I won't bore you with the full "discussion" but the road to where I am now involved stops to talk about our general health and the need for me lose some weight (again) and sharpen up on my fitness a bit before I start a new job next month.
Obviously I plan to write to the makers of my washing detergent to find out exactly what it is they've put in the product to make all my clothes shrink, but in the meantime I'll be getting out on a bike and getting fit.
And that's where it gets exciting. Mrs P has agreed I can investigate the purchase of one of those electric bikes which make the exercise a little easier. I gather the general consensus is you get more benefit because you go farther and stay out longer. Something like that.
Anyway.
To fund any new bike I would need to sell my old one and lo and behold I found a prospective buyer immediately in a friend. So before you know it I'm on the road and riding my bike round to his place so he can have a look.
Unfortunately, your stereotypical little-old-lady-tiny-car-driver was on the road at exactly the same time as I headed to my mate's place.
We met at an intersection along with a white van of tradies who unwittingly became witnesses to the drama about the unfold.
It would make you late if I recounted exactly how it unfolded so let's just say as I was turning, she decided to move out and I needed to take drastic evasive action.
Regular readers of my ramblings will recall me getting run down by a car during a shoplifting attempt (not by me of course) a few years back. I thought I was about to get a repeat. In fact, I had gritted my teeth in preparation for the sound the car makes when it hits you and runs over your legs.
My swerve, however, was a cracker, if I do say so myself, and saw me miss the front of the car by millimetres. But it did take me up over the kerb, across the footpath and straight into a wall.
Braking too hard would have seen me go over the handlebars and cause some serious damage I'm sure. As it was I got some bruises on my legs and a good whack on the shoulder.
I did get an apology from the lady in the car as she drove off and the tradies hopped out to see if I was okay so that was nice.
The bike didn't fare so well though. It's one of those lightweight jobs that's not really designed for driving into brick walls.
For a start the front wheel is bent, buckled and buggered and the rest of it looks like it's been in one of those brutal cage fights with Israel Adesanya. It looks like it's lost a couple of inches in length too. Crush injuries I believe they call them
As I trudged back home with my wounded comrade I worked out pretty quickly I wouldn't be on-selling it to anyone to fund my electric bike.
In the back of my mind I'd thought if this all goes smoothly and quickly I could sell the bike to my mate, take the cash to top up the funds and go buy my new bike for Easter. Then I could ride it round to all our mates and deliver their little chocolate goodies.
As it panned out I blobbed out on the couch at home watching telly and waiting for the swelling to subside. I got absolutely no exercise and spent hours just grazing. If the truth be known, I did pinch the odd extra chocolate cream egg too.
And now I just feel bloated and guilty.
I have a feeling I'll be writing another letter to the makers of my washing detergent soon too
