New season blues
It was a long Winter. You've watched Netflix until you fell asleep every single night. The Tour de France. The Least Expected Day. Mark Cavendish. Even the Tour de Faso because it had 'Tour' in the title. Then you switched to YouTube and caught all the café rides with Matt and then watched Matthew Hayman's epic win in Roubaix a couple of times. Anything to keep the morale up while the rain washed the paint off your house in Biblical downpours, or the wind stripped the fascia off of the gable end, or your underwear off the clothesline. Ah yes, an Irish Winter. Then you tried cyclocross, mountain biking, spin class and the gym. You choked the washing machine with alluvial soil, sweat and effluent. Found grit in unexpected orifices. Smiled a lot. You suffered Catholic guilt (even when not Catholic! It's an Irish thing...) every time you opened the fridge, stepped into an off-license or made eye-contact with Mr Tayto. Only a second beer stops you over-thinking. You ...