Cycling Stories

There was a Facebook post the other day that asked: What object defined your childhood? Loads of comments underneath. Tons of dafties with nothing better to do. Pictures of Space Hoppers, the towers at Ravenscraig imploding, Harry Potter, Tamagotchis, that sort of thing. I only saw all this because my friend had replied: What about all that white dog shite, eh? And everyone went: white dog shite, fair point. Thumbs-ups bi...

Something strange happened... Some time this week. Time has bled so much, I can’t tell what day it is, or what I’m doing much, apart from a peach fuzzy sort of fuzz. Buzz. Probably the lack of sleeping causing all the buzzy fuzz, but that’s not my point. I’ll get to my point in a moment, but first some background. Background is important to this story, musing, whatever. Writing piece, we shall call it. I love guitars, of...