Life in the Old Dog Yet...

I had lofty ambitions ro take out my road bike today, but...  The weather wasn't wonderful.  My legs felt like lead.  The thought of climbing even a modest hill made me want to curl up in a corner and hide.

'Take out the mountain bike," Helpful Husband suggested.  'At least you'll get some miles that way.'

So we went on our usual twenty mile run.  I felt tired.  I felt slow.  A peleton of sleek lycra-clad whippets cruised past, elegant, perfectly synchronised.  We exchanged greetings. 

A little later, we were overtaken by a girl on a mountain bike.  It's daft, I know, but there's still a tiny sliver of me which remains combative, even now, six years after I last turned a pedal in anger.  It niggled me, to see this fit young thing drift past with such ease.

A few miles down the road, I was feeling better.  And who did I spy ahead but the girl on the mountain bike?  Her speed had dropped, and we were steadily closing in. 

Even now, old instincts kicked in.  I scented blood. 

I don't hunt like a cheetah, all out-and-out sprinting and a reliance on pure speed.  I like to think I'm more like a wolf, though my husband suggested today that my technique's more like that of a Komodo Dragon, which may be his barbed way of saying that it takes me three weeks to catch anyone.

I stalk.  I look for weakness.  This unfortunate lassie was clearly flagging, so I moved in for the Phase 2.  I sat a little way from her wheel for a while, then when I decided she really was feeling the pain, I closed in for the kill.

Head down.  Up into the big gear.  And away.  Don't look back, don't hesitate, just go.  And don't let the pace drop until you know you're out of sight.  Your lungs might be on fire, your legs, too, you might be breathing like Darth Vader, but the trick is not to let them see that!

I managed to stay in the big ring for about three miles all together, and nobody else caught us on the way home, either, which was a bonus. 

Needless to say, my husband took the final sprint for the thirty miles-an-hour sign.  As he danced up the road looking like a wasp on speed, I died a hundred deaths and could barely manage to drag myself to the doorstep.

All in all, it was a good workout.  And now I'm knackered!  So was the poor girl on the mountain bike.  We passed her on the return journey and she looked wasted...

Life in the Old Dog Yet...

I had lofty ambitions ro take out my road bike today, but...  The weather wasn't wonderful.  My legs felt like lead.  The thought of climbing even a modest hill made me want to curl up in a corner and hide.

'Take out the mountain bike," Helpful Husband suggested.  'At least you'll get some miles that way.'

So we went on our usual twenty mile run.  I felt tired.  I felt slow.  A peleton of sleek lycra-clad whippets cruised past, elegant, perfectly synchronised.  We exchanged greetings. 

A little later, we were overtaken by a girl on a mountain bike.  It's daft, I know, but there's still a tiny sliver of me which remains combative, even now, six years after I last turned a pedal in anger.  It niggled me, to see this fit young thing drift past with such ease.

A few miles down the road, I was feeling better.  And who did I spy ahead but the girl on the mountain bike?  Her speed had dropped, and we were steadily closing in. 

Even now, old instincts kicked in.  I scented blood. 

I don't hunt like a cheetah, all out-and-out sprinting and a reliance on pure speed.  I like to think I'm more like a wolf, though my husband suggested today that my technique's more like that of a Komodo Dragon, which may be his barbed way of saying that it takes me three weeks to catch anyone.

I stalk.  I look for weakness.  This unfortunate lassie was clearly flagging, so I moved in for the Phase 2.  I sat a little way from her wheel for a while, then when I decided she really was feeling the pain, I closed in for the kill.

Head down.  Up into the big gear.  And away.  Don't look back, don't hesitate, just go.  And don't let the pace drop until you know you're out of sight.  Your lungs might be on fire, your legs, too, you might be breathing like Darth Vader, but the trick is not to let them see that!

I managed to stay in the big ring for about three miles all together, and nobody else caught us on the way home, either, which was a bonus. 

Needless to say, my husband took the final sprint for the thirty miles-an-hour sign.  As he danced up the road looking like a wasp on speed, I died a hundred deaths and could barely manage to drag myself to the doorstep.

All in all, it was a good workout.  And now I'm knackered!  So was the poor girl on the mountain bike.  We passed her on the return journey and she looked wasted...

A Bleak Future for the Old End Mill...

I took a walk by the Old End Mill in Johnstone yesterday, just to see the extent of the damage, 

It could've been worse, I suppose.  Only part of the building's gutted.  The early 18th century part, unfortunately.  Its roof's completely gone. 

It's a crying shame to see the building looking such a mess.  According to the BBC, it was the earliest machine-driven mill in Scotland.  An important part of our country's history, let alone our local history.  And now its future hangs in the balance after years of neglect.

I hope the local firebugs are proud of themselves.  They drink too much buckfast, get bored, set anything they fancy alight and don't even have the decency to incinerate themselves in the process. 

Here's my photographic record of the damage.  Even as we looked on, there was a creak and a tremendous bang and part of the roof caved in.  Let's hope there's still life in this noble old giant yet, though no doubt the locals will soon be crying out 'Eyesore!' and baying for it to be razed to the ground.

If they do decide to knock it down, I wonder what architectural masterpiece they'll put in its place...  Another supermarket, perhaps, so they can knock yet another nail in the coffin for the shopkeepers in Johnstone Town Centre...

At least its chimney's still standing, just a little black with the soot...

A Bleak Future for the Old End Mill...

I took a walk by the Old End Mill in Johnstone yesterday, just to see the extent of the damage, 

It could've been worse, I suppose.  Only part of the building's gutted.  The early 18th century part, unfortunately.  Its roof's completely gone. 

It's a crying shame to see the building looking such a mess.  According to the BBC, it was the earliest machine-driven mill in Scotland.  An important part of our country's history, let alone our local history.  And now its future hangs in the balance after years of neglect.

I hope the local firebugs are proud of themselves.  They drink too much buckfast, get bored, set anything they fancy alight and don't even have the decency to incinerate themselves in the process. 

Here's my photographic record of the damage.  Even as we looked on, there was a creak and a tremendous bang and part of the roof caved in.  Let's hope there's still life in this noble old giant yet, though no doubt the locals will soon be crying out 'Eyesore!' and baying for it to be razed to the ground.

If they do decide to knock it down, I wonder what architectural masterpiece they'll put in its place...  Another supermarket, perhaps, so they can knock yet another nail in the coffin for the shopkeepers in Johnstone Town Centre...

At least its chimney's still standing, just a little black with the soot...