What job?

I went bike shop browsing on my way into town today. From home I was able to do a meandering route which took in five different stores, all accompanied by Gorky's Zygotic Mynci's album The Blue Trees. Beautiful.

I'm now a little further down the track in understanding what type of bike I might like - simple, elegant and unfussy. My next step is to browse the second hand bike stores.

Later on my walk I couldn't help but chuckle at a shop window which had a pink sign advertising a job vacancy for what seems to be the world's most unstable job. The first sign giveth while the second sign taketh away! It's no laughing matter loosing your job through redundancy (I've been there and didn't laugh once), but at least whoever gets this one will know they won't be selling feather boas for very long.

It's hard to see in that first picture, but it was made even more chuckle-some when I read the job description. Here is a closer view - I really like, "Huge Potential Earnings".

I've been mulling this over for most of today, but if they mean they need someone who can use a Search Engine I think they will have no problem finding a suitable applicant quickly (hopefully before the store closes down). But if they truly want someone who has knowledge of "how Search Engines work" I'm guessing there will be a long wait for an unemployed Google engineer to happen across the advert.

Get me one of those two wheeled horses

Today my copy of The Bicycle Diaries arrived with which, after dinner and a film, I put a record on and settled down with. Until the last couple of years I've always had a bike. I still technically do have a bike, it's just no longer in any form of working order and isn't likely to be ever again - I bought it secondhand from a friend of a friend at University nearly 10 years ago, so it had a good run. But recently I've been hankering after the freedom and brilliantly altered view of our surrounding environment a bike offers. It's been bubbling and gestating inside me to the point that, after reading the first few pages of the book I was tipped over the edge; I am going to start looking for a new bike. The first new* bike since my 11th Birthday.

In the book David Byrne has perfectly captured the wonderment cycling brings as he describes his experiences of cycling around many of the world's cities. I couldn't agree more. A bike gave me my first sense of true freedom when, as a young boy, I realised I could really start to explore the country roads and paths that surrounded the small town I lived in. It was at my own pace, under my own power and I could stop wherever and whenever I liked. Unlike driving cycling is almost always at a pace which allows the rider to take in their surroundings while still covering some serious ground. Like driving you are forced into a wonderful state where a section of brain is required to focus completely on the task at hand, working away at it almost automatically, which magically allows other parts of the brain to simultaneously wonder and create. It is a precious thing.

*Note: It probably will be secondhand!

The sky is falling

Last night the sky was on fire, and these trees looked like black forks of lightning reaching back up to the clouds. A beautiful sight to present itself as I cycled over the crest of a hill.

Some things aren't what they seem

I have held a distant and, until very recently, unrequited love affair with a pub opposite St Mary Redcliffe Cathedral called the Colosseum. From the outside it doesn't look like much; 1960s brick, flat roof and featureless windows, but the little of the interior I could see from the outside held huge intrigue for me. It had the air of an American dinner, come bar and over the years I had mentally fitted the place out to the point it resembled nothing less than the bar in the TV program Cheers. At night the effect is heightened with the numerous flashing neon signs saying "Budwiser" and "Bar". I knew full well it would never live up to my mental image but none the less last Friday morning when running early for a meeting I decided to break nearly 4 years of wondering and stopped in for a coffee and breakfast.

Oh MY. The disappointment was palpable. Not a cowboy in sight, but it wasn't the Colosseum's fault, it was mine. I should have either stopped building it up years ago, or continued to admire it from a far in all its totally fictional Americana glory.

In my refusal to sit inside I did however get to take in the long shadows and the morning sunshine along with a great view of the Cathedral over my Daddies sauce.

And the scores on the doors: Coffee, 6 on 10. Breakfast bap, 4 on 10.

Packets of joy

There is nothing much more exciting than receiving a package in the post*.
Except when you open the package and inside is a beautiful 3 disk vinyl album that looks as good as this.

* Note: The excitement is somewhat diminished if the postman knocks on the door when you are in bed or an advanced state of undress requiring you to grab the nearest clothes heaped on the floor, hurriedly throw them them on while simultaneously running down stairs and attempting to double check everything is on the right way round, taking a second to compose yourself at the door, before opening it calmly as if you have been up since 6.30 am baking, cleaning and doing the tax returns as a way to pass the time before the postman arrives.