I live half way up a hill, almost exactly half
way. My flat isn't at the bottom and it isn't at the top. Now I have
lived on an incline most of my life, so I am used to seeing things from a
slightly different angle - Miskin Street
was a devil of a hill and I spent most of my first 20 years there so it’s no wonder all sorts of funny thoughts run round my head. So if I've coped
with hill dwelling for so many years, why has it got my goat today? Well. today
I went on only my second bike ride since I moved into this halfway house. As I
sat on my bike wondering where to go, I had the realisation that at some stage
on my journey I was going to have to climb the hill. Now I am no Bradley
Wiggins and certainly no 'king of the hills', my idea of a bike ride is a gentle
pootle along flat bike paths, not lung busting climbs halfway up my hill. The
Netherlands would be my perfect bile riding country. (Do they ride bikes there?) Apart from the extra effort involved, living
not really anywhere also means making a decision. I hate making decisions,
because if I make the wrong one, I only have myself to blame. So I sat there
thinking left, down first climb later? Or right, climb first down later? The
stress of the decision making and the knowledge of the hard work involved took
all the fun out of the bike ride and made me wish I lived somewhere else
instead.
With thanks to AA Milne - http://allpoetry.com/Halfway-Down
With thanks to AA Milne - http://allpoetry.com/Halfway-Down
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