Who Puts Worries on the Conveyor Belt?

And on the fourth day I rose again ready to face the world
Knowing that my time would soon come
When I could face the desolate cold, wet and ice of December
Driving the magic of four rather than riding the hell of two.
The end to numbed and freezing fingers and icy shards piercing my eyes.
To be free to turn up the heat and listen to radio four.

A conveyor belt of worry, as one goes and you are relieved
Another is added to test you to those extremes
So Santa’s run was successful for another year
And many bikes were gathered despite the pouring rain
Thus I rested on our laurels until the call at four
Rachael and the children broken down in Street.

The red one now will be no more for us
Too many worn out parts and life has ebbed away
So for the past three days the faithful Guzzi has played it’s part
And carried me to work with more pain than pleasure
Whether heavy frost or driving rain we soldiered on
And did what had to be done and went where we should.

Today comes our epiphany when with most seemly haste
A Corsa in full sail appears over the horizon from the land of Purseys
And is preparing to dock later this afternoon
So we shall run to greet it with joy and great gladness in our hearts
Knowing that it brings promises from far away
To satisfy our wants and needs courtesy of First Direct.

And so on the fourth day I rose again to face the final day
No frost, no wind, no driving rain and starting on the button
Those many layers to keep me protected for when the weather will inevitably change
My boots and gloves were dry and warm as down the road I cheerfully went
The wheels and engine sang with the expectation of the forty miles ahead
This was the last time for the winter and I was glad.

No matter that the throttle seems a little stiff this morning
With a little exercise those older fibres soon slide smoothly
Just like me as I leap from bed to floor and waddle slowly to the bathroom
Leaving the village, singing down the long straight and passing the boundary bridge
All power goes as though a door is slammed shut and the grip in my right hand becomes slack
The engine ticks over with impotent promise as I run through all the feelings that I have.

Anger briefly touches me along with a familiar despondency
But I know where I will settle, its where I usually go on these seemingly frequent occasions
Resignation then a slow determined action which will eventually provide resolution
So fully clothed with those many layers I push the heavy black beast up the hill
My sweat contained in rivers coursing down my chest and back with thumping heart exploding
My temperature is rising in line with my determination.

There is no way that I can go the whole way for home is just too far away
So I left it sleeping in a friendly farmers gateway waiting patiently for my return
The long walk home was not to bad although it seemed so far
I must have sweated several pints and all my clothes were soaked
This tale I tell is very true and every detail happened
It still waits but I am now dry and rested and will not get to work today.

Who Puts Worries on the Conveyor Belt?

BurtleBard

Burtle, United Kingdom

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