Easier said than done.

My house is right in the middle of York. It's a stone's throw away from Pavement a.k.a. the city centre. My mum's house is the last place in York that you can be without not being in York. It's slightly uphill for the whole way. We can't afford to tax the car this month. I have a rusty bike that more or less works so I thought I'd bike down to my mum's today because I was feeling exercise-y (I'd just managed to fit snugly into a pair of jeans that hadn't fit me for three years - woop!).

Getting there was precious. My legs felt a little wobbly when I tried to walk around, get a drink, die on my arse, etc..

Getting back was something else entirely. I felt sick so I thought I'd get myself home before the skies opened because, this being York, it's always on the verge of rain if it's not sunny. I like biking places. I like going places fast, or faster than walking, though walking's good too.

It was all going alright until I got to halfway down my street. There's a hill there that takes a bit of work, and it's also covered in speedbumps because the council are sadists and there's also a river at the bottom of the hill that is realllllly good at getting driven into, so..

Anyway.

I tried to stand up on my bike to work my way up the hill but I couldn't manage it so I thought I'd just dismount and walk the rest of the way.

Des Down The Road was there, sat on a wall with his leg in a cast (motorcycle incident) watching my slow progress. It was an epic defeat, realising I was gonna have to get off my bike, but it only got worse.

You know on Bridget Jones' Diary where she is on the exercise bike and she tries to get off it and flops to the floor?

That happened.

My legs just folded. I tried to stagger upright but they just collapsed again. I crawled awkwardly towards the path, trying to keep my bike from falling on top of me with an air of dignity that I save for special occasions. Des Down The Road burst out laughing.