Lunacy, Lance and Lycra

Hear all about it – lend me your ears.

Wow! What a Tour de France we have had in England. Dense crowds of cheering Brits lined the roadsides. Six million selfies were snapped with the hurtling peleton as a backdrop. 

I haven’t been blogging because I’ve been working at my day job as an audio editor for my company Gallo Romano Media. We picked up a fabulous job to do an audio book all about the Tour de France. I now know things a woman shouldn’t know about what riders used to do with Nivea Cream.(It wasn’t exactly applied where the sponsors intended). I also know a lot more about the history of France and Europe and the juicy scandals and skulduggery surrounding some of the old time stars. Lance has got some catching up to do believe me. 

The book “The Tour de France – The Inside Story” by Les Woodland is brilliant. My man – Oscar Sparrow, did the audio in his performance poet French Italiano mode. To get into the mind set he rode the Tourmalet and the Col de Marie Blanque on a Tacx simulator. Taking the heavy breathing off that track was tough. 

Dropped H – well what ever makes you ‘appy

Getting away from the editing desk on our tandem was wonderful. I had completed a whole twelve miles before I had to take a coffee break in the ultra posh town of Stockbridge in Hampshire. The dropped H from the sign is in honour of my French/Cockney accent. Well – it’s an ‘otel innit. I reckon they took it down for me so that I didn’t feel out of place.

If you’re in to politics, sex, scandal and bikes keep an eye out for out latest audio book which will be out soon. If you fancy winning a free copy click here.

Emma Thinx: Friends, Romans, Cyclists – lend me your rears

Bull’s Balls,Bluebells and Bicycle Belles

Two Bicycle Belles – Oooh – the sighs of those thighs!

If you love great powerful pumping male thighs – nothing beats a good old cycle race sprint finish. I’ve just been watching Mark Cavendish win yet another stage in the Giro d’Italia. One day I’m gonna write the definitive tale of love in Lycra and passion in the peleton.  What I want to know is why are these guys thighs so much stronger than mine when mine are bigger?  

Don’t need your conversation – just hangin’ loose you old cow
Today, despite the North East wind and the bank breaking energy bill, the sun peeped out in the UK. As the central heating thermostat clicked on, I headed for the woods with my camera.(Ok – I do know I should have been turning out future English Literature exam syllabus material).  On the way I encountered a most magnificent beast. I was so excited I didn’t centre the shot. If I could have dressed him in a tux and given him a couple of horny lines he’d be my next hunk. I’ve read books with similar grunting heroes.

My real quest was the ethereal quality of Nature and mortality which are never far from my thoughts.Of course, the bluebells were out and pumping up the volume of their abstraction. No more and no less than these blooms, our lives have their hours set against the depth of Time past and the infinity of future. These flowers are a certain embodiment of a thing being nothing but its simple self but yet a transcendent path leading beyond presence into wordless meaning. I don’t really know what I mean but these flowers say it for me every time I see them physically or in my mind. 

I am so lucky to share my life between two beautiful places both here in the UK and in France. I’m sure that today the river Charente is pushing on to the Atlantic on the west coast of France. My last shot is of the famous (for trout fishing) River Test at Horsebridge as it approaches Romsey in Hampshire UK. 

Near here I once saw a hawk sweeping across an undulating meadow to snatch a rabbit. Its flight was a perfect poem of elegance and precision. The strike was an exploding synthesis of suffering, victory and hunger. If ever I understand what I felt I’ll be somewhere – but words won’t help me.My mind is a poor tool but it’s all I have.

Emma Thinx: A kite only soars because it is tethered.

Everything has its place.

Rain. Sweet Rain that filters through the chalk downland to refresh the river Test and its tributaries. Rain also in France but all the same Gilles phoned to say he’s going out on his bike with les garcons. Now, where do you stand on the whole Lycra/lunch box issue? Should skin tight sports clothing be like booze, fags and solvents with an age limit where no one over the age of say 50 should be allowed to buy it? There is also the issue of speedo swimwear. Last year Gilles was banned from the local piscine for wearing swim shorts. An obliging attendant was on hand to sell him some budgie smugglers.  In the UK you get banned for wearing speedos cos apparently one looks like a dirty old man.(Well the men do I guess).  Personally I hate the whole screaming in chlorine flavoured urine experience and never go.

On the subject of bikes I’ve noticed a new trend here in the UK. In France old guys ride about on 30 year old Peugeot racers. Here you see mobs of exec types with i pods and smart phones riding bikes with bleeping sat naffs. One of those pelican things swept through the village yesterday evening.  The bikes wouldn’t disgrace those carbon fibre exotica of the Steroid-EPO team. Watch out for this team in the Tour de France- they’re almost certain winners. And where are the girls? I just hope they’re warm and dry with a good Romance to read. “Zak unclipped from his pedals and stepped away from his Fandango carbon XR47 special edition and leant it against the wall. As he turned towards the street in his turquoise Lycra shorts, Immelda’s legs buckled and she sank to her knees.”

Rosina was up early tapping out some blurb for a book about electric trains. She did bring me  a cup of tea and enquire if I would be working on my book with a kinda tweaky eyebrow high flyer human dynamo expression on her face. These Anglo Saxons are just so angled.