Something of an interlude: The Cyclist gets philosophical

[this is face on - from the third eye of the cyclist, way up inside his forehead...]

Apart from the fact that I've floated around in a lager bubble for the past few days, passing through time zones and vortices, it has to be said that I've been floating around in a lager-induced bubble for even longer.

Cycling is a way to get from one drinking zone, to another. Without getting busted.

I met up with the freaks at the canal - who are they, Duggie Chop and his mate. We kind of gelled. But they're regular guys. It's me that's the freak in all honesty.

I haven't faced up to it, yet, but I'm, kind of, in denial. In denial of what? Of being an adult.

I haven't walked shoulder to shoulder with anyone. Not recently. I think back to me Nan. She understood me. I remember, we was walking down the street on a summers day. About 20 years ago. I was a teenager, 15 years old probably. So I was still living at home, at school and the like.

So, me and me Nan was walking down the street, the one that runs parallel with Carnegie Road, the one with the new shopping centre these days. And me Nan say's Colm (cos that's me name, I'm not actually called The Cyclist), "you've got such broad shoulders", and she patted me on the back, "and you're gonna make some girl proud, you know. Ah yes."

She really thought I could do anything. I think I was her favourite. When I left home she sent me a note setting the record straight about life and what was in store for me; the ups and the downs. She used to listen to the crap songs I wrote on me little Casio keyboard. She thought I was a great artist.

"Colm," she said, "you'll make something of your life. You won't be the kind to turn around aged 35 and regret not making it."

Then, all of a sudden, I was 35 and on the dole. Me Nan had passed on. But I still hold the image of her, turning to me on that warm, sunny day and patting me on the back.

I got hold of a bike, second hand, and filled up a bag with tins of Red Stripe. And that's me.

When we become adults, you know, we continue to disappoint: both ourselves and those around us.

The moments of being like a 'little emperor' in your home are short. But you never believe it when you're a kid.

[And after that, he came back into the real world with the others gawping at Geoffrey from Rainbow's face. It was still 1982 (this is the real world!) and maybe The Cyclist would, eventually, seek out his Nan...maybe he'd straighten out his life, but who knows.]