After my little saga with the mower and the lawn on Wednesday, I decided to take things easy for a day or so.

I found myself down in the village on Thursday.  It was a beautiful day [for a change] so I decided to sit in the sunshine for a while outside the coffee shop. 

So there I was, feeling very continental with a grand mug of coffee, a good head of steam built up on the pipe and the sun beaming down determined to split rocks.  I was at peace with the world.

Then along came a cyclist.

I honestly don't know what it is about me and cyclists.  It's much the same as cats and dogs.  Why do dogs tolerate just about any animal they come across but will spit hell fire and fury when they see a cat?  I'm the same with cyclists.  It's completely irrational but when one of them arrives with the bunch of black bananas on his head, the Lycra outfit with bulges in all sorts of disgusting places and shoes that clack and wobble, I see red.  I think it's the aura they try to give off – the smug "look what I'm doing for the environment" bit; the "I'm wonderfully fit and you're not" implication.  Whatever it is, I really fucking hate them.

So this cyclist parks his machine on the pavement where everyone will trip over it [another strange characteristic of cyclists] and he clacks his way into the coffee shop.  A moment later he returns with a bicycle pump and sets to work on his machine.  He crouched there pumping away like mad, again forcing pedestrians out onto the road to pass him.

I sat and mused.  I had used a foot pump on the tractor tyre and it took a fair bit of effort, but Jayzus this cyclist was pumping far harder that I had.  He was pouring sweat as he pumped and pumped.

The thought crossed my mind that it would serve the fucker right if his tyre burst.  I have witnessed tyres bursting in the past and they can be quite spectacular.  I chided myself for having such uncharitable thoughts but then decided to indulge in my fantasy, simply because he was a cyclist, and because the sight of him was annoying me.  So I sat and pondered upon the effects of a bicycle tyre exploding.

There was a loud bang.

It was roughly equivalent to a twelve bore going off beside me,

The cyclist was now sitting in the gutter with a look of utter surprise, and a few bits of rubber on his face.

I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

I was also feeling rather pleased with myself.

I had proved that psychokineses works.

But I wasn't going to tell him that.