graham obree

so t finally gets away to the land of her forbears for a weekend of heavy duty making. it all goes well, even if she sees precious little of the country and she barely sleeps in between working and excited phone calls to me. the best birthday present i shall get her? i'm going to be hard pushed to top it. certainly the pair of us will have to go back ireland at some point so that we can see it together.

anyway on her way back she texts me from the ferry. what's your opinion on graham obree, she asks? time trial, i say, francesco moser, the hour, bother with the cycling authorities, difficult personal life, read his book, haven't seen the film, why do you ask?

because i've just been having a blether with him this last half hour she says. so it turns out she'd heard his name while she was in the queue and, on the off chance, gone up to him, confirmed who he was and asked if he didn't have any copies of his book. sold out he'd said, but he did have copies of the dvd. so off down the ship they go where they get to his bike and obree expounds, seeing as t had been telling him about my cycling 'triumphs' on why a trailer is better than panniers for touring.

then, once the dvd has been exchanged he asks t, and what about you. so t tells him she's been away on the felting course and what's she's doing with all that. and obree's really into it. you need to chase your dream he says to t, which at that point, is exactly what she wants and needs to hear. that graham obree she says, what a great guy. oh yes, she says, and i told him if he was ever passing and needed a place to stay. brilliant, i say, so i can get my legs rode off by graham obree. i think i'll stick to the felt chat.