I AM

I AM A FALRUE
I AM A FIALURE
I AM A FAYLORE

The Single Speed Bicycle: The Recession Era’s Mid-life Crisis Replacement Toy.

Who would have thought that the cliché red sports car, the object of desire of so many forty and fifty somethings, that motorised vessel of youth, would be replaced with the desire to ride upon a simple, stripped-down bicycle that only last year was limited to the domain of the bike courier -- those thin, fearless warriors of the road, calmly and steadily delivering whatever is they deliver to lonely receptionists of a rainy city?

If the days of red Corvettes, Ferraris and Aston Martins are now gone, then what is the logical progression to the stylings of the bicycle courier? Well, in an urban environment the messenger is probably the closest symbol of working freedom. Usually paid a small cash in hand retainer and then rewarded with more for extra deliveries, it seems that these men and women are potentially off the radar, off the grid. And after a mid-life crisis of mortgages, children, marriages, and just a lot of life establishing oneself on the radar, being off it must seem to many a fantastic escape or even disappearance.

The theme of dropping out of society is, of course, a common premise and one significantly explored by both television and film: The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin, The Good Life, American Beauty, Five Easy Pieces, Lost In America to name only a few. And the act of disappearance and reinvention are revered if we are to believe that both J.D Salinger and Madonna (as polar opposites) deserve admiration for mastering the phenomenon.

Yet what is it that a 45-year-old man expects to achieve or to become by splashing out a paltry 500 odd quid on single speed? (I won’t say fixed-wheel because the majority of new riders can’t handle the physical demands of riding such a beast. Their knees are gone and so are the nerves. Yet the bike’s appearance is the same, no gears, basic, sleek, simple and light).

In San Francisco, bicycle messengers are mostly potheads, stoners who have never dropped-in never mind dropped-out. They are aloof and high. In Washington DC they are finely toned University athletes, ‘soccer’ players earning an income weaving in and out of the cars secretly carrying politicians under tinted glass. In New York City they are nearly aliens. The extreme seasons of very hot and painfully cold have welded body armor to their own skin. They barely speak a human language at all. They are so removed from the norm of reality…perhaps they live in abandoned subway tunnels like the Mole People. London bicycle couriers, like many of the breed, prefer to keep company with their own. In the spring and summer months they sit outside inexpensive pubs, Samuel Smiths and Weatherspoons, in their hundreds, drinking pints into the night. Some of them squat, and there are squat parties on the weekends, and because they live and play together they are not only a community but an economy onto themselves.

So, is this a lifestyle choice? No, it’s fashion. It’s a direct swap--£50,000 sports car for a £500 bike. Not a bad trade down. And the more ridiculous the bike the better the illusion of freedom and youth. A neon-green back wheel, perhaps? Why not throw in a ludicrously short set of handle bars? While you’re at it go with some orange coloured rims, three inches in length. Let’s also have the rear break off. Let’s live dangerously. Will it make you young and fearless…careless and sexy? Perhaps. Perhaps in the short term, yes; it will. And after all what is fashion but an ever changing trend? So pretend, pretend you have dropped out or reinvented yourself as a younger you. In a few years you can sell the bike on Ebay to an actual bicycle messenger and you’ll both be winners, and hopefully by then you’ll be happy with yourself and with who you actually are.

A New Trend?

I don't know...

Perhaps so. 

This is the game. 

Public postings that probably should be private made by people who are clearly off their heads and thus...by pressing the wrong key (s) become a form of regretful, bad poetry.  

(HERE GOES) 

Darling baby girl.I love you so so much.Me and you in Ibiza next year ! i say we go for a month ! maybe via Bermuda !?

What do you think beautiful girl ?? i cant wait to see you embracing Ibiza.I say we save for a Villa and live there in a few years.

You are the most beautiful girl in the world......By a country mile !!!!

2 weeks until the 2 most important people in my life re-unite !, Im so happy
that im gonna see it too!! 
Norman will go crazy,you know he thinks about his Mummy everyday.
His passport is ready also baby !!

Love you so much ........X

And Now For Something Completly Different...

I like the title of this blog, so I shall keep it. 

But...

The poems have dried up. 

I no longer am assaulted  

by rubbish papers. 

It's better this way. 

I bought a bike. 

And suggest you do as well. 

I save over 1000 pounds a year,

'am fitter and feel better.

I don't miss the cattle-like

conditions of the tube. 

The hot, standing heat. 

The smells of others' lives

rubbed against my own.  

A journey that once took

an hour, I can cycle in 14 minutes. 

Do I miss reading of Kate Moss'

exploits or seeing pictures

of Amy Winehouse looking a mess? 

Well...life goes on without them. 

I did see a gem, though...in a 'London Lite'

that found its way into my living room. 

Seems like in the future we'll have:

"Bomb-Proof

Super Bins

That Will Tell You

The News" 

It's very difficult to top that. 

Thanks and 'see ya.' 

I wanted to post a picture of myself 

on my bike...outside our house. 

However nature has made

each day a wet or a dark one. 

See you soon, with another idea. 

'Hope it's a bloody good one. 

It’s been the darkest August, ever.
Ever.
Since time began keeping
records.
I keep records, under my bed
where there it is dark as well.
It’s been the darkest August, ever.
Ever.
No sun in the sky no needle in my
eye.
My eyes can’t read, they can’t
read, read in the daytime.

CNN CRAP NETWORK NEWS

I think I have a far and distant memory of when CNN was first launched in 1980. I was 14, and I recall that the network stood out for being innovative as well as entertaining. Then again…I was 14, so what the hell did I know about broadcast journalism or news coverage.

During the years CNN has been a channel that consistently served me well. My obsessive personality was grateful for the extensive coverage of the O.J. trial (A trial because of my then working hours I was able to absorb almost every minute of). Their coverage of the Yugoslav wars was excellent, with Christiane Amanpour providing erections as well as precise news coverage. During Iraq I, CNN was the source for excellent coverage, even though Bernard Shaw thought fit to take shelter behind the sofa as the first attacks took place. Even 9-11 (and I was in New York) it was CNN I turned on to view the horrific spectacle of the second plane hitting the south tower.

Right, so now I am the transposed age of when I first saw CNN and I would like to think at 41 I'm a bit more clued-up than when I was 14, although sometimes I do wonder.
It occurs to me that lately CNN has dumbed-down its news coverage for a demographic not surpassing the age of 10. No longer does it stand out as clever and innovative; it stands out like a load of bollocks.

Today: CNN ran this on their website:

LONDON, England (AP) -- Collectors paid thousands of pounds (dollars) Saturday for letters from British royalty to a trusted servant, including a note from the late Queen Mother Elizabeth requesting the aide pack bottles of gin and Dubonnet for an outing, "in case it is needed."

Pounds (dollars)? What do the two have in common? A pound is worth twice as much as a dollar, for starters. How about writing pounds (currency)? I think more than just being stupid…it’s arrogant: would a news organization in another country, say Greenland write ‘pounds (krone)?’ I think not.

Just after its birthday the ‘United States’ stands out like an ill-educated, overweight boxer…punch drunk on past and fleeting glory. Stumbling, slow. Trudging through muck, self inspired doom and a really bad personality crisis.

CNN provides all the insight to this, in this one encapsulation of the very insular society that becomes more a victim of its own failure each and every year.

Happy (albiet belated) birthday, USA.

‘So sorry things have failed to work out.

Sorry too, for CNN.

You launched like your country: full of promise, full of bright ideas.

You become like your country: no promise, out of bright ideas.

Oh, and just to let you know: your flag is ugly and all the world hates you.

The character Dr. Henry Henry played so very well by Christopher Lloyd in Nick Roeg’s great film ‘Track 29’ once bellowed to his wife, “Women and trains do not mix!” I agree with those sentiments but would like to expand the idea to women and public transportation in general. (There are other things with which women do not mix: mobile phones, for example, but I’ll leave that rant for another day.) Right, this morning on the bus…a sort of posh bird gets on and offers the driver a ten pound note. Of course the driver doesn’t have change for a tenner and so the argument begins. “But I don’t want to be late for wark” the bint wimpers. Oh, oh…you are going to be late for work. Oh no. What about the entire bus load of people you are delaying because you don’t have the basic common sense to purchase an Oyster Card (things Londoners use to travel) or pay with a two pound coin? “Is there a chance that you get some change some where along the route?” Yeah…this is going to happen. And so the discussion went on. Almost equally annoying the bus driver never told her just to 'fuck-off' . So, this four minute banter between the two great brains continued until the driver backed down and let her on the bus for free. So the bitch got a free ride, while all the other customers paid and well, I just hope she wasn’t late for wark

I, however, was. Yes, because of that delay I missed my train, had to wait six minutes for another and turned up 15 minutes late for wark. I curse this ugly soulless bitch and wish her a speedy and painful death. Life would be more liveable without people who can’t think three minutes ahead, women who shuffle through great big hand bags to find there travel card while boarding a bus, after having spent seven minutes waiting for it to arrive. Women who suddenly stop at a tube exit because they suddenly realise they need their ticket to actually get out. The problem is a very simple one to work out. Just think…what am I going to need to do in the next three minutes…and what can I do to prepare myself for it. But no…and alas Dr. Henry Henry will always be correct: “Women and trains do not mix!”