ROLY LAMBERT
I’m not a qualified vet. I’m not qualified to make those decisions, when to end the suffering of something, after the wheezing and limb dragging has started, to decide that, yes, now is the time, a good innings has been had. And other tired ways of saying: “Would you like me to get the blanket and start the car?”
It all began with needing a new rear gear cable. I rode my bike to the bike shop, having grown tired of sometimes, only sometimes mind you, having to change gear by coolly rolling along (in full view of any local Haters), and reaching down and behind me to the seat stay and giving the cable a tug, which is tricky with winter gloves on. Thought I’d splash out on a new cable, and outer too, and even blow the budget a bit on cable doughnuts too. (Anyone else felt awkward and then a little bit bored as the new staff member spends ages trying to find the correct till code for cable doughnuts?)