I think I’m starting to become lazy. I used to write a blog as soon as I got off my bike, before shower or food. However, over the last few weeks, my entries have rather trickled in, instead of the flood of a bursting of a dam.
The visits I am referring to today happened two days ago. The reason I have taken a while to recount them is that I simply haven’t been bothered to click on the ‘W’ icon on my desktop and open up a Word document.
But now I’m here, sat by my computer, with a clear memory of my trip two days ago, and a clear understanding of the old Scouts motto ‘Be Prepared’.
So, two days ago was my first bout of mystery shops for my second year of uni. I hadn’t used my bike in four months, and had had it happily leant against the stable in my garden all summer. It felt strange being back on that bike. The tiny wheels, semi-disintegrated gears and low seat that made me look like a failed student in the artistry of clowns. What a beast!
Something was different though. I couldn’t figure it out as I peddled past Hyde Park. Nor could I understand what the problem was as I flew past the uni. It was only as I sat at traffic lights near the train station that I realised my back tyre was flatter than a gymnast’s stomach (excluding 1970s eastern European gymnasts, obviously).
I then looked at my front tyre; flat as well. Four months in the atrocious British summer had ruined my tyres. I’d like to expostulate on the possibility that the low pressure in the atmosphere was a contributing factor to the loss of pressure in my tyres, but that would be silly.
I decided to take my bike to Huddersfield (where my mystery shops were) anyway. Peddling up New Hey Road towards Marsh is a task with a perfect bike, but with my tyres, the uphill slog was as strenuous as whisking frozen custard. Every peddle was an intense push against the added friction my tyres were subjecting me to. But I finally got there.
After my first visit in Marsh, I began my descent back into Huddersfield and along to Wakefield Road. The majority of this is downhill, but because of my tyres, I still had to peddle most of it! Freewheeling on concrete was like slowly squelching through tar. The tyres would simply not budge.
I eventually got to my other store, and then back onto the train to Leeds. As I got in to Leeds, I decided it was pointless trying to bike any more, and so walked up to the university sports centre, to borrow a bike pump.
I asked for a bike pump. The lady in the sports centre gave me a pump. It was a football pump. I only realised this after I’d hoisted the bike onto a wall and screwed off the tyre cap. Useless.
I handed back the pump, and walked home.
Be Prepared.
Wednesday 23 September 2009
Tuesday 15 September 2009
Back up to speed
Well, over the last few days I’ve thankfully been able to get back to some good old shopping for booze. From the stunning shaven-headed streets of Bolton to the pleasant high street of Ilkley, I’ve covered more distance than Paula Radcliff’s pacemaker.
So, my stint began on Tuesday 8th September, last week in fact, with a trip to Manchester. Now I like Manchester. It’s a cool city with lots to do. The only problem is, is that it rains a lot. This has something to do with westerly winds and Pennine hills which shan’t be used as a tool or boredom right now, but basically it rains in Manchester.
So it was to my unexpected delight that, whence arriving in Manchester (and that is the first time I have ever used the word ‘whence’, but feel I should use it more often) that the sun was shining on a particularly muggy Lancastrian day.
My first point of call was Bolton, a town whose name originates from the word ‘bothel’, meaning a dwelling. I wonder how many ‘bothels’ there are in Bolton today… Both supermarket visits went well, even though I thought I had lost one of the stores. Whilst I was cycling along looking for my store, I stopped and asked someone who can only be described as an impersonation of a ‘lady of the night’ where Deane Street was. She said she didn’t know, and had never heard of it. I was about to cycle away when she went blurted “Do you mean Deane Road love? Cos yer on it.” Fantastic, it had taken her about three minutes to make the possible connection that I may not know the local area, and that I may have meant to say ‘road’ rather than ‘street’.
Anyway, two supermarket visits in Bolton were followed by two in Oldham, possibly one of the loveliest and most cultured towns I have visited; apparently I was lucky not to get stabbed on one of the visits. I eventually ended up in Irlam, a place of which I can remember nothing about, so I’ll leave it at that.
The next day I decided to go to Pontefract. I figured that if I went to Pontefract I could come back via Leeds and watch the England match with my chums in the pub. Lovely, so off I went to Pontefract. To get to Pontefract, you have to change at Wakefield Kirkgate, a knackered old station fallen into terrible disrepair. The train stood and waited for ten minutes at Kirkgate, and then finally worked it’s way to Wakefield Westgate. Excellent, I was on my way, unbeknownst that, of course, I had gotten confused and was heading for the wrong station.
My predicament got worse when, on realising that I had made a mistake and needed to get to Kirkgate, the free town bus was a ten minute wait with a load of school children shrieking around, eating sweets. Overall, it took 40 minutes to travel from West to Kirk gates, which would have taken ten minutes to walk, apparently.
On arriving at Kirkgate station, I realised I had 50 minutes to wait for my next train. A journey that should have taken one hour and 15 minutes took exactly two and a half hours, but I finally got to Pontefract. I’ll be honest, I didn’t see much of Pontefract as I ran to the supermarket for my mystery shop, and then ran to another station at the other side of town; my only chance of getting to the pub in time for the England game!
Luckily I got to the pub in time, watched a good match with my chums, and then went home. I got myself a day’s worth of rest, and then set out for a trip of central Yorkshire.
I’ve visited Garforth, Swillington and Rothwell on the same day three times now. For a single train fare and a bit of cardiovascular on the bike, I can earn a tasty amount of crisps, booze and money for trying to stay fit and healthy. And so that’s what I did last Friday, eventually arriving back in Leeds with a bag full of alcohol. A quick sneak up to Ilkley for a more regal shopping experience and I was done, with a hoard of six bottles on my back.
When I finally got around to counting my bounty of booze, I found that I had amounted, mostly from these recent visits, 26 bottles of beer, ale or cider, a bottle of whisky and a bottle of wine. Not bad to say I got them all for free… It’s good to be back!
So, my stint began on Tuesday 8th September, last week in fact, with a trip to Manchester. Now I like Manchester. It’s a cool city with lots to do. The only problem is, is that it rains a lot. This has something to do with westerly winds and Pennine hills which shan’t be used as a tool or boredom right now, but basically it rains in Manchester.
So it was to my unexpected delight that, whence arriving in Manchester (and that is the first time I have ever used the word ‘whence’, but feel I should use it more often) that the sun was shining on a particularly muggy Lancastrian day.
My first point of call was Bolton, a town whose name originates from the word ‘bothel’, meaning a dwelling. I wonder how many ‘bothels’ there are in Bolton today… Both supermarket visits went well, even though I thought I had lost one of the stores. Whilst I was cycling along looking for my store, I stopped and asked someone who can only be described as an impersonation of a ‘lady of the night’ where Deane Street was. She said she didn’t know, and had never heard of it. I was about to cycle away when she went blurted “Do you mean Deane Road love? Cos yer on it.” Fantastic, it had taken her about three minutes to make the possible connection that I may not know the local area, and that I may have meant to say ‘road’ rather than ‘street’.
Anyway, two supermarket visits in Bolton were followed by two in Oldham, possibly one of the loveliest and most cultured towns I have visited; apparently I was lucky not to get stabbed on one of the visits. I eventually ended up in Irlam, a place of which I can remember nothing about, so I’ll leave it at that.
The next day I decided to go to Pontefract. I figured that if I went to Pontefract I could come back via Leeds and watch the England match with my chums in the pub. Lovely, so off I went to Pontefract. To get to Pontefract, you have to change at Wakefield Kirkgate, a knackered old station fallen into terrible disrepair. The train stood and waited for ten minutes at Kirkgate, and then finally worked it’s way to Wakefield Westgate. Excellent, I was on my way, unbeknownst that, of course, I had gotten confused and was heading for the wrong station.
My predicament got worse when, on realising that I had made a mistake and needed to get to Kirkgate, the free town bus was a ten minute wait with a load of school children shrieking around, eating sweets. Overall, it took 40 minutes to travel from West to Kirk gates, which would have taken ten minutes to walk, apparently.
On arriving at Kirkgate station, I realised I had 50 minutes to wait for my next train. A journey that should have taken one hour and 15 minutes took exactly two and a half hours, but I finally got to Pontefract. I’ll be honest, I didn’t see much of Pontefract as I ran to the supermarket for my mystery shop, and then ran to another station at the other side of town; my only chance of getting to the pub in time for the England game!
Luckily I got to the pub in time, watched a good match with my chums, and then went home. I got myself a day’s worth of rest, and then set out for a trip of central Yorkshire.
I’ve visited Garforth, Swillington and Rothwell on the same day three times now. For a single train fare and a bit of cardiovascular on the bike, I can earn a tasty amount of crisps, booze and money for trying to stay fit and healthy. And so that’s what I did last Friday, eventually arriving back in Leeds with a bag full of alcohol. A quick sneak up to Ilkley for a more regal shopping experience and I was done, with a hoard of six bottles on my back.
When I finally got around to counting my bounty of booze, I found that I had amounted, mostly from these recent visits, 26 bottles of beer, ale or cider, a bottle of whisky and a bottle of wine. Not bad to say I got them all for free… It’s good to be back!
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