Meadow Mountainbiking

It's incredible how quickly you can move between lives.

Last night I was really excited to need a wee a few times. It's so easy when you have a toilet and you've not resorted to shuddering your botty off hunched over a pint pot, grappling with a frozen up window to disperse of such omitted fluids, failing, and then returning to a full up pissy pot a few hours later when the next out-flux of waste water needs to escape. I spent the night enraptured within a cloud of clean sheets, waking a few times simply to dwell on how warm + comfy I was (although, very much Dan-less + Moose-less). Waking dreamily to the smell of brewing coffee and toast on the go, I hesitated momentarily, if only to enjoy waking in a room that's five times bigger than my house is. But there's no rush! The coffee will stay warm and the bread won't be eaten by mice before I get to it, so I revel in a shamefully hot + long shower, even though I'd already indulged in my month's quota of power drenchings the evening before - just because I could - and didn't have to call ahead and arrange such lathering appointments.

The Oxford skies were bright beautiful blue on this crispened thrillingly chilly Autumn Saturday, and I beamed at the prospect of milling about town with my Pops; eating butties from the market + drinking coffees about the bursting spire induced city. Then I took to the meadows on Papa's mountain bike + wrestled with the gruesome winds that were tearing my face off, the clouds above me began swelling + intimidating me with their moody faces, so I took a quick picture before the sun turned into storm.