So I’m cycling home, minding my own business, saving my Achilles from the strain of a Power Hour hill session, almost back home, when some thing hits me, SMACK! Right on the arm. I thought someone had thrown a clod of earth at me, or a stone had flicked up – then I felt a disgusting dripping down my arm. Freakin’ Nora, blimin’ pigeon poo! Shot from such a height that it actually stung!

It’s sposed to be lucky, right?

And the worse thing? Deep purple colour. No word of a lie. Revolting. The little blighters have been eating the early blackberries. Beaks off my blackberries you ‘orrible flying rats, I wana eat them you little rascals, fruit’s my only pleasure in life since my wise coach Rory Coleman banned me from wine, beer, cakes, chocolate in a bid to get me to 9 stone (ie less hot and faster due to lack of flab-carrying) for The Coastal Challenge, Costa Rica this Feb.

More on the trials of this massive dent to my previously uninhibited calorie intake (or in-cake as some might call it) soon. I might even post some semi-nude pictures of me to demo perhaps where said flab might come from. I said might. Made you look though didn’t it. 😉