The Bicyclists

Stories from the sunroom in my dressing gown: Sunday, 25th March 2018. 11am Two things prompted him to tell a story. He had been reading Mario Vargas Lllosa in the bathtub whilst it pizzled with rain outside on the plastic roof on the pergola.  VL's first book was "In the Time of the Hero".  The first chapter dealt with the mischief that young men get up to at Army training, at the college in Lima. Included was theft of shoelaces, pretending to have bad dreams due to being late for 'watch', and then something to do with a chicken and other aspects of that which you must read yourself. The second, arising from the style of VL, was that certain little peccadillo of life can be the substance of a story, and might create a flicker of recognition of commonly held perceptions. And that is my story for today. See the photo attached. It is a tea pot stand. When one makes tea, in a pot, it shouldn't go on the bench, otherwise it might stain,

On this day, somewhere in the past, Jeff was born. Just think, eh! Image: Photo of a young Jeff Fitzgibbon, resting. Meanwhile, the group of special adults needing care, took to the road and managed a leisurely bike ride to Mona and back. The process is via the chat, with about 6 of us on "WhatsApp".  The stories each had for other duties, preferences, obligations or being out of geographical range were all within the feasible range.  Meanwhile, PK suggested "Yes, whoever is in, let's leave for Mona from the bike track at the Cenotaph at 9am. Merv put his hand up.   At 8.15am Nathan came across the fence at Nixon St, and put his hand up, and so we had a crew. A 'stiffish' wind, clear sunny skies, cool, but warming up, and Nathan and I skirted Battery Point and hunted up the road path to the bike track, there to find Merv fiddling with his seat. On his bike. No tools, he had to put up with some degree of rotation.  "I put my fi