Once I heard the delivery man type insistent knock on the door plus ring on the doorbell, I just knew...
Sure enough, there stood a very bedraggled rain-soaked gentleman with an equally bedraggled rain soaked large box. Whooooooooooooooo!
Unfortunately, what with the aforementioned lashing rain and wind, coupled with the fact that the bike didn't yet have mudguards (the front one needed a little 'adapting' so my nearest and dearest had taken it off to work to persuade it to fit!) a ride (especially a first nervous one) would probably not have been the best of experiences. So I did what any sane, world-weary, forty something woman would do.
I sat it in pride of place in my living room and looked at it.
5 minutes later, there was another knock on the door. This time it was the gasman, wanting to read the meter... which happens to be in a cupboard in the corner of the living room. I'm not quite sure what he made of the focal point of my living room decor. I was most diappointed that he didn't stop to admire it - or even comment upon its existence. I considered forcing his hand on this error of judgement on his part by pushing it into his path as he was leaving, but didn't want to risk the bike making contact with anything which might cause it to lose its shine, even temporarily.
Sadly heavy rain persisted all evening... the ground was not dry enough for the still-one-mudguard-short wheels not to throw crap in a straight line up and down my body.
Sure enough, there stood a very bedraggled rain-soaked gentleman with an equally bedraggled rain soaked large box. Whooooooooooooooo!
Unfortunately, what with the aforementioned lashing rain and wind, coupled with the fact that the bike didn't yet have mudguards (the front one needed a little 'adapting' so my nearest and dearest had taken it off to work to persuade it to fit!) a ride (especially a first nervous one) would probably not have been the best of experiences. So I did what any sane, world-weary, forty something woman would do.
I sat it in pride of place in my living room and looked at it.
5 minutes later, there was another knock on the door. This time it was the gasman, wanting to read the meter... which happens to be in a cupboard in the corner of the living room. I'm not quite sure what he made of the focal point of my living room decor. I was most diappointed that he didn't stop to admire it - or even comment upon its existence. I considered forcing his hand on this error of judgement on his part by pushing it into his path as he was leaving, but didn't want to risk the bike making contact with anything which might cause it to lose its shine, even temporarily.
Sadly heavy rain persisted all evening... the ground was not dry enough for the still-one-mudguard-short wheels not to throw crap in a straight line up and down my body.
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