The Trophy Wife

I am a trophy wife.
His Lordship has been hankering after one for long enough, but never in my wildest dreams would I have considered myself such, until the delivery yesterday of the CTC photographic trophy for what was considered to be the best cycling photograph of the year.
It's not quite what his Lordship had in mind though.

Much as I consider it to have been an emotive decision on the winning entry, I am delighted to display the plaque for the next year and proud to have my name added to the ranks of past winners.

Going out hatless today was a huge mistake. The snell wind from the arctic whistled around my ears and stung my face. Who needs an expensive face peel when a walk in today's blast does the job for free.
And who would spend any money on a sophisticated hairstyle when nature styles it for you, albeit leaving a lot to be desired on the sophisticate front.

His Lordship did wear a hat, his Australian one with the big brim, which left him hanging on to it for grim death lest it should turn into a frisbee, or he become a glider and take off into the big grey yonder; for grey it became after the sun suddenly vanished to leave a desolate vista of happed up pedestrians struggling like crabs, sideways along the paths in the meadows to avoid the western gale, and the very grass trembling violently in never-ending waves of movement.

How lovely it is to sit behind glass now we're home with the heating on and watch. Yes the bus pass age has much to recommend it.