They called me Unco at school.  Uncoordinated for short.  If there was an flu epidemic, I might just find myself on the rugby field representing the school.  Standing there unsure of which hand to throw the ball with, the opposition would see me as an easy target before a Master on the sideline would place his hands in his face and call me off.

I switched to the river and rowing.  A smidgin short to be an oarsman (a task requiring only repetitive movement) the Head of Rowing saw it fit to make me a cox.

In charge of a 60 foot long piece of plywood, shouting orders at a crew of 8 teenage boys facing me as they went backwards, with a rudder behind me, being steered with cack-hands as I went forwards.  What could possibly go wrong? 


How I turned that sleek vessel into Viking battering ram as we rowed against the team from Eton I have no Idea.  I can only put it down to a Bumble.

A Bumble is the only way to describe these daily occurrences.  Non fatal mishaps that are a constant reminder of how crap I am at doing things.

Have you ever met anyone who has crashed a plane?  It's unlikely, but I don't have to.  I only need to look in the mirror to grimace at the thought of broken undercarriage and twisted propeller blades.

I had originally put these mishaps down to my confusion over which hand to use.  I wrote with my left hand but had a tendency to favour my right hand for all other tasks.  I thought cycling would negate this factor and allow me to flourish in life without mishap.  Sadly it didn't.

If you are looking for sagas of daring do and sun rises over white-capped mountains, then this is not for you.  I just thought that I would share some of my Bicycle Bumblings with you, if you want.

* This is the second time that I have wrote this.  I didn't save it first time.