Scotland 2025 Day 12 - Delirious (part 2)
Did you sleep? So asked the conductor of London Alan as the non-sleeper train navigated the remaining miles into Euston.
At the best of times London Alan does not sleep well. Even with his industrial noise cancelling earplugs the slightest disturbance will wake him. But he does sleep.
The guard however was worried. No sooner had the second of two knocks hit the cubicle door was it swiftly opened and there stood all wrapped in black spandex with waterproof toe tectors on ready to go was London Alan. Wild of eye and wearing a toothy smile so wide it could have been blown there by any of the hundred of so North Atlantic storms that hit us in the previous days.
Gibbering lightly to himself he starts to tell the guard of the stupendous ride he has just done. Of the fantastical scenery, the wind and the rain, of the people he has met, of the huge miles ridden and feet climbed. With the tray full of eggs and bacon and with Alan’s sausage in his hand the conductor is forced to sit down in the cubicle and listen. He looks around and spots the handlebars of Alan's bike and the nipples of her water bottles ever so slightly exposing themselves from under the covers of the top bunk. He loves his bike does London Alan. The guard starts to tremble but not in that way one does when the train rumbles over a set of high speed points.
London Alan is now bent over him with a loaded water bottle in his hand. Wild eyed he tells how he accidentally took a pair of crisp 'n crunchy tuna salad sandwiches on a days ride out and how he howled with remorse as later the next day he buried those once sentient sandwiches in the waste bin in the rather nice hotel in Pitlochry. The guard now frightened and with eggs all a wobblin somehow managed to get his hand on the emergency cord as the train approached Watford junction.
The hostage situation didn’t quite make the national news as apparently it is a regular problem with southern softie cyclists returning to Landaan from Scotland with their bikes. However the major rail snarl up affecting all trains north of London did.
I knew that something was wrong towards the end of the ride. The mild mannered deep rooted in thought person with his attendant demon on his shoulder - whose one and only purpose is to worry him every single time he cocks (guffaw) his leg over his saddle - had gone. The what if you have a crash or what if your chain breaks or what if you run out of body lotion thoughts - which were continually whispered into his non noise cancelling ear hole at the start of the ride - had gone too.
Things like waving at those fluffy white things in the field as he cycled by was a bit concerning. The fact that he would say something and then immediately break into rapturous laughter at his own non joke worried me. He'd even be beaming after walking up the steepest of hill climbs. Jeez! Weather beaten he would howl with praise to God for this beautiful life.
I knew that endorphins could get high when doing exercise and that likewise my mood was massively improved but I figure London Alan had accidentally shot himself with a bull elephant tranquilliser dart loaded with the stuff. For God's sakes he even found some of my blog entries funny!
The inside of his cubicle was like a murder scene. Bum cream was smeared everywhere and where he got the crayon from nobody knows but the walls were covered with bent graven images of his croix de feu and I’m not talking about his bicycle here. He’d even bought bicycle magazines off the top shelf at the stations news agent. Hell fire how poorly is he? To have bought magazines! To be honest even the staff at WHSmith in Edinburgh thought something was very wrong as he rode his bike down their book isles and they’ve experienced some really weird stuff let me tell you.
Here is security camera footage of London Alan and me recording the end titles ready for the spectacular extravaganza of a film that will follow. Me with my Nikon in my hand and London Alan expressing pure thoughts about what he might next like to do with me.
At the best of times London Alan does not sleep well. Even with his industrial noise cancelling earplugs the slightest disturbance will wake him. But he does sleep.
The guard however was worried. No sooner had the second of two knocks hit the cubicle door was it swiftly opened and there stood all wrapped in black spandex with waterproof toe tectors on ready to go was London Alan. Wild of eye and wearing a toothy smile so wide it could have been blown there by any of the hundred of so North Atlantic storms that hit us in the previous days.
Gibbering lightly to himself he starts to tell the guard of the stupendous ride he has just done. Of the fantastical scenery, the wind and the rain, of the people he has met, of the huge miles ridden and feet climbed. With the tray full of eggs and bacon and with Alan’s sausage in his hand the conductor is forced to sit down in the cubicle and listen. He looks around and spots the handlebars of Alan's bike and the nipples of her water bottles ever so slightly exposing themselves from under the covers of the top bunk. He loves his bike does London Alan. The guard starts to tremble but not in that way one does when the train rumbles over a set of high speed points.
London Alan is now bent over him with a loaded water bottle in his hand. Wild eyed he tells how he accidentally took a pair of crisp 'n crunchy tuna salad sandwiches on a days ride out and how he howled with remorse as later the next day he buried those once sentient sandwiches in the waste bin in the rather nice hotel in Pitlochry. The guard now frightened and with eggs all a wobblin somehow managed to get his hand on the emergency cord as the train approached Watford junction.
The hostage situation didn’t quite make the national news as apparently it is a regular problem with southern softie cyclists returning to Landaan from Scotland with their bikes. However the major rail snarl up affecting all trains north of London did.
I knew that something was wrong towards the end of the ride. The mild mannered deep rooted in thought person with his attendant demon on his shoulder - whose one and only purpose is to worry him every single time he cocks (guffaw) his leg over his saddle - had gone. The what if you have a crash or what if your chain breaks or what if you run out of body lotion thoughts - which were continually whispered into his non noise cancelling ear hole at the start of the ride - had gone too.
Things like waving at those fluffy white things in the field as he cycled by was a bit concerning. The fact that he would say something and then immediately break into rapturous laughter at his own non joke worried me. He'd even be beaming after walking up the steepest of hill climbs. Jeez! Weather beaten he would howl with praise to God for this beautiful life.
I knew that endorphins could get high when doing exercise and that likewise my mood was massively improved but I figure London Alan had accidentally shot himself with a bull elephant tranquilliser dart loaded with the stuff. For God's sakes he even found some of my blog entries funny!
The inside of his cubicle was like a murder scene. Bum cream was smeared everywhere and where he got the crayon from nobody knows but the walls were covered with bent graven images of his croix de feu and I’m not talking about his bicycle here. He’d even bought bicycle magazines off the top shelf at the stations news agent. Hell fire how poorly is he? To have bought magazines! To be honest even the staff at WHSmith in Edinburgh thought something was very wrong as he rode his bike down their book isles and they’ve experienced some really weird stuff let me tell you.
Here is security camera footage of London Alan and me recording the end titles ready for the spectacular extravaganza of a film that will follow. Me with my Nikon in my hand and London Alan expressing pure thoughts about what he might next like to do with me.
I think he suggested quite adamantly we should visit KILLIN? Yes a lovely part of the world on the shore of Loch Tay. Perhaps next time but only on a sunny day😊👍🏻
As you have already ascertained I survived. You will recall the young scot girl that stopped to give me a helping hand? Her jump start must’ve worked.
My delirium has passed like it does most days - just after writing and decompressing into this blog followed by my morning shower - and a good towelling off.
Ciao for now.
As you have already ascertained I survived. You will recall the young scot girl that stopped to give me a helping hand? Her jump start must’ve worked.
My delirium has passed like it does most days - just after writing and decompressing into this blog followed by my morning shower - and a good towelling off.
Ciao for now.
And what a stupendous and fun ride it was too! Next time, let’s do it in clown outfits 🤡…..hold on, who are those men in white coats knocking on my front door? Yikes, I’m out of here! Meep Meep! 🚴👍😁
ReplyDeleteI think they have come for me. Just to the wrong house. Please dont tell them where I live in York. Oops!! 😁
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