You're Twisting Mah Melons Man!

The rain was battering down this morning. Slightly concerning as Charlotte had asked my boss if I could coach a group of kids as part of a cycle training week at Man City. Would it be cancelled? Nah. I made it to work for 7:15 only to find the doors shut. Boo! There was only 15mins to wait.

Coaching isn't like riding a bike. It takes practice and that's something I've not done in ages. It's one thing prescribing training and being the "expert" but quite another dealing with 15 kids all day, helping them learn and keeping them happy. If I'd been asked to coach the Olympic squad, then that would be challengingly cool but this was scary. Chapeau to the guys that do it every day. Fortunately, Charlotte was on hand to help and it would have been carnage without her.

Lunch was spent in the reception of the Etihad Stadium as I had to keep an eye on the bikes whilst everyone else was up in hospitality. I didn't see any famous players, not that I would recognise them anyway. Rather, I watched the receptionist admirably deal with numerous fruitbats who had come to see the stadium.

A chap sat next to me and commented on me being Scottish. He asked me what team I supported...... I remembered my youth. That question always meant the possibility of a fight. If you said "I don't follow any team" a fight would be imminent as you were obviously a poof. If you said Hibs, then the questioner would typically be a Jambo. I considered saying "I don't like football" which is the truth but since I was in a football stadium, I mentioned my old team, Hibs. the guy said "you mustn't like football then?" FFS.... Honesty is always the best policy. I was delighted to see Charlotte and the kids for the afternoon session.

After work, a journey to NTP was in order, especially as a latte was likely to lubricate my sore throat. All that shouting you see. A fine latte it was too. On the train, I was greeted by the most annoying friendly face on earth. She's a mum with a humongous buggy who takes up the bike space and then some. I put my headphones in as she is a habitual texter who doesn't put her phone on silent. She smiled. I smiled back.

I then shut my eyes, allowing the house music to buzz round the brain. Kicking man. Then! I felt a prod. Woah. Shitting mah self. The mum had poked me out of my trance. "We're on the wrong train" she said. It couldn't be....the notice had clearly shown that it was the right one. Wrong! We were almost in Stockport.

A quick dash across the platform and onto a pendolino and back to Manchester we went with several others who had made the same mistake. We arrived 30 seconds too late. It was an hour until the next train. You are twisting my melons man!