The Twist In The Trail - 22nd March

Well...bugger.

Story in the Merthyr Express this week tells of a man alone on the Taff Trail who got battered into hospital  by two young teenagers.

In case anyone's forgotten, I tend to walking down the Taff Trail on my own, and, generally, singing, with an iPod in my lugholes.

Of course, technically, thinking about it, the kids who are accused of beating this guy up...were caught. So not sure if that makes this the safest or most dangerous time to go schlepping down the Trail.

Gives me pause for thought, certainly. Then I think a) they're teenagers - if I sit on them and fart, I can practically kill the little shits, and b) I resent on principle the idea that little dickwads like this should stop me doing what I want to do. I didn't let them stop me when I was one of them, so surely it would be an admission of increased wussitude to let them affect my actions now.

Of course, when I was a teenager, they were only armed with steel metalwork rulers, sharpened dividers and compasses and the occasional air rifle. These days, they're tooled up for serious business.

Hmm. Will ponder this over the next few days - am away again on another damned overnight on Tuesday, in Farnborough. Any bugger know where that is? Suppose I should probably find out as I'll be sleeping there 72 hours from now.

Total loss on the Disappearing front today. Biked 500 embittered, miserable muttering calories off my ass last night in the midst of the doldrums. Today my ass was welded to my editing chair all day, then to the seat in the movies for another couple of hours (What the hell has happened to Liam Neeson, by the way? When did he start to kick believable ass?), and then we went for dinner, d, Lou, Mark and I. Took for...freakin'...ever to get served in the local Frankie and Benny, despite not being very full. All of which meant I was chowing down on spaghetti bolognaise at about 10.30 at night. As renowned diarist Bridget Jones would say - v. v. bad.

Tomorrow looks like being a dead loss too - out for fake mother's day lunch. Sigh...it's a hard old Disappearing life, right enough...