It’s February and that’s a good month to take part in blog challenges to get back into writing when there’s not much riding to write about.
It’s also the first day of spring in the Celtic tradition – Imbolc – or Candlemas if you prefer the Christian calendar. Lupercalian Goat Sacrifice Day is approaching.
These are all good things. But I’ve got nothing. I’m scraping the barrel for this post. No way in hell have I got 27 more. And I’ve already failed because it’s Feb 2nd not Feb 1st.
When I started this blog, in January 2007, it was on the recommendation of a Web 2.0 trainer I’d taken a class with. Blogging and user-generated content was the path of the future, and all us PRs, campaign managers and lobbyists were encouraged to go forth and give it a try, on our dial-up modem connections.
I lived in London and there was a lot going on in bike activism land, from Kill Spills to bikes-in-bus-lanes (I do love it when baby bicycle lobbyists try to school me on what the TfL reports concluded. I was in the fucking room, Simon) and the first rumblings of charging for motorcycle parking in Westminster. So there was all that to write about. Then there was the Round Britain Rally.
I took a deliberate decision not to try and share riding tips – because I have no skills – and I didn’t want it to become “opinion of the week” (I got paid to go on telly for that). I just wanted to blog about my rides round the UK and other bike and classic car things I went to – like the 2008 Southend Shakedown in the photo.
Newsflash – all of those are now illegal.
The well is dry.
No-one needs a month of me being maudlin about the things I can’t do any more.
So many people have managed this transition – they’ve taken up sourdough making or birdwatching or singing sea shanties.
I haven’t. I’m still stuck in that pit of anger and resentment. The one thing that gives my life meaning is sticking the Wingman in his travelling harness and travelling somewhere. And now we’re all under house arrest on Plague Island.