Kermit was right

It's not easy being green. Mounting my Buggins and Laird patent velocycle with pnumatic gears, quick change tyres and bonnet resistant frame, I wobbled my stately way to the library to return my copy of Who's Who after amending my entry to change the entry 'clubs' from 'Pentonville' to 'Whites'. Aboard my stately steeed, I am quite the militant, mounting pavements and not adverse to a time-saving short cut across the rooftops a la James Bond but, you know, with more peddling.

Wishing only that I had invested in a gel saddle but glad at least that the larger of my two buttocks provided some protection from the pot holes and kerb jumping jars and bunny hops, I arrived at the library and, after returning my book, showed my reader's card and entered the restricted section to borrow a book of erotic woodcuts.

I had secured my bike using my trusty scally proof lock but, because it looked like rain, tethered it in the covered entrance way of the library rather than my usual spot. Exiting, the rain had just started and my bike was surrounded by teenagers. No problem, unlocked it and, after all, sullen hoodie wearing scum have to hang out somewhere. As I saddled up, trying to breath shallowly but still not able to block out the smell of acne cream, sweat and cheap leisurewear, I could not help hearing their conversation, about who attended what school. One charmer was smoking and managed to swear in the five words he uttered. Oh dear - how insecure must somebody be to fag up and swear in order to look like an adult. in my experience, being an adult is less about smoking and swearing and a lot more about having to do dull stuff and getting paid enough to drink heavily and buy Nintendo games. If he eants to be an adult, he should get a cardigan and bitch about his mortgage.

Once free of the cloud of smoke, profanity and barely surpressed sexual longing, I paddled home. Paddled being the operative word, the heavens opened. It was like trying to cycle up Dolgellau Falls. Note to self, fit a rear mud-guard and get a helmet with a visor.

It was around this time that it was driven home in no uncertain terms that my shoes were canvas. They were actually squelching as I peddled!

Normally, I would have flown into a fury at whatever Norse rain-god had arranged this particular humiliation but, since I've got my water butt in - I was simply thinking 'great - another few inches of shed-roof flavoured H2O for the garden'. Indeed, I checked on my return and there is a steady trickle going into the butt. Also pleased to see some leaves have made their way into the butt so with luck I'll have what is basically 120 litres of fetid soup by the end of the wet week!