Well, Well, Well.

Some dozy little Cantabrian bastard tried to steal my feckin bike today.

Well I suppose they do say that Christchurch is the most English of New Zealand cities, and the English did filth off with vast swathes of land, commonly known as countries, despite the former owners being somewhat inconvenienced.  So I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

However I was.

BUT you can all relax in case you think I am now riding Shanks' Pony.  (In fact I haven't ridden a thing in a very loooooooong time, there may even be cobwebs.)  The thief was unsuccessful in nicking the bike, though he did manage to slice my first lock in two.

PS In case you were pondering the origin of the term Shanks' Pony, as I was just this second then click HERE!

BUT in a bid to outsmart the dimwit I had also attached a canny decoy lock to the bike, which obviously foiled him.  However if he (again it had to be a he) had applied some pressure to it, it would have given way to his advances like a rufied girl on Prom Night.  Either that or some artist type, as it was at the ARTS CENTRE for fuck's sake, scurried by with an easel and beret and put him off his game, causing him to scarper off like a rufie dealer in police lights.

SO luckily I was able to cycle home and regale my father with my tales of clever thwarting of brigands and fuckfaces and I live to cycle again.  So much for the spirit of goodwill to all men.

BUT I shall not be jaded by these events.  I still love Xmas and all those whose fairy lights shine upon us.  I will instead amend that section of the Xmas Constitution and declare goodwill to all men and women, except thieving bicycle cockknobs.

Ho Ho Ho.

PS The Bicycle Thief sounds like a good name for a movie I reckon.