Spotted in the Summerhall Bar, Gent’s loo.
Our new Pope opted for Frankie’s nom de plume and today at mass our priest – the wise old Western Islander, Fr Tony, gave us an interesting insight into his inspiration.
I was particularly taken by this quote from St Francis that he referenced in his Homily.
“Preach the Gospel at all times (and use words if necessary).”
Wise words indeed, particularly in these times where religion is used as a front for the most heinous of behaviours.
Ghandi made a particularly interesting observation (again my Source is Fr Tony) when he said “The trouble with you Christians is that you have great preachings but don’t live up to them.” (I paraphrase I’m sure). That observation would benefit not just Christians of course.
This video, shot in 1973 by Mick Rock, is as good as anything you’ll see today. I hadn’t seen it myself until I watched the superb David Bowie documentary of Bowie on the BBC last week.
The song’s even better. Immense.
Yesterday I took part in the Kinross Sportiv Black run. 88 miles (my clock read 91) and 6561 feet of climbing (1.5 x the height of Ben Nevis).
See those red boxes? They’re the hills and they are very cleverly spaced out so as to just about allow you to recover from one before you hit the next.
Of course some are worse than others. Just like waterboarding is worse than the rack or having fingernails extracted.
But you think the ascents are bad? Well, on three of them, having reached the peak you see this.
And those signs are there for a reason.
I had ho’d and hummed a lot the night before about whether to put the new brake blocks I’d just bought onto my (not very) trusty Willier and eventually decided, after removing them and scraping them, that they’d suffice.
Well, they did. Just. But that was after recording my top speed, so far, on a bike (38mph) on a not dangerous descent.
Going down those bad ones was a test of nerve – and one that I abjectly failed because my arms ached at the bottom of each of them with the sheer effort of clamping those 2cm blocks of rubber to the rims of my wheels. At times I simply had no idea if the brakes would last out. Feathering them was rarely an option as the descents were so brutal, the second you let go the bike would just leap forward at horrendous speed. Clamping was the key. So, the next time you watch a descent on the Tour de France consider the risks these guys are taking.
Towards the end of my six and a bit hours in the saddle (we had three stops for punctures and two for food on top of that) I was in a state of complete exhaustion.
Maybe it was the half pint of Guinness that we had in Dunning that did me in. As the barmaid said “Oh, you’re the first cyclists we’ve had in three years that had a drink!” But it certainly helped us up the 900ft climb, that is Dunning Common, that we faced the second we got back on the bike.
As I sit at my computer at 9.30 the next day I feel fine. Had I done an equivalent feat by running I’d have been in agony for at least three days.
So, vive le cycling.