Made An Enemy

[Lord Osmund de Ixabert]

Recently I found myself in possession of a rather quaint bicycle. A splendid specimen, I must say, in absolutely tip-top condition - a veritable gem amid the detritus of our age.

Dash it all, it appears I've ruffled some feathers amid the raucous rabble in the city, a locale where I've been spending an inordinate amount of my invaliable time. For some frightfully disgruntled soul has seen fit to mar my bicycle's perfection by puncturing its rear tyre with no fewer than eleven ghastly holes.​

 

[Lord Osmund de Ixabert]

I must confess, my subsequent attempts to mend the afflicted bicycle ended rather disastrously. In my attempt to remove the wheel of the bicycle, not only did I unwittingly decimate the intricate gear mechanisms and the rear brake assembly of the said bicycle, but I managed to destroy my other six bicycles in the process.

I then found it incumbent upon myself to acquire yet another bicycle to serve as a temporary stand-in whilst I arranged for the vintage model to be professionally repaired.

Anyhow, I'm pleased to report that the bicycle is now, for most part, in working order.

There's but one problem.

The task of toggling between the 3 speeds is a manual operation now, one that necessitates the judicious use of a pair of pliers. I keep this mechanical appendage fastened securely to the part of the bicycle that effects the 'speed' transitions.

I can't leave out the amusing little anecdote when, in a fit of towering exasperation, I delivered a hearty kick to the steel mudguard of the offending bicycle, momentarily oblivious to the fact that my feet were completely unshod. The result—a rather bloody laceration situated inconveniently between my right hallux & its immediate neighbour. ​