Lost in Translation

Theologically chronologically and rhythmically unsound, but what do you expect from an atheist/borderline agnostic who likes to go to church.

On the first day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
Half of my DNA

On the second day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the third day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the fourth day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
A baker’s trinity
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the fifth day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
Five loaves of magic bread!

A baker’s trinity
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the sixth day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
John the Baptist’s head
Five loaves of magic bread!
A baker’s trinity
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the seventh day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
Seven Easter eggs
John the Baptist’s head
Five loaves of magic bread!
A baker’s trinity
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the eighth day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
Eight saints with wheel-broken legs
Seven Easter eggs
John the Baptist’s head
Five loaves of magic bread!
A baker’s trinity
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the ninth day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
Nine nuns as brides

Eight saints with wheel-broken legs
Seven Easter eggs
John the Baptist’s head
Five loaves of magic bread!
A baker’s trinity
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the tenth day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
Future donkey rides
Nine nuns as brides
Eight saints with wheel-broken legs
Seven Easter eggs
John the Baptist’s head
Five loaves of magic bread!
A baker’s trinity
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the eleventh day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
An angelic baby-sitter
Future donkey rides
Nine nuns as brides
Eight saints with wheel-broken legs
Seven Easter eggs
John the Baptist’s head
Five loaves of magic bread!
A baker’s trinity
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half of my DNA

On the twelfth day of Christmas my mother gave to me:
Twelve followers on Twitter

An angelic baby-sitter
Future donkey rides
Nine nuns as brides
Eight tortured saints
Seven Easter eggs
John the Baptist’s head
Five loaves of magic bread!
A baker’s trinity
Frankincense without a receipt
A headache for Father’s Day
and half my DNA

Boris Johnson wants to ban cyclists from wearing headphones. Most would agree that the sense of hearing is important on busy urban streets. I rank it below these other senses:

Balance
The last couple of weeks are enough to make any cyclist go a little wobbly, but resist the urge to grasp for illusory solutions. Music doesn’t kill people, inattentive motorists do. Being in the wrong blind spot at the wrong time does. Our auto-centric culture doesn’t help; penalties which barely acknowledge the loss of a human life because the human happened to be riding a bike are accomplices after the fact. The sense of balance – equilibrioception, if like me you’re learning a new word every day – resides chiefly in the ears. It is not destroyed by the stuff that comes out of an iPod, but has been known to be affected by the anguished cries of nannies.

Perspective
While there has literally been blood on the streets, this isn’t war, as some hyperbolic dispatches suggest. I cycle in London often and have been doing so since the 90s when I discovered, as have so many before me, that it is the best way to navigate and appreciate the cityscape. The only time a flak jacket might come in handy is to defend myself against those who take aim at my freedom to assess risk for myself and who don’t think anybody can safely carry a tune.

Fairness
Forget the most eye-straining safety vest. A cyclist is never more visible to a motorist than when breaking the law: an ambassador of bad will. Just something to consider the next time you feel the urge to blow a light simply because you can, or because another cyclist broke the taboo at the intersection by doing it first. Diplomatic immunity only applies if that head start is going to make you safer.

Empathy
This is perhaps the most uncommon sense.

Don’t have a zero tolerance policy for errors. The mistake you forgive might be the one you make down the road. Keep calm, carry on, and earn Karma points – better than Nectar points because they might save you from being a cow or white flan man (not a big fan of flan here) next time around.

Direction
Having a sense of direction helps because it becomes easy to see misdirection. Those of us who want to bring rhythm to our ride are an “absolute scourge” and our behaviour must be banned? This would make us safer than taking Chris Boardman’s suggestion to ban lorries at peak times? This would do anything at all other than create an easy win for the mayor followed by an enforcement nightmare? I’m already researching flesh-coloured earphones.

Humour
Boris for PM.

Next he’ll want to ban my new pollution mask

528 years ago King Henry VII of England was crowned. He had just one wife, the rather well connected Elizabeth of York. Oct 30 was also auspicious for Helena of Montana in 1864; John Logie Baird, who created Britain’s first television transmitter in 1925; Orson Welles, known for having no wine before its time and for broadcasting the Martian invasion in 1938

and birthday girl/actor Juliet Stevenson, who I first saw weeping copiously in Truly, Madly, Deeply.

In 1995 my wife and I arrived in England thanks to her Training and Work Experience visa [TWES], good for a year. It was extended for another. We managed to parlay that into a more useful piece of paper.

Apparently this weekend we’re celebrating by buying a new refrigerator.