A Cautionary Tale

I mentioned that I may return to M. Joseph Hilaire Pierre Rene Belloc, RC vicar of Salford. Oh, no! Sorry, he was the MP for a while. Get him confused with Blair, sometimes.

Anyway, tonight little music, unless it is the sound of The Dying Swan, ou 'Le Cygne'. Saint-Saens' wonderful 'Le Carnaval des Animaux'  inspiring a ballerina to rush to the sound of the ringing bell. Or to rustle up a meringue-type dessert? Who knows? (By the way, my keyboard does not do French accents.)

Anyway, the caution relates to the velocipede. A term roughly contemporaneous with Messieurs Belloc et Saint-Saens.

Heading from Bedders to Sandy this evening I rode alongside a young feller-me-lad out for a trundle. We sat back on the pedals and chatted, maintaining a decent cadence. At which point Old Brize hit a pot-hole. No hands quickly became no skin. On elbows, knees, palms and left outer thigh. Straight into the river to remove the worst of the gore. My epidermis now consists largely of gravel and micropore tape. It is just so good to be alive some days!

Brizie cycled hard to Town
He felt he'd let his children down:
For failing to maintain his fitness,
To which the Bairns would all hold Witness.

He rushed along beside the Stream,
Cycle humming with his Dream.
But lo! what encumbrance had he met?
A Hole i' the Carriage-way is my Bet.

Crash!, he went, chin first to Gravel
Not the route for First-Class Travel.
Spectators gasped: rushed to his Aid,
But Brize just accepted Debt was Paid!

Moral: Slow down you Old Fool - you're going to to kill yourself.

The ballerina was Anna Pavlova, she of a dessert, rather than the extremely intelligent experimental psychologist who noticed dogs salivate before the food is set before them. Saint-Saens was apparently extraordinary, too. And I think Belloc was pretty bloody clever. Homage a tous.