Wears more fluoro than a ’90s warehouse raver. Flashier sports gear than the entire British Olympic team: the snazzy waterproof jacket, the super snug Lycra cycling shorts (as tight fitting as a bum in a bucket), the sci-fi wrap-around shades and the aerodynamic pointy cycling helmet.
If he’s that fucking fit, why doesn’t he cycle ALL the way to work instead of taking up the entire train carriage with his bastard Brompton fold up bike whilst he takes a seat? In fact, the only sport he participates in is ‘The Great Commuter Sprint’ across the concourse at Euston when his platform is announced. Which he. Must. Win.
And ‘fold up bike’, my absolute arse! It folds up from being very long and annoying to very wide and even more annoying – a cumbersome metallic cube that takes up a person-shaped space on an already overcrowded train. Worst of all, this species can often be spotted hopping out of their mahoosive 4×4 gas guzzler at the station car park, proving that this is all part of the ‘Look at me! I’m a fit, healthy cyclist wanker’ show.
Listen too for the rapid fire ‘click, click, clicking’ sound emitted by The Folder as the train approaches it’s final destination while he (and let’s face it, it’s ALWAYS a he) busily and dramatically reassembles his trusty steed in the telephone booth-sized standing area of the carriage. Clearly it’s much more sensible to perform this intricate operation here, directly in front of the train doors, instead of the vast platform space about to be presented to him.
Fingerless riding gloves, annoying rucksack swingage, incessant BO and more sweat patches than Lee Evans doing stand-up. Face like a clenched arse hole. Body like mince.
Knobbly knees. Hairy legs. Muscular calves. Trendy trainers. MASSIVE BULGE. Who wants to see that pre 9am? Certainly not me.
Comments