Right so let's get the important news out the way first: last night I watched the whole of Cocktail! The whole thing! Not just the first two thirds, but I saw it to the end. Oh yes. Can't believe the Aussie dude killed himself, as if a life of reckless abandon shouldn't be endorsed. Der. But other than that, wonderful. All Eighties and terrible hair (I had mine cut in Chicago. Big mistake. I now look like Brian May.) Met this dude Ken who runs the bar at the fantastic Beachland Ballroom in Cleveland and he said there exists a roster of films which you just have to see through to the end: Shawshank (obvs), Grease, Big etc etc and now Cocktail. Unfortunately after a lot of consideration I have decided that BMX Bandits does not belong on this list. But I had to watch it through three times before I came to this conclusion, very early this morning.
I decided to spend over four hours in front of the TV in order to round off a particularly sedentary weekend which saw me sit in the van all the way up to north Wales for the Caersws uplift weekend organised by Mike at Borderline events, and back again. Although first we went to Moelfre which is even further north than Caersws because Tom, while very good at taking pictures, is very shite at using Google maps. (side note – as I write this I am eating spinach which tastes like bacon. It may be off.) Here's what the road to Moelfre looks like:
Yes. It's raining. By the time we got to Caersws the mud was axle deep. It looked like this: So deep I was forced to mull over the point at which my trainers would stop being waterproof. Nike Airforce One high tops: pretty goddam waterproof I'm happy to report. Hooked up with Jess Stone who was making like Sam Hill, throwing the bike sideways and letting off the brakes. She is stoked to be riding the World Cup and it's really inspiring to see. Her ambition, skill and competitiveness herald good tidings (touchwood.) In Tom's words: 'Blimey, she likes going fast.' In my words: “get the hell away from me you're covered in s**t. Ooooh can I do your nails?' I did:
I can safely report mud is not my forte despite Jess's claims that it was really sticky. Yeah right. I stuck in the van. Then to the pub for beer and mash. We left her in a room with 24 men and no showers and hoofed it back to London via Gloucester. Props must go to Steve and his dad Norm for being rad, providing a gazebo and hack sawing my seatpost.
Dear lord am I excited about the coming season!
p.s. Oh and in reference to this blog, the ever-sparkly and brilliant Debbie at Minx sent me this link. If ever there was a good reason for elastic waistbands on baggies …