Not a doctor, but sounds like a migraine, maybe?

You could start a stable of them:

Using the rare but distinguished Cryer impasse:

Embankment.

I see your Cannon Street and raise you a Tooting Bec.

Getting very close to the plimsoll line there Pyro…

I never wear plimsolls, Chipps, they squeak too much on the platforms.

To Bank, gaining an extra token of obscurity for passing through King William Street, which I think places me onto the second board.

Tripping down memory lane, and employing a Gaimanite Stratagem:

Down Street.

Ah-ha! De-looped by a Variation.

Maida Vale, to see what those nice chaps at the BBC are up to.

Neasden.

Bugger.

Neasden

(He says, carefully skirting Dollis Hill. That way madness lies…)

Russell Square.

And a bag of chips.

Rule 1: Never stick your dick in crazy.

Rule 2: Some rules are too much fun to only break once.

Upton Park. Like my old girlfriend, two stops short of Barking.

A now sadly deceased friend sending it on Low Force, Upper Tees.

Five foot nine-and-a-half inches.

The half inch is important.

I used to be 5′ 10″, but I’ve a knackered neck, so I’ve shrunk.

Not in the slightest. I’m an infrequent poster at best, and there’s only a couple of people on here who’ve met me. No-one would give a toss.

i found out on the grapevine they are looking to move the factory, loosing the IT guy before this would be a nightmare would it not

Yes, and it’s very noble of you to think that, but this is about what’s best for YOU, not them.

I was in a similar position five years ago. I’d been sick to the back teeth of some of the people I worked with. A few people knew I was wanting to head off, but the bosses thought they could keep me by finally giving me the promotion I’d been working for for a couple of years. I took it, took the wage for a month then handed in my notice and jumped ship. It left them very short handed, as the only person who could do what I was doing was my missus, and she left a week later. But hey, I’m clear of it, away from the morons who put me there in the first place, and I’ve never regretted it. Screw them, if you feel you need to leave, leave.

PS – “It’s not all it’s cut up to be” sounds like sour grapes to me. Your ‘boss’ I’d ineffective and your MD sounds like a nobber. Get gone.

Similar to BoardinBob, but substitute an Aeropress for the cafetiere, and add an Alpkit ti mug to boil the water in.

I was on 15-to-1 some time in the mid 90s

No, but I assume he’s meaning the first two stages in Yorkshire next year, so there’s a chance he might not be as daft as people seem to think.

On-topic, sorry, haven’t seen one myself.

Mid ultramarathon (Grand Raid des Pyrenees 2011]

On the bike (Sleepless 2008):

Yorkshire, the America of the UK*

Pyro, a Cumbrian exiled over to the naff side of the Pennines

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* The locals all think they’re god’s gift, the rest of the country think they’re c–ts.

Jack Wolfskin Gossamer’s a possibility, a little bit heavy for what it is, but cheap.

Greys are good, MPB Photographic are as well. I’ve had a Nikon D80 for agrees and it’s excellent, by the way. Probably a better bet than the 70s.

Captain Beaky!

How about:
“Well the bluebird can sing
But the crow’s got the soul
And I’m a dog amongst kings
With no self-control”

Only once, food poisoning on a train across Kent after a dodgy prawn something-or-other in a Sicilian restaurant in Tunbridge Wells. The while affair went awry while waiting for the train, the event occurred in the train and I (and the missus at the time) dived off at Tonbridge station so I could abuse the facilities, since there weren’t any on the train itself.

A mate, however, did it in the front seat of a uni minibus on the way to a kayaking trip in the Lakes. I heard the fart and the subtle squish at the end, saw the crimson bloom across his cheeks (the face ones), then laughed my head off as he threw a towel over his lap, rummaged furtively for a moment, then jettisoned his kecks out of the window into the verge.

You’ll be fine Molgrips. Give it a whirl!

(PS – glad you like the look of it, those are my photos on The Heb site… )

I sat down in a very quiet set of stall at the end of an event a couple of weeks back. Having been event crew and on a 48hr shift, needless to say my diet had been almost exclusively junk and my guts were in a bit of a state. I doffed my trousers, seated myself and proceeded to emit the longest, least tuneful set of farts on the planet.

Half way through, it occurred to me that there was a hint of giggling coming from the other end of the row, as I tried to stifle some of the duff notes. The sound of a flush, a cubicle door opening and closing, and as the giggling fellow walked past my stall there was a muttered “go on pal, just let it all out”

My only response: “problem is, I came in for a sh*t, not the Warsaw **** Concerto mate”

I’ve generally found that when cooking on a moorside there is FA else to do. So why rush your food

Because you need to use/carry less fuel that way?

I grew up in the Lakes so I’m biased, but I’d say not Keswick. Southern Scotland, borders area, if you want to bike (pick of the 7 Stanes and lots of natural stuff as well) or the north Northumbria coast,/Cheviots/Alnwick-Berwick area if you just want to chill out.

Yeah, it did. Though having just had a conversation about this thread with him, he agrees with me, but reckons that at equivalent ages, my Grandad would have given both he and I a pasting, quite possibly both at the same time.

Edit: Ignore me, wrong end of stick.

I’m in the unfortunate position of actually having been in a fight with my Dad, not in his prime exactly but still fit at 45. Both of us having ‘alpha male’ issues, me 13-14ish and a raving bundle of testosterone, him 45ish and thinking threats would keep me in my place. He took a swing, I chokelocked him and he blacked out in about 3 seconds. Shocked the hell out of both of us, and I’ve spent the last 17+ years apologising.

Fortunately, he and I are on very good terms these days, we’re cycling Hadrian’s Wall next weekend. He’s also joked about it to friends, one who (when I’d been misbehaving a couple of years later) said he’d have given me a clip round the ear ‘ole was told to give it a try and see what happened…

Mine’s usually “Isn’t it a long climb from where you live to here? How much of it do you end up walking?”

A) None of it. It really isn’t that hard, that steep, or that long FFS.

First single: Fuzzbox, International Rescue
First album: Guns ‘n Roses – Appetite for Destruction

Latest: Counting Crows – Underwater Sunshine

Oh, and The Ascent of Rum Doodle. Classic mountaineering literature.

Feet in the Clouds – fell running history and the Bob Graham Round.

So have the Silento, but they’re cheaper ;)

I got a Schwalbe Silento 29er for the front of my 69er, like it a lot so far. Have the same (but 26″ and slightly fatter) on the rest and they seem very good so far.

From Next Day Tyres, for reference.

He didn’t win, if that helps!

It does a bit, TwinklyDave! It did seem a bit at odds with the rest of the event, everyone else was perfectly polite and pleasant, even if they got stuck behind me on singletrack sections. Not sure whether the “Rookie” tape on the seatpost helped, but it did seen like a good idea

AFAIK, gardening leave is paid as normal, not holiday. It’s usually a case of being, effectively, suspended with full pay. It certainly was in my last experience of it, essentially I got told “Your notice is up in a month but there’s nothing productive for you to do between now and then, so go home and we’ll pay you ’til your notice runs out.”