Hey stranger, long time no see! What's new? Who's your lady friend?
Don't worry, this is a pretty Covid-free tale. There have been plenty of column inches written about the bloody pandemonium, but the only double jab we are currently interested in is the one we do boxing, followed by that tricky left hook to the head. Have you ever heard the dubious fact that if you stitch together all the documentaries and films about World War 2, they would last longer than the war itself? That's Covid, that is. Enough already.
Three-ish years ago Maddie the teenage witch had a premonition I reckon. She decided that after ten years of self-unemployment we should abandon all the reckless abandon and get proper jobs. No more hours on the M5, no more callouses on top of callouses and nice simple work diary. So that's what we did. We always intended to carry on with our own events, as we regard our stewardship of the Soggy Bottoms and the Stinger as like two Knights Templar guarding the Holy Grail, but on the whole it was a life of sauntering into town after work, getting fit, eating well and marvelling at the fact that money comes in at the end of every month.
If you read the previous post about my retina losing the will to live and dropping off, you'll see that I was generally in a jovial, optimistic post-operative mood. Pretty soon I was going to be back in the saddle, my chances of being Top Gun were undiminished and all was well with the world. Then the retina dropped off again. And then the other one fell off. And I woke up blind one day with the realisation that I suddenly had a great excuse for pissing all over the toilet seat, floor and most of the bedroom carpet. Six eye operations later and while I do tend to hit more trees, lamp-posts and large dogs at least I can't see the jellyfish when I'm swimming. I'm now the go-to guy in the Royal Eye Infirmary; that annoying expert patient that knows the name of every doctor, rolls their damaged eyes at the newbies, and scares the living bejeesus out of everyone with tales straight out of Clockwork Orange.
But the voice in Maddie's head that had shouted 'GET A JOB, LOSER1' had saved our bacon with the magic of sick pay. If we'd stayed in the events world, with me spending so much time as an unfragrant house ornament, we would have been in pretty dire straits, and I always hated Dire Straits due to bandanas and yuppies. I will be eternally grateful to the school I work in for continuing to pay such a lame duck as I staggered from operation to operation. But not so grateful that I'm going to stay there!
Our job choices were actually pretty sound. Working in schools meant long, regular holidays, every weekend off and tripping out the door like a young deer ten minutes after the kids have left. Or does it? In reality working in a school has left me a shadow of my former self. I'm so knackered by Friday that the only things on my mind are beer, a lie-in and more beer to forget that I'm due back in on Monday. So things have to change, and Fully Sussed is back in action.
6What can you expect?
1) Soggy Bottoms. It's been too long folks, and now that I'm allowed to carry things heavier than a feather duster it's time to get our track build heads on again. There's been good stuff happening in the South West fat tyre fraternity recently and it's time to find the next Tom Pidcock. Let's make a weekend of it, with some short track, some e-bike, a dog show and a raffle.
2) The Stinger. All aboard the pain train for our favourite ever day of suffering. We are determined to keep the mountain bike duathlon flag flying as it reaches parts other races cannot reach.
3) The Filthy Foxes will make a glorious return, although in truth they never went far away. Look out for the Filthy Foxes Surf and Turf soon, where they get to go all jumpy.
4) Come and see us at TwentyFour12, where we've hooked up with The Printery to bring you some hand-printed mountain bike goodies. Anything to avoid actually riding a bike.
5) Now that the you-know-what is petering out, we'll be putting on some MIAS instructor courses for those with a wont to carve a career as a mountain bike coach.
6) if the current appalling weather carries on, expect to see us on a plane to Canada for the winter.