Some mother-fucking socially irreponsible diseased cunt of a shit left most of a glass bottle in my path as I cycled home last night. My rear wheel passed over it, it exploded, and sliced my rear tyre neatly across. I was racing downhill inches from a rough sandstone wall, so I'm lucky I didn't scrape my face off. This time. I vainly replaced the inner tube, but the new one pushed out like a varicose vein, and exploded after 30 yards. I had left at 6 PM to get home and join a 7:30 teleconference from home, but realised there was no change I would make it to the railway station on foot in time to get a train to Edinburgh and walk home. So I walked the mile and a half back to the office, showered all the road-shit off myself and made the meeting.
This was 30 minutes late starting and failed to engage me in any way whatsoever.
Due to industrial action (or greed, as I tonight think of it), there is no train home from here for another 45 minutes. I will arrive home at around 10:30 if I'm lucky.
So much for my one free night to myself this week. And tomorrow, I have to get my glasses repaired. Unfortunately, in order to get to the optician's I have to get my bike repaired. At a shop which doesn't open until ten. On a working day. I may have flu tomorrow.
I do not think I have ever heard fate quite so eloquently tell me to fuck off and stop being so ambitious.