Keeping things in perspective..

I slept in today.  Having cycled 63 miles yesterday with approx 2600ft of ascent.  But I feel really good :-)  I stirred and said 'mornin South Side..' cos he shared last night's twin room with me.  He replied with an, 'Eloodere!' 

Eh?  I raised my face having muff dived the pillow all night and apparently, I've spent the night sharing a room with a Black and White Minstrel who'd forgotten to take his makeup off.  

I think South Side Mark, or Mammy as I like to call him now, has caught the Sun a bit. 

I catch him vigourously cleaning his teeth with a closed mouth whilst bent over the wee sink in the bedroom.  I tell him that the sound of it reminded me of my last visit to Bradford.  It took him 5 minutes to clean the toothpaste off of the mirror :-)

We arrived in Tain after a spectacular ride down a busy A9 on a glouriously sunny day.  With a tail wind too.  Wow!  Day 3 bagged.  Three excellent days with sun, light clouds but importantly a tail wind.  Have we got off to a great start or wot!  Excellent life improvement planning by yours truly I say. 

Ok so it had to happen.  The inevitable had been put off for way too long.  The tape measure came out.  Well a bit of manky string actually.  The tow rope.  Carried in case of emergency but used today not quite as intended before the ride. 

Around my thigh it went.  Pinched it where the end of it met its length.  Put a figure of eight knot in it just as I do with Balloon Dog when he gets too frisky and there you go.  We now have a 'measurement' of my "skinny leg", the left one just in case youre askin.  Held it up to show the world.  Tadaa!  'Man, thats a mightily impressive length!' says South Side Mark who then reminds me to pull my cycling shorts back up cos 'you've just put the folk in the Sunflower cafe right off of their sausage sarnies'

Now South Side Mark is a racing snake.  He says he isn't but he is.  A slim gent, you know a proper fast racing yacht moored by the side of my gross tankerage.  Who loves chasing Black Mambas and gobbling them up for breakfast.  Even on a loaded bike.  A man with impressive calf muscles which if owned by a lady would look mighty fine wrapped in fishnets.  And I'm not talking about trawlers here.

He's the first to compare.  Theres a little 'oh' as he agrees that I'm just a teeny weeny bit over blessed with perspective.  

London Alan rocks up and I say, 'right young man, I've had enough of this abuse about my skinny legs' and hand him the bit of knotted string.  

'That's my thigh measurement' says I..

'Which bit?' says London Alan as he handles my impressive length.

'Seated or stood up', he says.  This is definitely a game he wants to win.

'Stood.  Go on then.  Let's fettle this discussion once and for all.  Put it around any bit of yer thigh you like...'

Around it goes.  He puts the end of the string to the knot and his face drops as he contemplates whether he should put his other leg in the loosely formed loophole too.  He quietly hands the limp bit of string back to me with a proper EH? look on his face.  It just can't be.   He looks at his legs, a fine pair of legs I agree.  A pair of snake like legs.  Long in the muscle and in proportion to his body well yes I agree.  If he had fishnets then yes, I'd suggest he went fishing.

I again try to explain to London Alan why it just is.  A fat body atop anything is gonna make 'em look small.  

Here I am using some props to help him get to grips with the principle of 'perspective'.

 

Poor London Alan.  This just does not compute.  And he goes quiet for most of the day. 

There we are cycling along and all of a sudden he blorps out.  'Mass!  Yes its mass!  That's what we need to compare.  I'm sure I've got more massive legs than you!  Bigger bones!  How do we check that?  

'Listen mate, it won't matter how many concentric circles we measure around each others thighs to conclude that me, a man who wears tight fitting 4XL shorts, is very likely to win.  How big is yer chest?'

'41 inches..' says London Alan quietly. 'Well I'm 52.  How about waist?' etc.  Its like comparing a race horse to a cart horse.  I see the cogs turning.  There must be something?  And before it gets onto that bit of a man's anatomy there is a reason he's called Balloon Dog mate.  Some time not long ago I accidentally connected a high pressure air line to his Schraeder valve and opened the taps.  Wow googly eyes or what?  You just try blowing an old used limp Christmas balloon up with a high pressure line and see what happens!

Trouble is, when I'm cycling as well as the chuckle brothers continually playing the 'to me to you' game with a conker, there is still a deflated Balloon Dog tucked away in the corner of the man cave patiently waiting for the day when he can next come out to play.  

And yes, along with ma boys and the conker, it do feel like I've got a plate of limp jelly in my pants.  Now thats summat I never want to quantify :-)

Ciao for now.