Cycle of Pain

My bike arrived today. I’m not overly excited because IT’S IN FIFTY SEVEN DIFFERENT PIECES… No wonder it was less than three hundred quid. The bloody website didn’t tell me it was Do-It-Yourself on the assembly. According to the instructions I need two different spanners, an alun key, an adjustable wrench and about six days spare to complete it.. I thought I’d be cruising the high road by three o’clock tomorrow, now I need to go back online and buy some tools to put the pissing thing together. And it didn’t come with the recommended helmet and kneepads. Bastards.
Nothing I do online ever seems to go right. I sign up for internet dating and the only match I get is on a different continent. I order the back catalogue of Desperate Housewives from a cheap DVD store in Thailand, and I get a VHS collection of Asian home-made pornography. And now the bike..
I’ll have to check the small print and see if I can send it back. I really don’t want to spend the next few months of my life struggling to get it together, only for it to fall apart when I’m halfway up a hill in Norwich.
I might put a sign up on the notice board at work, asking for a volunteer mechanic. Most of the fork-lift drivers will do anything at the weekend. Usual fee is a tenner or a hand job, so I’ll have to check my wallet, or buy a rubber glove.

RC 8-6-09
1943 BST