Manchester experienced around 3 days of sunshine this week and it was the sunshine that makes you a bit moist under the arms and want to run around like a wazzack. Gingers everywhere try and get as much sun as they can in a desperate bid to build up their defenses, but just end up getting burnt anyway. It also reeks of frisk; as flesh is exposed by all, Vitamin D created, and Spring does what it’s supposed to: make animals horny, productive and glad to be alive. Upon seeing my first lamb of the year I felt like I had scooped an existential wombic ice cream. It was meat flavoured.
I love Spring so much I could burst my shoots. It’s my favourite season hands down, mostly due to nature getting busy. Autumn only has fingerless gloves and fungus that excite me. Summer? It’s usually massively underwhelming, and Winter, well it’s cold and most people with any sensitivity get miserable and fat and ill.
Following several months of getting miserable and fat and ill, I emerged in to the sun forgetting all about my avid bakery of the winter months, glad to be alive and out on my bike carving up the bitumen. I'm not really an aggressive sort - being naturally intimidating by default - but when I'm on my bicycle I transform in to this uncompromising two wheeled She-Devil who regularly swears at rubbish drivers. It's fairly comedic swearing such as 'knob end', 'big twat', 'cocking cock knocker' and such, and to be honest I'm rather impressed with my impulsive survival language, but there's another driver I experience on the road that totally baffles me. I never really experienced the wolf whistling of the construction site, mostly because I wasn't as strikingly beautiful as I am now.....................but in the last couple of years as my body makes a desperate attempt to get me knocked up, I've been experiencing the attention. The first time was so alien, it left me staring in a mirror, confused, touching the contours of my face like John Merrick might, but without the tears.
The man in a van. Usually a man with some other men in a van. Usually a man with some other men in a van, wearing high visibility jackets.
Last week, at a junction as I patiently waited for the lights to change (right, law abiding cyclists?), I heard whistles behind me and a van pulled up next to me containing the aforementioned stereotypes. What am I supposed to do with this whistle? Acknowledge and blush? Confront the whistler and demand that he take my phone number immediately? Or like I actually did, contort my face in to a grotesque mask that I flashed at them hoping the wind wouldn't change, but that the lights would, affording them a getaway.
They didn't. Instead a muddy faced gent leaned out of the window and said "You have such a beautiful mind", to which I cracked up, returning my face to normal and beamed. No doubt it was a line recounted on hundreds of occasions, but right then, it was just what I needed.
"...It's almost as beautiful as your arse..." With a toot toot of the horn they were away, and I was left, for once, speechless.
Spring time is for appreciating the beauty of nature, the flourishing possibilities of the forthcoming year. Positivity is in the air, and as much as the majority of the attention is unappreciated, as I transform into 'Wind Panther' atop two wheels, I can only be thankful that once my buds shrivel and die, I too was once a beautiful bloom.
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