TMFFTTM8

It was one of those things that my Father failed to tell me about, like checking your anchovies before paying for them. I had arranged to take two American geologists on the historical pub tour, frighteningly they wanted to start at midday. So it was that I met them (twenty minutes late due to a bomb scare) outside the National Film Theatre, Tom already firmly outside his first pint, Pat having eschewed the notion due to the hangover from the previous night, and burgeoning jet lag.
We set off, I took a breath to run quickly through the skyline, picked out the steeple of St Bride's, "That's St Brides....."
Tom, "That's the wedding cake one - right?"
"Oh umm, right. That's Cleopatra's nee..."
" Yeah found buried in sand in Egypt, brought over in a caisson 1877/78, and erected to commemorate the end of the Napoleonic Wars, 1815, money supplied by public subscription."
"Right, let's go to the first pub!"

To be fair, I had taken Pat on the crawl before, and they had spent a large part of the previous late afternoon/evening trawling up and down Fleet Street and the Strand, mind you he seemed to have pulled off a prodigious feat of memory. We crossed the river after a brief excursion to the lookout on the top of the Oxo Building, and went to my favourite pub, the Blackfriars. This is where we decided to have lunch, always a pretty hit or miss affair in a London pub. My pie was somewhere within the treble ring, Tom's fish was closer, Pat's (why do I want to eat it's friggin' 4 a.m) steak sandwich bounced off the outer wire and embedded itself somewhere in the nether regions of the pub carpet. We carried on, sticking our head in St Pauls for all the spiritual enlightenment you can get without paying £9/$17 and recrossing the Thames on "The Blade of Light" (official) or "The Wobbly Bridge" (tabloid).
"There's a TV!" The unjetlagged using his uncanny observational skills, honed by many years of having eyes.
"Oh yeah.".
We carried on deciding to refresh at the Anchor Bankside, and, after a pause, reemerged and set forth upon our riverine trek (Oh to be in Edinburgh, to make the pun work). After a quick stroll through Borough market, with Tom failing yet again to spot the hotpants, (there seems to be something about males together, in a country not of their own, the culture shock seems to produce a bonding pattern entirely based on wishful sex and some function of the area of exposed flesh) we ended up at the George 3rd.
Later we returned to the river.
"Hey! There's the TV again!"
Somewhat mellowed we meandered on, stopping off to admire various bits and marvel at Tower Bridge, (that's the one that should be at Lake Havasu but no-one bothered to tell the millionaire purchaser that it wasn't London Bridge - har har).
At this point I was beginning to rue the fact that they were geologists, the conversation was littered with:

"Hey isn't the food in Thailand great?"
"Yeah but what about the stuff they eat in Korea!"

"Had to spend a week off San Diego, saw twelve Blue Whales."

"Wow, the Arctic!"
"Yeah but the South Pole!"
"Oh yeah"

"Hawaii, what's your favourite island?"

We approached Tower Bridge, the rest of the evening was to be spent crawling along the north bank going to the historic Thameside pubs and ending up at the Prospect of Whitby, potentially the oldest pub in London.
Three quarters of the way across Tower Bridge, Pat started,

"There's the TV!"


Moral: While there may be nothing on TV, it's damn difficult to get away from.

Here at Nixco the summer holidays have definitely started, so we asked our local scryer, Old Nick to consult his ball and advise us horoscopically where to go.


LEO July 22 - August 21
A safari. Leo males traditionally lie around sated for hours at a time in the sun, Leo females traditionally kill game animals and feed the kids. C'est la vie - don't knock it. Can't afford a safari? then come to Colwyn Bay Mountain Zoo.http://www.welshmountainzoo.org/new/home.htm

VIRGO August22 - September 21 Another quiet year for Virgos. I think a gentle water-colouring holiday will suit the average virgo. Llanidloes is nice and very handy for the Laura Ashley Factory Shop.http://www.llanidloes.com/

LIBRA September 22 - October 22 The stars tell me that Libra will enjoy a musical holiday this year, you've missed the Eistedffodd at Llangollen but there's still Llandrindod Wells Victorian Festival! http://www.victorianfestival.co.uk/

SCORPIO October 23 - November 21 The Scorpion has ten legs to deal with, rather like Line Dancing, and you can find all you need for Line Dancing at Hooked on Country in the town of Amlwch on the beautiful HOLIDAY Isle of Anglesey.http://homepages.tesco.net/~hookedoncountry/

SAGITTARIUS November 22 - December 20A centaur with a bow. Well even old Nick can't turn you into a centaur for a week (though there are several in Harry Potter ("Dull, dull, dull." Another unbiased reviewer)), but he can recommend the next best thing, Yes a pony trekking holiday in the Beautiful Black Mountains.http://www.transwales.demon.co.uk/

CAPRICORN December 21 - January 19The seagoat. Wales is the Ideal place for you with its spectacular coast and rugged mountains. Swim or scale it's your choice Capricorn, or combine the two in delightful Pembrokeshire.http://www.pembrokeshirecoast.org.uk/

AQUARIUS January 20 - February 18 While some Aquarians are decidedly wet, you are willing to try all forms of liquid, so why not try some delicious Welsh wine from Worthenburys while you relax in the delightful industrial setting of Wrexham!http://www.worthenburywines.co.uk/

PISCES February 19 - March 19 The fish in the sign of Pisces swim in opposite directions signifying internal conflict, why not lay the buggers to rest during a delightful spa break in the lovely Welsh countryside. Though I'm not too sure about the thermotherapy, no it'll be lovely you'll see (well you won't hear, certainly).http://www.escape2001.co.uk/

ARIES March 20 - April 18Aries is the sign of the ram and we all know what the ram is don't we children, it's a sheep, and where better to hang around with your ovine cousins than on a farm holiday in agricultural - Wales!http://www.croeso-betws.org.uk/acc/bb/tyddyndu.htm

TAURUS April 19 - May 19Spain! Espana! Sun! Flamenco! Sangria! Sounds fab, not a great place for bulls though! Taurus will be much better off touring varied South West Wales and visiting their "Older Brothers" at the many and fascinating Agricultural Shows.http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/southwest/sites/shows/pages/pembrokeshire.shtml

GEMINI May 20 - June 20Gemini, your twin aspect always makes you unsure of yourself and others. Old Nick recommends that you get away with that "good friend".What better way to get to know someone than to share a room in one of Wales plethora of B&B's, who knows you may progress from those "Twinbeds" to a double !http://www.britainsfinest.co.uk/bedandbreakfast/search_results.cfm

CANCER June 21 - July 21Crabs like you love the seaside and with well over 80 miles of coastline, what better place than Cardigan Bay. You can even fish for some of your crustacean buddies or indulge in some guilt-free cannibalism. http://tourism.ceredigion.gov.uk/saesneg/beaches.htm

Nixco is not sponsored by Visitwales.com honest, no really.

TTMFFTTMA 7

It was one of those things that my Father failed to tell me about, like checking that the girl you're walking with has tissues.
As I cycled in the other day a taxi went past with the following emblazoned on the side:
DNT B WSTFL
"Aaaahh" I thought, "How nice, what a lovely sentiment for the mildly depressed."
Unfortunately the next line was all about recycling, so, realising that I'd misread WSTFL for WSTFL, I became wstfl.
However, in the evening I attended an "event" at Heals (a swish furnishing shop), featuring 10% off (ha, let's talk about my salary) and a tasting of Vina Mara wines. I swilled and spat at the start but then the security guard moved me past the planters.
My tasting notes from the evening:
Cava - it's cava.
Rose - it's horrid
Rioja - s'ooright
Rioja Reserva - bit planky, as in licking a freshly sawn bit of oak, or a good kipper.
Rioja Gran Reserva - not as planky as the reserva but a bit more acidic.
Crianza - Has hints of oak, like a cudgel made of that fine wood .
White Rioja - Cor you're lovely! Sorry bit of internalisation. Alright, sort of Spanishy.
White Something Else - I'm sure it would have been fine, but I suddenly found myself in Habitat (the shop opposite) with some unusual pressure bruises round my upper arms.
Habitat had come out in opposition, first of all it wasn't invites only, secondly they had half-naked, HALF-NAKED girls in hula skirts, I seem to remember that their fizzy wine was better but that could have been the Alka-Seltzer I had later, needless to say I won't be shopping there for sometime.
So thus fuelled and inspired I left for home.
Now, I've been frequenting a lot of Turkish shops lately, lured in by the cries of,
"How much? Crikey that's cheap!"
and so have adopted a form of the Mediterranean diet (lots of herby stuff with olive oil, fresh vegetables, a lot of peppers and a bottle of Australian wine, plus an awful lot of mint tea, chiefly due to the awful lot of mint.
I had started the morning with a spot of frantic maceration and had spent most of the day deep in infusion as I'd decided to introduce a piece of tuna to salsa verde. At work, after consulting t'internet, I discovered that I needed anchovies and that I'd left out the capers. Capers I had, a small jar of Spanish nonpareille in salt. I washed them four times, they still constricted the back of the throat like the first accidental contact with the Med. In my younger days, at College, a caper was a manoeuvre in Morris Dancing, though, if you were rich and used to such things, you might know that it was the green stuff in Tatar Sauce that made it taste like peculiar salad cream, but I digress.
I decided I could pick up the anchovies from the supermarket on the way home, so fortified with Vina Maria off I went. Supermarkets seem to offer much more choice that the average Italian fishmarket, so imagine my surprise when, on arriving back home I discovered that I had failed to get just, "Anchovies "and had ended up with "Anchovies with Garlic and Herb in Olive Oil", note "Herb", singular, and even that was parsley, hardly worthy of the name "herb" in my view. Anyway the purity of my concoction was diluted by a momentary lack of concentration.
Moral: Always read your anchovies.

Important message from Nixco Human Capital Division to all Nixco Workers

Dear Minion,
It has come to our attention that some of you are worried about holiday and work parity issues after the forthcoming assessment. Please do not be worried, your holiday entitlement will not change and everyone will work a thirty five hour week, allow me to explain.
For Support Staff who currently work a thirty seven hour week, an hour will now contain 63 minutes 26 seconds, and you will work 35 of them.
Similarly, those staff who take 25 days leave will now be expected to take 25 days of 14hrs and 24 minutes.
You are asked to ignore any celestial objects that might indicate that the day/night ratio is otherwise, as these objects are temporarily outside our control.
The HC Divisiuon would like to take this opportunity to advise you of our new motto - Carpe Diem.
Sally Bratt
Commander
Human Capital Division

New Weight Loss Programme from Nixco.
Following on the success of our Cardiofasterization Programme, Nixco are proud to present :
"Spintoff"
an exercise and weight loss programme.
Step one.
Buy or otherwise obtain a serviceable bicycle.
Step two.
Ride bicycle first thing in the morning between the months of November and March.
Step three. Do not sniff.
Mucus is stuffed full of glycoconjugates, and what are the first two syllables of glycoconjugates - yes Glyco and we all know what that means - Sugar!
So by not sniffing and therefore reingesting that mucus, you are contributing to significant sugar- and therefore weight- loss.
Nixco provide a fantastic range of accessories for those on the Spintoff programme, these include the Twin-Tube Loogey Luge with volumetric backpack, for those who want to quantify their weight loss.
The Spintoff Moustache, made from a material developed by NASA for spacesuit gussetting, capable of absorbing 2550 times its weight in fluid (available in a range of colours, including "flesh" for the ladies.
And for those who wish to go "au naturel " Spintoff Mucoff detergent.

TMFFTTM6

It was another of those things that your father fails to tell you about as a boy, like checking that your underpants are in your luggage. I had set off with my companion Liz for a walk in the countryside. Liz is "clubbing fit" the sort of club that plays 170 beats-per-minute music till five o'clock in the morning, whereas I have the fitness of one of the denizens of the sort of club where elderly gentlemen with red faces and carbuncle noses, snore gently under a copy of the Times, and wheeze when their cigar is reluctant to draw. Consequently a walk with Liz consists of me staring at her receding buttocks (not as in "hairline") for a few seconds, before turning my attention to her heels, and then the patch of ground immediately in front of me. Occasionally she stops to let me catch up (and, I suspect, gloat), and point her in the right direction, before she trips off into the distance, surrounded by a pink haze. I should point out, sadly, that the haze is probably less part of her character but more some sort of catastrophic vascular event that I'm going through.
This particular day we were doing a round walk from Tring Station to Ivinghoe Beacon and were on the return leg when disaster struck. My bowels (yes them again) announced their presence by going into spasm causing me to use my outdoor skills and scan the barren ground for some sort of public convenience, or, failing that, cover. Pressure mounted, this was not going to go away. Stiff-legged, tight-arsed (no comments please) I made my way towards a narrow thicket, occasionally stopping as waves of discomfort coursed down my, soon to be less, corpulent frame. Liz watched, caught in limbo halfway between pity and hysterical laughter.
"Liz, got any tissues?"
"One - but I've used it."
What sort of girl was this? La belle dame sans tissus. Inconceivable! A woman in the countryside with almost no paper products of any kind. I accepted the tissue and found some acceptably thick Leylandii. I emerged sometime later, pale, and with only half a handkerchief. It could have been worse, the same bug had caused three solid (I use the word advisedly) days of D and V in other people.
Moral: While all women should carry tissues some of them don't.

CARDIOFASTERIZATION UPDATE

A BULLETIN FROM THE UN (ALLEGEDLY).

WORLD-RENOWNED NIXCO CARDIFASTERIZATION HAS SIGNIFICANT EFFECT ON GLOBAL WARMING.
Cardiofasterization, the essential premise of the NIXCO NATKINS diet (holding one's breath during exercise to increase the heart rate) contributes significantly to a drop in Global Warming.
By holding one's breath, one prevents GREENHOUSE GAS, CARBON DIOXIDE from being released into the atmosphere.
In fact several FORMER SOVIET REPUBLIC NATIONS now exhort their populations to hold their breaths for as long as possible to obtain Emissions Credits as specified in the KYOTO PROTOCOL.

We have been told that we should exercise for half-an-hour, five times a week."Exercise? Pah!" I hear you say, but, fear not, we at Nixco have the solution.

Yes! Our Boffins and some physiologists have been studying modern diet trends for ages, and by careful extrapolation and application, have come up with a new and exciting exercise regime for YOU, the people.

Yes! You don't have to stop slouching! Or even get off the couch! With the New Nixco Natkin's Workout.

Our Science Team at Natkins HQ have studied exercise extensively;
What does it do?
Why does it hurt?
With Natkins it's "All Gain, No Pain"

In brief: Exercise increases the "burning" (a pseudotechnical term) of energy sources in the muscles. This process normally requires Oxygen (air), and in order to get that "air" to the muscles the heart beats faster, we call this Cardiofasterization [Nixco TM]. It is this Cardiofasterization that gives exercise its benefits.

Our workout induces Hypoxic Cardiofasterization without the need bend, stretch or break sweat, simply holding your breath for two minutes twenty times a day is equivalent to Half-an-Hour's Workout in a Very Expensive Gymnasium.

So send off today for your New Nixco Natkin's Workout Book - Remember Cardiofasterization could save your life! Send £40 to the usual Nixco Address. All purchasers receive a free "I'm on the Natkin's" T-shirt (available in XXL and XXXL only)

Dear Franchiser,
As you may have noticed there have been a lot of product recalls in the UK due to the inclusion of potentially carcinogenic compounds, such as sudan iv and para red, included as food dyes.It is with great regret that we have to recall one of our products: Orange Age Exfoliator.
Sourced from our far-eastern subsidiary, Nixcong, we have discovered that due to an error of translation the product is not in fact a "melange of citrus and rare tropical oils, guaranteed to restore the healthy glow of an eight year old" but is war surplus defoliant.
We therefore ask franchisers to return all stock (usual credit rules apply), and to advise customers that they should refrain from using the product and return it directly to us when we will refund monies reflecting the unused portion of the bottle.
Nixco will stringently deny any health problems associated with the use of the above.


Coming soon from Nixco, "Rite 2 Lite Leylandii Destroyer".

ttmffttm 5

It was one of those things that my father failed to tell me about like keeping abreast of the changes in rail franchises.

My father as a young man was a keen cyclist, the sort of cyclist who would heave his ungeared bicycle up hills by dint of thew, or failing that, by walking. There are photo's of him dressed in long loose shorts, sensible shoes and socks and short-sleeved shirts, usually staring quizzically at a map, hair windblown and unkempt, occasionally a pipe will be clamped in his jaw, though how you cycle with a pipe without a; blinding yourself, or b; setting yourself on fire, is beyond me. Behind him, out of focus, will be other young men, similarly dressed, standing astride their bikes, arms akimbo. It seems that it was always my father's lot to find the route, guide the path of others, direct traffic, ironic that he himself rarely strayed from the beaten path of "should", "duty" and the "stiff upper lip".
It was my father who taught me how to cycle, the usual round of running behind a low bike holding onto the saddle, 'til, one day, the mantra of "keep pedalling", usually close to my ear, fades, becomes distant, becomes suspiciously distant! I turn, legs still flailing, to see - no one, the vast ocean of my confidence and competence becomes a Sahara of insecurity, the wobble sets in, a random harmonic of involuntary steering. I still have a scar from that bike.

It's hot, so I opted for cycling shorts. Now while I am usually a fan of wearing underwear, I believe that under cycling shorts it's counter productive, something to do with all that rubbing, heat and extra seams. So I sorted myself out a nice pair of briefs to add to the trousers already in the pannier. Therefore imagine my surprise, when, upon investigation, they were nowhere to be seen. Consequently I am writing this commando style.

Moral: whilst you may think you have packed your underpants, always double check, a few seconds now may save a lifetime of chafing later.

Dear Nixco Franchiser,

Firstly thank you for your order for 5000 of our Spirit Bangles, we enclose the official Nixco insert that should be included with the bangle. Nixco can also provide packaging designed to enhance the giftworthiness of the product in a choice of leatherine or vegetarian options, just order from the warehouse as normal.

Due to the uniqueness of our manufacturing process please remember to check the product for metal flashing before dispatch. Any flashing can be removed with a standard jeweller's file (Franchisee product 558. $5.00 or 1500 Nixcopoints).

We look forward to your next order.

Nixco

THE NIXCO SPIRIT BANGLETM.
Dear insert name,
You are now the proud owner of a “Nixco Spirit Bangle”TM, this bangle is specially designed to harness the Power of The Ancients for the use of the elderly.
Nixco realise that people like you insert name, people who are of a “mature aspect”, may need that little bit extra help with their bodily systems. So after years of extensive research we are proud to present the “Nixco Spirit Bangle”TM. Yes! Our team of professional charlatans has been scouring the texts and beliefs of the Ancients. They have spent time in Sioux sweat lodges attuning themselves to the Great Spirit Manitou. They have spent years studying the flow of Chi with renowned Oriental Practitioners. They have sojourned in the deserts of Egypt, sifting the sands of knowledge. They have thrown runes, yarrow stalks, and crystals. They have dealt tarot cards, looked through telescopes and visited bookshops in California, Glastonbury, Alderley Edge, Findhorn and Tintagel. They have eaten Peyote in Mexico, smoked Ganja in Jamaica, snorted Yoppo in the Amazon jungle, drunk tea in Bath, all to bring you the “Nixco Spirit Bangle”TM.
“But…” we hear you ask insert name, “how does it work?”
Firstly a core of pure copper is extruded from the East/West aligned smelter in our Feng Shui workshop, this is then enfolded in pure Ayurvedic Quality Silver by our Dwarf Smiths who can trace their line back to the Nibelungen. The “Nixco Spirit Bangle”TM is then stored in our Rune and Hieroglyph inscribed Pyramid for one Lunar Cycle before being taken in our Bathyscaphe to the site of Mythological Atlantis!!!
As you can see insert name , we don’t take your future lightly! So, wear your “Nixco Spirit Bangle”TM secure in the knowledge that we have done our best to instil within it the mystic powers that will ensure your older years proceed in a Natural Course!

Nixco make no claims that the “spirit bangle” can cure illness or will prevent the natural degradation of the human condition.

TTMFFTTM 4

It was another of those things that my father failed to tell me about, such as scanning the path at the bottom of the hill for indisposed farm animals before you actually descend.
The other Saturday having cracked a bleary eye and cursed at the weather ("Good! Bugger! Better do something then."), I hoist myself aloft, leafed wearily through my various biking trail leaflets and decide to head for "The Great North Way" in reality 32 Miles of National Cycle Route 12 ( and, amazingly, a nearly straight route; Sustrans, the people responsible for the National Cycle Routes, have managed to make the route between Birmingham and Oxford about 112 miles despite the fact that they are only 60 miles apart, hence, "amazingly") running from Letchworth in the "North" to Hadley Wood/Potter's Bar on the outskirts of London. It has several stations on the route to decamp to, plus one at either end, I made my final check by firing up the TV to check for the dread "Engineering Works" (a sort of mechanical plague that affects the British railway system, chiefly at weekends and during the holiday season. Trains are replaced with buses which have to drift tortuously over swathes of countryside before calling at all the stations that the train isn't, naturally they are full of the either extremely angry or semi-comatose, what they aren't full of is cyclists, as they don't take bikes), WAGN (the Company) was clear, I double checked, leaped into the saddle and pedalled for the station.
An hour later I detrained at Letchworth, carried my trusty steed up the stairs and ,after a brief perusal of the Engineering Works notice, began to roundly curse. The franchise for my particular length of track was now owned by First Capital Connect (some distance down the alphabet from WAGN), my route, which paralleled the main line, was bereft of trains from points south of five miles away, it was, in fact, also bereft of power lines. I decided that I should, at least, do some exercise and review the situation (plus the condition of my perineum and/or knees) at Stevenage where the branch line that was open, dived into the backwaters of rural Hertfordshire. Thus it was that I found myself on the Letchworth Greenway, a countryside access track circumnavigating Letchworth and uniting places of interest (including two power stations, Stotfold sewage works and Letchworth dump, it also offers several unparalleled views of the A1). However, I persevered and was rewarded with a lot of countryside, a good selection of butterflies plus several encounters with other flying insects ranging from the ballistic interaction of bumble bees to an ocular episode with some sort of long, small and, apparently sharp beetle (probably a staphylinid), the latter causing me to exit from the road stage left and weep profusely whilst waving on the somewhat baffled stream of traffic behind me.
By this time I had arrived on the outskirts of London (having succumbed to a fit of stupidity and a willing suspension of self-awareness in the Stevenage area) sadly with no real idea of where I was, however I spotted a view, pointed my front wheel in the direction of Canary Wharf (it's tall) and arrived home about an hour later, having done a few extra miles, well about 50 percent extra miles actually. Sunday dawned with pain, and hobbling.Moral: Keep abreast of changes of franchise in the National Rail System or your legs will ache.

TMFFTTM 3

It was another of those things that my father failed to tell me about as a boy, like checking your underpants for chilli seeds. I had decided to go for a walk south of London and had plumped for the Mole Gap Trail, all six miles of it, stretching between the North Downs from Leatherhead to Dorking, with an extra side excursion up Boxhill - for the view. The path follows the River Mole, which is a sort of turgid grey but slips by quite quickly on its way to join the Thames at Hampton Court. it looks unpleasantly greasy, like the top of a stockpot, and seems to have the consistency of vodka straight from the freezer (most of you will know what I mean by this) this illusion is probably brought about by the collection of tyres, rubble and engine blocks, not to mention the more normal detritus of tree branches, that lurk half invisible below the surface, or completely invisible under the sign that says "Unsafe to Swim". However, once the town is left, things cheer up a bit, beech woods come down to the stream edge on occasions, and the pastures are full of violets. I continued pausing only to crop a few ramsoms (wild garlic) and then to delve into my bag of emergency mint crumbles just in case I met a damsel requiring CPR or some other sort of close contact.
Finally I arrived at Westhumble, and set off to look for the stepping stones across the river, after passing the Stepping Stones pub which was packed to the rafters with Sunday Lunchers. I eventually found said stones seemingly several miles from the pub, and even then only after I'd crossed the river by footbridge. I crossed back over the stones, caught up with myself, and then creaked my way up Box Hill, 193 metres of it. Lo and Behold! A National Trust cafe! I paused for a coffee and a brownie - both average, before staring at a map on the wall to commit my descent to memory: along there, double back there, right there, across the footbridge by the sewage works and into town. Voila!
I descended, just before the footbridge I became aware of a cow, lying down in just the way that cows don't. It was flat out, upper legs dangling, front hoof occasionally moving, I approached, hoping to see a sleeping cow roll onto its belly and struggle to its feet, with the slightly shocked, slightly reproachful look that cows adopt when you disturb them (raising that weight of flesh can't be easy as some of you will tell me I should know). It opened an eye, rolled it, and groaned, groaned like a man with a cold, a near death groan, the groan that only the moribund can empathise with, the sort of groan where you cross your fingers hoping for a following inhalation.
I decided to stop at the Police Station in town and let them know. However, the bridge, so neatly marked on the map, so visible from the top of the hill, so handy for the town, was closed and had been for years, I accessed my photographic memory, cursed and started back up the hill, all the way up the hill, to tell the warden, resplendent in his Land Rover at the top. Thus it was that a National T rust volunteer was suddenly faced with a wild-eyed, sweat-dripping, red-faced individual, redolent with garlic, mint and coffee, speaking excitedly, though sporadically, about ill cows, and whose farm was whose. Eventually sense was made and 'phone calls started, and I limped back down the hill the way I had come up in the first place and started home.
Moral. When you have line of sight of your route, and a pair of binoculars, check for any ailing farm animals before you get to the bottom of the hill.

Nixco Guide to the Rules of Offroad Cycling.

1.Be at One with the Countryside - at some point it will be at one with you.

2. To every up there is a down - allegedly.

3. Nettles or gorse - it's your choice.

4. Nettles, gorse or barbed wire - see 3.

5. Get some Botany in your bonce. Brushing aside the delicate hanging fronds of the weeping willow (Salix babylonica) as you flash past is one thing, trying it with a hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna) is something else (and usually less successful).

6. Gravel can be both your friend and your foe. At some point in any journey you will encounter gravel, at this point it is your foe. Regardless of which direction the front wheel of your bicycle is pointing, gravel will impel the bicycle on a straight course (and I don't want to hear anything from purists about weight distribution, I can assure you that my weight has been distributed all over the bicycle and I've still gone in a straight line), which may result with you becoming at One with the Countryside (AOWC). It is at this point that gravel can be your friend, imparting a degree of cushioning upon impact.

7. Grit is no-one's friend, it is merely used for packing wounds - involuntarily.

8. Both 6 and 7 possess the ability to metamorphose into Mud upon being exposed to any degree of water, even a slight increase in humidity will do. The cyclist can do no better than to get some Pedometry in their Psyche. A working knowledge of different soil types is essential for the offroad cyclist, the difference between the clayey loam of Bedfordshire and the sandy loam of Norfolk being about carrying the cycle.

9. Grass, can ameliorate the spine-shattering nature of a lot of offroad routes BUT it is also a high friction material, slowing down your passage till it doesn't. It also hides - dog crap (see knobbly tyres, later).

10. Tarmac may come as a welcome relief but not when it's an M4 relief road. It provides interest as it enables you to study the relative population densities of local fauna.

11. 4WD drivers are scum. Every byway is turned into a deeply rutted track, these ruts are deeper then your pedals but not as wide, this causes catastrophic halting and immediate AOWC. Sometimes there is a "path" between the ruts but this will degenerate to a 10cm wide track bounded by two mud-filled ponds of approximately one metre depth. Bicycles also leave ruts, these are 15cm wide and 15cm deep - once committed you are in them to the end or until you become AOWC.

12. Front bags with a transparent bit you can look at a map through are fine, never put anything heavy in them though. A heavy item causes the front wheel to become possessed, developing its own form of simple harmonic motion and indulging in a bit of novelty steering.

13. Some form of ambidextricity (eh?) is essential. On the side of a steep hill, trying to get off the downhill side of the bike causes immediate AOWC and makes the downhill side become the uphill side, this hurts.

14. Similarly, there will be times when one is starting off in low gear, this may have involved 13 (above), a halt on an up, or "pushing" after a halt on an up. Be astride the cycle rather than trying the "scoot and legover" approach, as the cycle may have stopped or, indeed, be going backwards, by the time your feet contact the pedals.

15. Dress. Get some couture in your cranium. Padded lower garments may look like they contain incontinence pads but over distance they become essential. Short or long, your choice, but consider this, off the beaten track nettles and brambles proliferate, about one centimetre off the beaten track to be precise. Gentlemen, don't get your shorts too tight as under pressure various bits off your anatomy may slide disconcertingly across the gusset as you raise and lower your feet on the pedals.(Too much information, stop this immediately! Ed).

I'm very concerned by the effect the "5 a day" campaign will have on global warming, as far as I can tell one of the main reasons for the diet change is to increase throughput by providing more fibre. I ask you, which will cost more colonic cancer care, or catastrophic meteorology? Stodge-up now, that's what I say, hence the launch of the:
NIXCO ONCE A WEEK CAMPAIGN!
Keep the Atlantic Conveyor going by not!
More fruit equals less trees!
Constipation not Evaporation!
Piles to save the Isles.!
OUR AIM
Eat more sugar and fat, drink more diuretics.

Things my father failed to tell me 2

It was another of those things that your father doesn't tell you about, like the fact that you should always brush your teeth while in the nude, or that shaving accidents last three days and always prompt the question, "Have you been in a fight?" followed by dark, " 'bout what I'd expect of you", looks and a slight sneer (something that you won't be able to do for three days without causing a haemorrhagic Niagara), a sneer with overtones of "and I'll bet you lost too".
So, I had finished my evening repast of smoky aubergine with lime sauce (Madhur Jaffrey's Far Eastern Cookery) and had done the washing up. I should add that the dish is Vietnamese so that the lime sauce is a mixture of fish sauce, lime juice, chilli and garlic. I then wiped down the surfaces and retired to the chaise to rest my wearied bones and catch up on the world's happenings (apparently George Clooney has left ER). Readers of a gentle disposition should probably read no further but since I've already said "nude" they may not be anyway. Later I went to the toilet, soon afterwards in the bathroom, my, specifically male, anatomy recorded the degree of pain normally associated with the Spanish Inquisition, I would say convulsed with pain but that's hardly right, and anyway, conjures up the sort of vision associated with slugs and salt.
I investigated. A chilli seed that had previously clung tenaciously and unseen to the heel of my hand had base-jumped into my underpants as I hoisted them, bringing it into close, if not to say lascivious , contact with my nether regions. Well dear reader, I ejected said seed and then spent a cooling few minutes with a bowl of cold water, before spending the remainder of the evening "demi au naturel" as the French rarely say, the evening breezes bringing cool caresses of relief to my tortured (now I'm loath to say todger here as it seems out of keeping but the alliteration works well, I'll think)... tortured ... fevered brow.
Moral: always check your underpants for chillies.

Things my father failed to tell me 1

It was one of those things that your father fails to tell about as a boy, one of those things that he really should have mentioned to enhance the life of his progeny. I think I must have muttered to myself while I was shaving (I often seem to mutter in front of mirrors, though, sadly, rarely anything complimentary), the result being a seven millimeter gash producing the same amount of blood you'd expect from a severed limb. Now, the men amongst you will know that a razor-cut lip is not a thing to be trifled with, it takes about three days for the cut to heal sufficiently so that normal life can continue, in the meantime you must not touch your lips or in anyway deform the cut site. Consequently, a great deal of care must be taken while pulling on or off any over-the-head clothes, the sort of extravagant care meted out by parents on young children (mind you it is a well-known fact that the ears of anyone under the age of six are notoriously unstable). You must not smile which is why I had rather a grim journey in, though my stony countenance failed to secure me a seat, you must not do anything that raises your heart rate, as any increase in blood pressure causes catastrophic clot failure. In fact, due to the sensitivity of the lips, any change in the fragile meshwork of the clot is perceived as darts of cold, or sudden relaxations or balloonings, a quick scan of people in your immediate area will usually tell you if any seepage is taking place, either by the looks of disgust or by the sudden turning of the head to avoid any eye-contact with a grim-faced individual with a slick of bright blood coursing down their chin, failing that, or if you are alone, you tend to only find out when the blood cools on your collar, or drips appear, startlingly, on the floor, your shoes, or your new white shirt. So it was with great trepidation that I cleaned my teeth this morning. I have invested in a Colgate Massager which looks like it should be found downstairs (if you'll pardon the pun) in the larger versions of Ann Summers which, for the benefit of overseas recipients, is an "adult store" and seems to have been designed by Keith Flint's (he of The Prodigy) stylist.
Tonight I am taking a couple of visitors on the "Historic Pub Crawl", I just hope they don't think I'm being surly.