrust along.  Twenty plus stone grinding Hairy's numb features into Brooks leathery chapped lips.  With full load selected on the magnets I'm hot and sweaty, grinding down on Dawes rasping for breath. 

Hmmm...  Something does not feel right.  My shorts under keg liners are made from a stretchy elastic material but the Always liners are not.  Felt like they had started to pluck the remaining hairs out of Hairy's face.  Either that or I had put the liners in the wrong way up.  

I'm in the extension with bifold doors on two sides and no curtains.  There I am with my shorts down around my ankles using a camera on the end of a selfie stick to check the state of the playground before fighting to unglue the remains of the test ride from Hairy Melon's fat cheeks.  Sorry dear neighbour.  

Like the Apollo astronauts I kinda did not expect this idea to work first time but I had to give it a go.  And I will not be beaten.  The ability to wash my unmentionables every day on the JOGLE thing which is planned for this year for sure is not an option and I cannot carry several days of padded underwear as space will be limited on the bike.  I do need a disposable solution this time around.  So I've not given up on using Always Ultra, just yet....  

Perhaps I just need to take a pair of scissors to them and 'tailor 'them to meet Hairy's needs?

Or buy a pack of Lil - Lets?

Or eat more roughage?

I do need a solution though.  For sure if I cannot solve this one it'll just become another reason added to the list of laundry excuses why, if I was married today I'd be divorced tomorrow.

Ciao for now

I'm sure that there will be more on this one to follow....   :-)