Getting Brutta in and out of my minute garden requires patience and skill. The narrow gate leads to a perpendicular (and narrow) alleyway, so one must gingerly weave the bike out of the fucking gate diagonally in order to allow it to turn in the alleyway. There is about 2 millimetres room for error either way, in the mornings I drive out, in the evenings I reverse in. It’s harrowfying.
After a few cock-ups I’ve been finding it increasingly easier to negotiate, but being overly confident as I was this morning, led to a royal fuck up. I managed to jam the bike completely in the alley; I couldn’t go forward or back resulting in my preventing the passage of 2 pissed off residents as yours truly puffed and grunted on Brutta to try and unlock her from position she was stuck in. It was impossible; I’d managed to get the front brake lever stuck against the opposing wall so she was jammed with her brakes on full.
The pissed off residents did nothing to help (grumbling isn’t help is it?) when an enormous black chap joined the miserable sods and offered to help me. I had no room to dismount, so with me still on board he physically lifted the front of the bike and re-plopped me at and angle that allowed me to escape from my bondage. There is no question that I’d still be there now without his help and was dead grateful, though acutely embarrassed.
Had a splendid evening last night. IC took me out for dinner at a Vietnamese eatery a few minutes walk from our respective gaffs. The food was cheap and delicious though allowing pirated DVD sellers to gently drift about offering movies wasn’t the best idea the manger might have had. I wasn’t complaining though, the roasted pork was a fucking sensation and we were allowed to bring our own booze, which was a lot better (and cheaper) than the house stuff.
Speaking of houses, I’m shitting it over the supposed completion on Friday; I’m potentially 48 hours from getting rid of such a miserable part of my life, that flat, that Cunt, all of the horror, the horror involved I’m virtually paralysed with anticipation. However happy I am with my new place in the East End I’ll only truly feel engaged with it 100% when I’m rid of those miserable walls in the South West. Because of the sheer agony of the past few months regarding it’s selling and the financial backlash it doesn’t seem real it’s finally going ahead… I’m trying not to think about it.
On a lighter not I now have my new smaller (and illegal) number plate mounted on the back of Brutta, it has a dead neat slogan…