I had a gentle gardening post lined up for you this evening, but ASBO Buzzard intervened by stepping up its War on Cyclists somewhat and proving that the only thing more scary than being hit by a buzzard completely unawares, is looking over your shoulder to discover ASBO Buzzard right behind you coming in for the strike. That did quite a lot for my acceleration up the final climb, I can tell you. And the only thing scarier than that is when you’re cycling home again and thinking that at least ASBO Buzzard doesn’t attack so much in this direction, for some reason, when you hear its querulous calling and look over to your left to see it streaking towards you across the field at more or less head height. The last impression I got – before I put my head down and pedalled like the hounds, or raptors, of Hell were after me – was of a pair of mad yellow eyes boring into me, and two giant yellow sets of talons dangling down ready to carry me off to its nest.
The other half is home tomorrow, thank goodness. Quite apart from the fact that it’s depressing and tedious to cook for yourself (beans on toast tonight, thanks for asking) and that I’m so starved of conversation I’m a threat to people innocently biding their time in bus stops, it means he’ll be heading into Notso Bigtown on Wednesday and can pick up the paper in the nice safe car, while I marshal my anti-buzzard defences for the next installment.