horns of wilmington's cow

By anth

Hanging On

Hanging on
Hanging tough
Feeling rough
With work and
Wishing away
Each weekday
And pray
For the weekend
To be free
And see
The real me
Relaxed we
And flee
From weight
And no abate
From too much
On the plate
Seven hours more
Of bore
Of chore
Before two days
With what I adore
And me


Funny how we wish away five sevenths of life. Or maybe not quite wish it away, but by Wednesday I'm already looking forward to the weekend, and the weekend feels it's over by about 5 on Sunday evening (even more so now the nights are definitely getting darker earlier).

A day when the PA to the boss, who I share an office with, decided to assert her importance ("Have you done anything?" she asks, "Yes, that's what I haven't done that yet," I reply). Such is life, I try to tell myself. But it's harder to accept the lie.

Some advance wishing away as today I wrote in my diary the dates for the holiday next month, only 4 weeks or so away. More pressing is tomorrow morning and the annual 'commuter challenge' in Edinburgh. I've done it every year, and hoping to keep hold of success for the bikes tomorrow. My third different start point, and the fourth different bike to take part on. The more things change...

I was also wondering today, why, when there's an accident on the road involving a car or a bus or a truck do we say that the road is dangerous, and yet any other accident it's the actual activity that is declared to be of consequence? We have a strange way of simply accepting death and injury on the roads (unless and until personally touched).

The thought was put in my mind as I rode to work today as a student pulled out on me from a side street I was about to turn into. Arm was out indicating clearly and I was the only moving object in sight, she stopped to look, then pulled straight out with me two yards away. Brakes applied with extreme prejudice and I think she got the fright of her life as she stalled and proceeded to block traffic which arrived in the aftermath. The closest I've ever come to becoming a hood ornament, but a situation in which I still felt in control. But mention it to people and 'cycling is dangerous'. If I'd been in my car (yes, I cycle and (love to) drive, a living contradiction to some) I would have been told 'that junction is really dangerous'.

Still, by the end of the day I'm sure her friends will have convinced her it was my fault because I wasn't wearing a helmet.

And so I keep hanging on. For the weekend; to my conviction to cycle; to my love of cars if not necessarily a large number of those who are inexplicably allowed to drive them; to my ever closer desire to own a Triumph Stag; and to the simple hope that one day we can all see each other as people again.

Profound? Bollocks, just common courtesy would be nice.

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