Mother is dreadfully cross with me, I broke my new bicycle. We went to Worthing Pier – such a marvellous day. I came out of my bathing shelter in my new combination costume, and ego-ed shamelessly at lesser people. I was a hit with the ladies, I can tell you. They cooed at my calves and marvelled at my clavicles. At least, I think that’s what they said. Well, naturally, I rode off the pier. In daredevil Victorian style. With a moustache with which you could say ’embrocation’ and look really impressive. Like you do. Now the bicycle is broken, because I landed on the largest recorded Turbot in history. He is now dreadfully cross with me also.
(You wouldn’t believe the bloody cheek of the photographer – I had to hold still in mid-air while he took the blasted photo. Well, that’s what you get for having a sub-standard camera on stilts that comes with it’s own cloak.)
A portal into the world of my poetry that takes it's inspiration from total rubbish. I work in the dark, down a hole, in a hedge.
These works are written from my base in the Cornish county of Trebollocks, where I also make clothes from fly-paper. Journal entries, usually concerning bizarre family matters. Poems, some tortoisy, some not - it depends what day of the week it is. But it's never about windmills or ghosts, that I can tell you. I am a Shrieking Tutor teach Advanced Hiding Skills at Trebollocks College, I studied tortoise flinging at Nempnett Thrubwell Academy of Reptile Propulsion. I am old. I am warty. I have a beard like a dandelion clock. I have two toads, some spiders, and a bat. My sister is terrified of satsumas. A trumpet's as good as a wig to a blind owl in a coracle.
Born on 1 April 1905
My brain hurts.
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2 thoughts on “Buggered Bicycle – An Account Of A Cycle Dive By My Dear Friend, Prof Reddish”
Priceless – how brave and clever of you to hover whilst the photographer wrestled with his apparatus.
It was a good day for Professor Reddish, in fact, a cape and tights day.