A simle game, complicated by idiots

In preparation for the upcoming time trial season (bikes, that it), I have fallen into the same trap that all men of a certain age do when faced with a perceived challenge to one's sense of self worth, and started throwing money and technology at the problem.  The problem in this case, of course, being my feeble engine and unwillingness to train properly.

In classic avoidance style, I've taken to getting the tube to a nearby cycle superstore to buy shoes, handlebars, heart-rate monitors - anything really to offset my feelings of worthlessness.  All these fine consumer durables are part of a transparent attempt by my personality to dig out the essential "me" - the me that fears nothing and no-one; the me that works hard and treats the twin impostors of success and failure with haughty disregard.  Just like the unfortunate scarecrow in The Wizard Of Oz, I need a symbol to fool myself into believing in me a bit more.  Had I had access to a faux potentate and a clockwork heart, I could have saved myself an awful lot of time and money.

What's more, my back is hurting, which means I can't train today even if I wanted to.  Back down Halfords tomorrow then.  Perhaps I'll buy a bell.  A titanium one.

Smiley High Culture

Mrs O and I went to see The Nutcracker yesterday afternoon.  Great Scot! it was fine.  Really wonderful.  Old Chai Kovski knew how to set down a choon, didn't he?  The second act in particular is an absolutely smörgåsbord of hits.

We didn't actually see it in the flesh, as t'were.  It was a live, high-definition broadcast from the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow and was screened at the Greenwich Picturehouse.  The Bolshoi Ballet are renowned for their lavish and traditional productions of ballets like this one.  No searing social commentary or transposition of the action from 19th century bourgeois Russia to a housing estate in 1960s Bradford for them.  And thank God for it.  The Nutcracker is a festive treat for classical lightweights, like myself.  It's the equivalent of The Wizard Of Oz - beautifully done and timeless, but not there to challenge and/or upset the prevailing social order.  It doesn't do to fcuk about with it.  And I believe I speak for the cognoscenti there.