Good Intentions

I bet every household has a well intentioned but unused gadget. The gadget could be anything from a juicer (great idea but impossible to clean), to a Betterware cucumber cutter (because you always wanted to cut your cucumbers in the mythical patterns of the Aztecs) through to a can crushing device that you have  affixed to the garage wall in order to reduce recycling clutter.

On Friday I said goodbye to my well intentioned dream: a burgundy coloured Marlboro Ladies bike. I had it for my fourteenth birthday. I bombed around the back lanes of Canton Cardiff on it with my friend Joanne. But I got older and for about twenty five years my bike sat in Dad’s garage. I don’t know how it started, perhaps I shared my fantasy about being able to ride around and feel that youthful freedom or maybe Dad got stuck into a project that involved spending hours of serenity in the shed.  Whatever the cause, we went to visit and I went out on my renovated bike.  

It was just like riding a bike, though if a cloud moved across the sky, I went all wobbly. I rode on the pavement, but had to get off when a car went past. The fact was I needed to be in a totally derelict space of a five mile radius before I could ride the bike.

Nevertheless it came home to Devon with us where I would re-learn the art of bike riding, affix a basket to the front and having added a Toto like dog, ride to the village. This was going to be the Little House on the Prairie meets Rag Dolly Anna. I would be Holly Hobbie, lazily pottering along country lanes, heavy with foliage, dripping with hedgerow fruit, Toto’s fur would ruffle in the gentleness of a bicycle breeze. Toto and I would arrive at the village to drink ginger beer before purchasing a baguette and a hunk of cheese wrapped in muslin cloth. I do believe this fantasy is set in the Devonshire countryside regardless of the baguette, the other more erotic,    soft focus version of "La promenade à vélo"* is yet to be committed to paper. 

What really happened is that one day we wheeled the bike out on to the street. I pushed it up the hill, because I have never understood gears. I pushed it down the hill, because otherwise I would go too fast and become afraid. I rode round the field twice and then pushed it home: into the kitchen.

In the kitchen we hung tea towels on it, the boys school bags and the dogs lead. It sat and gathered dust until last week when a friend said it would be good for his partner, who should like to get out and about. I have never met her, but I bet the first thing she does is get a basket and ride to the village where she will buy good bread and strong cheese. She will have a Toto like dog, though I understand they have a cat, which may have to act as a substitute. The new bicycling lady will of course look good in Laura Ashley; she will have two plats and boots like the girl from True Grit and the burgundy coloured Marlboro Ladies bike will ride on again.

French translation provided by Welsh Bint's French teacher friend Lindsey.