The DYNAMITE! Five: The week in cycling, remixed. Issue #1

April 8, 2011

5 DOWN Puns
There was a keen sense of anticipation in The DYNAMITE! Files’ famous soundproof bunker last Friday when we tore into our pile of morning papers hoping to witness an orgy of inventive punnery accompanying photos of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Boris Johnson riding the latter’s titular two-wheelers – so you can imagine the intense disappointment when we discovered no one had plumped for “joke pedallers”, “political Raleigh” or “Last Traction Heroes”. In fact, the only pun deployed was – wait for it – “I’ll be bike”, which was used by no fewer than five publications. I’ll be bloody bike! He’s not a bike! Neither of them are! It doesn’t even make sense! The headline should, of course, have been “Faster la Vista, Boris!” But nobody asked us, did they?

4 UP Sponsorship opportunities
Oh, cruel fate! Friend of this blog and all-round nice chap Will Hayter drew his action-packed daily diary of the Absa Cape Epic to a premature close after hitting a ditch and taking a very nasty tumble on last Friday’s 143km-long stage. The DYNAMITE! Files wishes him a speedy recovery, but having seen the wince-inducing footage of his wheel-mangling smash, it can’t help wondering why 12 sponsors would want to associate themselves with such a painful misfortune in the clip’s closing frames. Coming soon: You’ve Been Framed bike crash special, sponsored by [NAME OF WHEEL MANUFACTURER DELETED FOR LEGAL REASONS].

3 UP Wood
Another week, another groundbreaking material surely destined to usurp the carbon stranglehold – and unlike fancy-pants nylon fused by the magic of lasers in a 3D printer, this one is made from those dull, useless bits of scenery you usually ride past, or “trees” as they’re commonly known. For just £4,500, the discerning cyclista is invited to own an Audi-branded wooden bicycle equipped with SRAM Red, which you will no doubt agree is, er, truly unbe-leaf-able. Photographic evidence of two or more of these bikes actually being ridden would be a novelty, if only to make a quip about them being a splinter group.

2 DOWN Lycra
Prepare to overhaul your wardrobe, chums, because the death knell of the cyclist’s fabric of choice was sounded on Monday by no less a clothing authority than a features scribbler from the London Evening Standard. The reason? Apparently Rapha has brought out a pair of jeans which you can’t actually buy at the moment. “Lycra – your days are numbered,” the scribbler concludes, and who knows what outdoor activity will be the next victim of her withering fashionista’s eye? Possible target for the autumn/winter season: those long, thin shoes maniacs use to slide down snow-covered mountains. And the sticks! Those silly sticks! Dahling, they’ve just got to go!

1 UP Emoticons

Poor old RoboFab. The mighty mandroid, known by his adopted human name of Fabian Cancellara, got into a horrible pickle after appearing to be less-than-gracious about the manner of his defeat at Sunday’s thrillingly unpredictable edition of the Tour of Flanders. The pre-race favourite said his rivals rode “only to make me lose” and Nick Nuyens’ victory “has no value” – but as he later explained: “Interviews are not coming out like always I be thinking to say things. Specially now what’s around sounds not me. Lot get lost in translation.” Yet while the subtleties of the Fablish tongue eluded the gentlemen of the press, there could be no misinterpreting the stark binary language of the emoticon on the Swiss cyborg’s back (pictured above) which reflected his fans’ reactions to the race as it unfolded. He’s caught Sylvain Chavanel (AMAZED FACE)! Oh no – he’s cramped on the Muur (AMAZED FACE)! Now Phillipe Gilbert’s gone on the Bosberg (AMAZED FACE)! Fab’s attacked with four kilometres to go (AMAZED FACE)! But Nuyens has got it (AMAZED FACE)! Finally, Team Lay-O-Pard have found a use for that clumsily-pronounced “o”.


Kim Kardashian’s Konundrum

April 6, 2011

What should Kim Kardashian call her new perfume? It’s been a fortnight since the reality TV fame construct outsourced one of the key tasks that would qualify the “perfumista” part of her made-up job description, but despite receiving more than 8,000 suggestions in the first three hours alone, she has yet to announce the name of her latest smell. Clearly the lady needs a little help, so I’ve come up with a few suggestions of my own.

Konkoktion
Kornukopia
Klueless
Kredible
Kondescension
Krapsody
Kerr-ay-zee Name, Kerr-ay-zeely Gigantic Butt!
Khrist, no
Kan’t Be Bothered To Do This Myself
Kopout
Kweef
Stench Of Desperation
Smells like Dispirited Teens
Who?


The DYNAMITE! Five: The week in cycling, remixed. Issue Zero.

March 25, 2011

5 UP – Fabian Cancellara
Funny old place, Switzerland. For generations, the benign dictatorship of Wonka-like chocolatiers which constitutes the Swiss government has been arming its soldiers with nothing more than bottle-openers-cum-screwdrivers in a bid to make the world laugh so heartily at them that it forgets the dreaded phrase “Nazi gold” – and now, in a new wave of comedy propaganda, the country has finally produced a language of its own, courtesy of its top cycleperson. That last bit is not strictly accurate, of course: everyone knows that the old story about Fabian Cancellara racing on a motorised bicycle was total bunkum because he’s not actually a person but an actual machine, soldered together in a top-secret Bern laboratory. Yet it is nevertheless true that RoboFab’s formidably complex central processing unit has fashioned its own tongue, which The DYNAMITE! Files likes to call Fablish. The distinguishing characteristics of Fablishness, as evinced in the mighty mandroid’s tweets during the last few weeks, are a preponderance of phonetics (“Littel nap bevor the tt”, “i taket back”), a creative use of plosives (“o’grady stolen my planket”), everyday expressions rendered as programmed instructions (“Go to bed for sleep”) and an emotionless deployment of double entendres (“Organzier think we are tools… up and down”). Meanwhile, in a different corner of the Twitterverse, there is another robot who has difficulty with his spelling, and the lonely little fella is looking for a friend. If only the friendly Fabster would team up with poor old dmuper so the lovelorn Popjustice droid might no longer feel “soalone”. Ah, if only…

4 DOWN – Testicles
It takes balls to unleash a radical new design on a doubting world – even more so if you happen to be Ken Link, whose gentlemen’s area must surely be in a sorry state if his patented noseless saddle is anything to go by. Despite being marketed with the intriguing slogan “testicles relaxing”, the crescent-shaped contraption appears to invite the user to dangle his precious cargo in the narrow gap between its rails, which would, one surmises, produce an unwanted yank should you suddenly decide to launch a devastating attack, which would surely be devastating for all the wrong reasons. Still, one industry expert seemed quite taken by the “bouncy” ride the saddle produced, and it looks like it would swiftly eject the rider should he hit a pothole, so this radical invention could theoretically ease saddle soreness because you would be too scared to sit on the ruddy thing. Problem solved!

3 UP – Ben Serotta
Nothing seems to surprise jaded hardman Guy Andrews, so The DYNAMITE! Files was tickled to hear that the world-weary Rouleur editor was taken aback when he returned to his Cyclefit stomping ground last week and saw for the first time its not-so-recent transformation into a doctor’s beige waiting room. Guy and his old Covent Garden mucker Phil Cavell had a lot to talk about, judging by the photo on the right, so spare a thought for Ben Serotta, the mild-mannered titan of the titanium world sitting in the background, who appears to be patiently listening to the two opinionated pals bantering in their usual forceful style prior to his sell-out talk. You can’t help thinking that Gino’s canine face must surely express what Ben is feeling on the inside. In other news, Cyclefit have yet to announce the winner of their caption competition. (Number of entries: two. One of them is reproduced above. C’mon – get on with it, fellas!)

2 DOWN – Floyd Landis and Paul Kimmage
Not so much a news item, more of an awkward confession, and the hardcore anti-dopers among you may want to sit down for this bombshell: over many, many weeks, The DYNAMITE! Files has tried, and repeatedly failed, to read the entire transcript of the infamous seven-hour Landis/Kimmage powwow. There. It’s out, at last: this blog is a lightweight. As if you didn’t already know. Now let’s move on, OK?

1 DOWN – A bicycle made by a big printer

It’s been coated in a special hi-tech anti-wind lacquer (not true), the version given to Mark Cavendish has been endowed with additional stiffness (probably not true), and it was the bike HTC’s Matt Goss rode to victory at Milan-San Remo on Saturday (definitely true, because it was on the telly and everything). With Specialized’s marketing strategy producing a stream of piffle peppered with the occasional fact, it’s unsurprising that the McLaren-designed Venge this week eclipsed another unique British innovation: the printed bicycle. A proper rideable bike, spat out by a kind of printer! Made from nylon! Fused by lasers! And as strong as steel! Hurrah! All thrilling stuff, although if you want to prolong your excitement, it’s probably best to ignore the noise at the end of its appearance on BBC Breakfast. Or just tell yourself it’s Bill Turnbull’s joints. Doing Strictly can really mess you up like that.


Warning: Experiment In Progress

March 24, 2011

I’m going to do a thing, which I hope will be a regular thing, but if it’s not that funny or interesting then it will quietly become The Thing We Shall Not Speak Of and be banished forever. I’ll put it up tomorrow, so please let me know what you think. Thankyouverymuchly.


A Small Thank-You…

March 21, 2011

…to everyone who has texted, emailed, tweeted, DM’d, posted on the Dynamo forum and (in the singular case of the club’s cheery Antipodean strongman Roy McGregor) stopped me in the street regarding my previous post. After receiving more than five times my average number of weekly visits, I’m pleased and somewhat surprised that all the messages have been positive. I wasn’t expecting such an unequivocal response, so thanks again. The usual lighthearted nonsense will resume soon. Promise.


Dynamightgiveitamiss No.5: La Gazzetta Della Bolshie

March 14, 2011

UPDATE 19/05/11: It’s taken almost two months, but the Lambsters have finally found this post, and The Berk himself has responded on his blog and Twitter. Apparently I’ve accused him of exploiting his illness for financial gains, I’m a stalker, I want him to shut up and, er, I’m fat (ooh, you BITCH). Of course, none of these statements is even remotely true. Especially the stalker bit – I couldn’t think of anything worse than having to meet The Berk. But this is what angry, slightly dim people do: they make stuff up because they want a fight. And I don’t. Which is why, as I said in my original post, I’ve left the whole pointless world of Dynamoaning behind…

Simon Lamb is a berk. It’s an insult to anyone who is bipolar to dismiss them as simply mad or argue that they are never capable of behaving rationally, or that they have lost the ability to reflect on their actions and own up to their mistakes, so Simon Lamb’s berkishness has absolutely nothing to do with his well-documented condition. (Having said that, the charity Mind might want to consider the wisdom of promoting him in the press as an ambassador for the tolerance and understanding of mental health issues when he demonstrates so little of those two qualities towards those whose unhappiness differs from his own.) But he is unquestionably a berk, and he is a berk for many, many reasons. So if you don’t know or care who Lamb is, now is the moment to bail out of what is going to be a very long post…

For a start, Lamb is a berk because he earned himself a legal warning for branding a blameless journalist a racist without offering any evidence whatsoever to back up his claim. The British writer, he alleged, didn’t give Lamb’s banned hero Alexander Vinokourov a chance to explain himself – a bizarre claim in light of the Kazakh’s unwillingness to offer any sort of credible explanation for his positive doping test. And while I wouldn’t call Lamb a racist, I think he’s a massive berk for not considering that in comparison with the argument about Vino, most people are more likely to raise an eyebrow when a bloke casually uses the phrase “fucking Jews” while tweeting one of his mates.

There’s more, of course. Lots more. Lamb is a berk because he made an unfunny remark about how he would like to see Pat McQuaid die and didn’t apologise when the UCI president’s son politely complained. He’s a berk because his appropriation of a cancer foundation’s logo for his own glorification and, as it appeared to at least one casual observer, seemingly for his own financial gain, was spun into a sentimental story of little-guy-hits-back-at-humourless-legal-bad-guys with, preposterously, none other than Lance Armstrong lurking in the background. He’s a berk for casually mentioning that sales of his massage oils, while perfectly in line with the benefits system he relies on, have funded his sports massage course after originally claiming his website is “purely for my interest in cycling”. He’s a berk when you consider his lofty motto of “calm is the virtue of the strong” is hilariously at odds with the size of his hate list, which includes David Millar, a number of specialist sports magazines, a certain member of Kingston Wheelers cycling club, the Daily Mail and the BBC (surely a unique double-whammy), and, of course, his bete noir Armstrong. And he’s a berk for attacking Shutt Velo Rapide when the fledgling clothing manufacturer allegedly suffered quality control problems with his jerseys and he didn’t get his way on pricing and copyright issues. (Incidentally, Lamb’s beloved Rapha also had quality control issues in its early days which it resolved, and the company now occasionally sends him free gear to review. And the now-defunct website Lamb used to attack Shutt was Velocast, who seemed to be quite happy with their jerseys, which were made by none other than… Shutt Velo Rapide!)

Simon Lamb is a hopeless, floundering, fulminating berk for all of these reasons, and that is enough in itself for La Gazzetta Della Bici, a landfill site for his petty vendettas, cycling-based trivia and uncaptioned photos of dead sportsmen to make my list of things that are the absolute antithesis of this blog. (Incidentally, what kind of egotistical berk appropriates the name of a famous newspaper just to get a few more hits?) But for me, his biggest act of berkishness was when he found out where a complete stranger worked, sent him an abusive message, and accused him of saying something he didn’t. But I would say that, wouldn’t I? Because I was that stranger who stumbled unwittingly into the weird world of Simon Lamb, an angry man perpetually on the lookout for a fight, and in doing so falling far short of the high standards he sets for others.

In May last year, Lamb discovered I was a member of a cycling club he irrationally despises and used this as the flimsy basis to wrongly claim on Twitter that I wanted him to “shout” (sic) his mouth. (A lovely, prophetic irony: I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to shut his mouth – if I had a worst enemy – but I would love him to shout, and shout his mouth off for as long and as loudly as he could, just so he can prove to as many people as possible what a gigantic idiot he actually is.) The previous night, Lamb had blogged in characteristically intemperate and exaggerated terms about a friend of his who he claimed was bullied by a group of London Dynamo riders on the Parkride, the club’s regular Saturday morning outing in Richmond Park. At the time, Lamb had more than a thousand followers, and the link was retweeted at least a dozen times; understandably, then, there was much anger about the incident, particularly as Lamb’s friend and her mate were female and novices, while the Dynamo riders who were said to be shouting at them to move as they went past (which is what the alleged bullying amounted to) were apparently experienced riders and male.

There were just two problems: the specifics of the incident, in the terms Lamb described them, in all likelihood didn’t take place, and he wasn’t there at the time (to this day, no one seems to know who those Dynamos were). The woman, perhaps realising what had actually happened during those fraught moments at that particular road’s busiest time, or maybe concerned at Lamb’s disproportionate anger, apparently got him to call off the dogs after a few days of his unedifying swear-packed tweets, which he had used to propose a ludicrous theory that the majority of Dynamos let the minority get away with pushing around other riders – in other words, fostering a culture of bullying. Behind the scenes, a number of reasonably well-known London-based cycling bloggers were distancing themselves from Lamb’s remarks, and a respected journalist from a bike magazine (not the one he would later brand a racist) expressed his concerns, prompting Lamb to award him the sobriquet of… well, it begins with a “c” and he uses it a lot, so you can probably guess. But it was some subtle diplomacy from the guys who run the club that really did the trick – and so, without his friend to publicly back up his dramatic claims, Lamb turned down an offer to meet the Dynamo committee and removed all the relevant posts from his blog before tweeting a lame warning to the “cowards” in Richmond Park. Ironically, given his readiness to brand other people cowards, that tweet was also later deleted – a common occurrence in the world of Lamb, and the reason I began screengrabbing so many of them. Unfortunately, his deleted blog posts weren’t quite as perishable: they were picked up by another blog, which you can still find with a bit of googling.

London needs Dynamo, despite all its imperfections. Before it began, club cycling in the capital was a closed-off world to anyone who wanted to join the sport (I know because I was one of them), and its club rides still attract scores of cyclists of all abilities throughout the year. But to internet-dwelling wingnuts such as simple Simon, it matters little that Dynamo has welcomed hundreds of people into the sport he supposedly loves, helped them become decent cyclists, and become an actual, real-life community of friends. It also doesn’t matter to them that its committee acts as a means for ordinary cyclists to express their concerns to the authorities dealing with Richmond Park (you have LD partly to thank for partially resolving the horrid resurfacing) or that a committee member recently persuaded the owners of the much-loved MoD track in Chertsey to reopen it for a one-day trial run. Neither do they care that the club takes a very dim view when its members genuinely fail to ride with consideration and care for others. Lamb and others like him see the oft-quoted figure of 400 members and simply equate big with bad. Their attacks follow a tried-and-tested formula: make a false or exaggerated claim on the internet, maintain a level of anonymity by declining the offer of a face-to-face chat and a coffee (easy to set up, given that most of the friendly committee and the faceless complainants are both usually in Richmond Park on Saturday mornings) and fantasise about physically attacking a Dynamo or, in a particularly nasty case on the wretched Veloriders forum which has since been deleted, seeing one of them die. In the face of ever-increasing membership numbers, they also ignore a simple question: why haven’t members left the club in droves if they’re supposedly surrounded by a bunch of arrogant bastards? Wouldn’t you leave if that was the case? Maybe Dynamo has become big in a relatively short space of time because it’s friendly and well-run – or is that statement just too straightforward and logical to comprehend?

And whatever half-baked theory the haters propose, there are numerous sensible counter-arguments. Yes, I’m sure some Dynamos have shouted at other cyclists and switched wheels, but then I’ve witnessed riders from other teams and clubs do the same for years. Yes, poor bike handling has been a feature of LD rides, mainly because a greater proportion is inexperienced in comparison to other large clubs, yet Dynamo’s safety record in relation to the number of miles covered is nevertheless excellent. Yes, it can be intimidating when an experienced group of ‘Mos passes you at speed, even though they endeavour to do it safely – although for every rider who complains we’re going too fast, another will say we’re going too slow. And yes, Dynamos have, regrettably, sometimes been witnessed behaving aggressively when commuting, but then the blue, black and orange tops are a commoner sight than other clubs’ jerseys on London’s streets. (A pertinent, if somewhat vain fact: the look of Dynamo’s kit is one of the most popular reasons members give for joining, which could mean that in comparison with other similar-sized clubs, Dynamos are more likely to wear club colours when not riding with their clubmates.) In truth, Dynamos aren’t ruder than anyone else, nor is there a greater likelihood of them breaking the rules; there are just more of us, and we’re more conspicuous.

Lamb, however, differs in two respects from your typical Dynamo-hater. Firstly, he may not have only fantasised about violence, if his claim that he was a member of a group of football hooligans called the 6.57 crew is anything to go by. And secondly, he is now attempting to show us all how things should be done by starting his very own cycling club – and in the words of one of his internet chums which he was only to happy to use as promotion for his new venture, it’s the “polar opposite” of the outfit which has had such a Lambasting.

Men and women’s racing teams, strong representation at sportives, a website functioning as a virtual clubhouse, weekly club rides and members of all abilities (some of whom are based overseas), not to mention supporting good causes… Gruppo Sportivo Gazzetta’s list of aims is notably ambitious and, perhaps not co-incidentally, somewhat similar to what London Dynamo has already achieved along the way. Indeed, GS Gazzetta, to use its slightly less cumbersome appellation, also seems to share a core Dynamo value in the sense that Lamb realises the importance of having well-designed kit, although the pre-release photos reveal he’s played it a little too safe with an uninspired, Rapha-lite, white-on-black design. Nevertheless, the Gazzas do, as Lambster Tom claims in the above link, represent a real difference to the club I’ve been a member of since its inception, so much so that they may as well be called Not London Dynamo, which would at least be less of a mouthful. And the difference with Not London Dynamo is this: its two leaders, for all their enthusiasm, appear to be remarkably inexperienced riders. Having ridden myself with Lamb’s chum Teresa Houghton and spoken with a friend who rode the London to Paris with her, I would suggest that her focus on spin classes has had a detrimental effect on her ability to develop group riding skills. Lamb, meanwhile, had been riding for barely more than a year when he fractured his left arm and collarbone and wrote off his bike on Not London Dynamo’s first-ever ride last November. In terms of serious accidents per total miles travelled, the Gazzas immediately became a more crash-prone club than London Dynamo before it had even officially accepted its first membership application. Quite an achievement.

Contrast Not London Dynamo – essentially a group of strangers who met on the internet – with the pedigree of London Dynamo’s founders: an accomplished time trialist (Guy Andrews), a talented former BMXer (Russell Short) and a pretty handy road racer (Paul Callinan). That’s a huge range of skills to pass on, especially to the fat, clueless novice I used to be, and of much more practical use than, say, the ability to crow about owning Michael Barry’s hat collection. As far as I’m concerned, Not London Dynamo doesn’t deserve to call itself a cycling club unless it can develop skills and encourage safe riding, because that, essentially, is the true value of the club system. But I wouldn’t hold your breath: contradicting the official rules on the Gazzas’ site, Lamb himself apparently wants his “club” to ignore the two abreast formation fundamental to safe riding because they are supposed to be a “rabble”. He expressed this view a week after coming off, so his accident may have been caused by more than just an error on his part. If that’s the case, the haters will now have another bunch of riders to moan about, perhaps with good reason this time. If they don’t, well, there’s plenty of other reasons to take issue with Lamb, and that could be why he shut down his personal Twitter account a few weeks ago: get off the stage before the audience turns and the rotten tomatoes come flying your way…

I wrote all this for two reasons. Firstly, terms such as “bloody Dynamos” have become the equivalent of “bloody cyclists” for people who ride a bike but are now just as intransigent as the type of motorists all riders dislike, and while I no longer enjoy poking fun at these idiots for using the club I love as their personal punchbag, I couldn’t walk away from these pointless arguments for good without setting the record straight. Secondly, there is virtually no criticism of Lamb online, which is a marked contrast to many of the face-to-face conversations I’ve had during the past ten months, so I wanted to redress that balance in a small way on this little blog – and for the record, I honestly harbour no desire to rival Lamb’s online presence. Given his previous form, Lamb will probably resort to name-calling and dredge up aspects of my life that have little or nothing to do with cycling; maybe he’ll even trawl through my tweets and falsely reason that some of the opinions I express chiefly to my friends are the same as his targeted, vitriolic hate campaigns. But hey, that’s his call, and a measure of his class or lack of it. Either way, I’m not going to mention his name in these pages ever again, and this entry won’t be open for comments – I’ll leave the half-truths, backbiting and exaggerations for his blog.

If you want to support Mind, you can avoid the Gazzas by donating money to the organisation directly. As for supporting young riders, I would recommend you have a look at the John Ibbotson Fund, or maybe even consider entering its auction for Rouleur issue #1. And here’s a final thought to any Lamb fans – and there appears to be many of them – who believe he should remain beyond criticism because of what he’s been through: some defenders of Armstrong say much the same thing about their hero. Do you think, maybe, that Lamb is using mental health issues in a similar way but on a smaller scale to that which many think his hate-target uses cancer? Because if he is, then Lamb isn’t such a berk after all…


Saturday blight

March 5, 2011

I received a comment about my post on the ropy Ian McEwan novel Saturday this week, and my instinct was to hit the delete button because I knew the nitwit who wrote it had arrived at this blog for a very different reason. Then I realised I may not ever get a chance to publish anything quite so daft ever again, and it sort of ties in with what I’ll be writing about in my next post. So here, for your enjoyment and mine, are the words of some tit called Christopher Parkman in all their glory…

“How else dear boy is a character not going to have a thought ‘artificially placed there by the dullard narrator’? He isn’t real, it’s a novel, the clue is in the word ‘fiction’.

“Have you even read any Woolf? She practically invented that type of leaden psychological prose. What the fuck does expatiation mean anyway, do you mean expiation? You know what I hate? When people use long words that they don’t understand to try and make themselves look clever. Anyway I’m sure that you know better than Salman Rushdie, Clive James and Martin Amis who all regard McEwan as one of the best writers of his generation.”

Well, I was hardly challenging McEwan’s reputation, just expressing an opinion about one novel in particular which even some of his fans seem to think is a bit of a stinker (see comments). Full marks for noticing that “fiction” is stuff that’s made up, but this isn’t just fiction: it is considered to be literature, so it is supposed to use artifice to express some sort of higher truth or insight. To me, Woolf does this and Saturday doesn’t. As for “expatiation”, the word means to write in great detail, which the author does regarding the unease and conflicting opinions of the British public prior to the war with Iraq. “Expiation”, on the other hand, is atonement, which I gather is another of Mr. McEwan’s novels. Still, at least we can agree on one thing: it is annoying when people get unusual words wrong, isn’t it, dear boy?

Having said all that, I don’t think Christopher Parkman actually meant any of the badly-formed thoughts he thwacked into a keyboard with his limp, pudgy paw. Because the fact is, he called me, my friends and acquaintances “c*nts” on Twitter for no good reason, then came over here after I blocked him. So I reckon he was simply after a good old-fashioned interweb anger w*nk, and I sincerely hope he left this blog feeling fully satisfied.

And the reason for him being so narky? He doesn’t like the cycling club I ride with. Yep, it really is that shallow and pathetic. But there are quite a few chippy loners in the two-wheeled community who have a problem with London Dynamo, and I think it’s best I address the ‘Mo hate in one long, er, expatiation, rather than coming back to it in a series of desultory skirmishes like this one. Which is exactly what I intend to do next…


The Dynamighty No.5: David Zabriskie

February 20, 2011

I sometimes think that the reason why pros and fans alike place such emphasis on the beauty, passion and suffering of professional road racing is partly to avoid confronting the ridiculousness of grown men such as myself wearing outfits that are snugger and gaudier than polite society usually allows. Yet ridicule, as a fashion trailblazer once sang, is nothing to be scared of, and it takes a unique individual to embrace sartorial silliness, which is why Dave Zabriskie’s Captain America skinsuit complemented by a matching disc wheel will always have a special place in my highly personal pantheon of cycling’s greatest achievements. Zabriskie’s eye for the absurd is also evident in his blogging, and I think it’s admirable that he is one of the few professional riders who actively campaigns for road safety. But what I like most about Dee-Zee, or D-Zed as he is known round our way, is his lack of ego, which may be counterproductive: many overlook the fact that he is one of the few English-speaking riders of the Armstrong era to have worn yellow at the Tour. And he’s got a pretty good singing voice as well. Take it away, Dave!


Dynamightgiveitamiss No.4: Saturday

February 14, 2011

Saturday. Ah, Saturday. So ruddy clever, choosing the title ‘Saturday’. Because you can work out what that Ian McEwan chap has done there, can’t you? He’s taken the most enjoyable part of the week and, through a worthy expatiation on Iraq set on a single day in London, turned it into a really tedious novel. Or perhaps the fun part is trying to work out how a Mercedes-driving superhero surgeon, who has sired a talented blues musician and an accomplished poet with his attractive high-flying lawyer wife, is somehow unable to have a single thought in his head that isn’t artificially placed there by the dullard narrator. (“The one thing Perowne thinks he knows about this war is that it’s going to happen. With or without the UN. The troops are in place, they’ll have to fight…” Not exactly Mrs Dalloway, is it?)

Bad novels reap good reviews all the time, but I haven’t read any other book where the gap between critical veneration and readers’ displeasure has been quite as large. Have a look at the comments here and decide for yourself.


The Dynamighty No.4: A Confederacy Of Dunces

February 6, 2011

I think we all agree that it’s impossible to define objectively what is and isn’t funny, yes? Well, no, actually, let’s not agree that is the case at all, because the only reason why you wouldn’t concur with the notion that A Confederacy Of Dunces is the absolute pinnacle of funniness is because you haven’t got round to reading it yet. Absurd, filthy, wise and true, this is, quite simply, the holy grail of comic novels. Plot-wise, nothing much actually happens: Ignatius J. Reilly, a kind of grown-up version of Spoilt Bastard from Viz but with an enormous scholarly intellect that matches the scale of his girth, self-delusion and flatulency, unwittingly changes the lives of those he encounters as he wanders quixotically from one dead-end job to the other. The real magic is in the dialogue, which revels in the peculiarities of the New Orleans accent as much as Ignatius indulges his horrified fascination with popular culture and the morality of others. And I think we all, at times, have felt a similar kind of splenetic outrage to Ignatius. Or is that just me?

Anyway, ignore the background stories that have enveloped this novel – the tragic death of its author John Kennedy Toole, the movie industry leaving the screen adaptation stranded in development hell for more than 30 years – and simply buy it, read, and laugh like you have never laughed before. There is no other book like it.