Olympics – cycling. Lady BSM and I watched the Omnium(?) last night where cyclists seemed to have a race when they felt like it. I found it hard to believe that Mark Cavendish could ride his bicycle so very energetically while also calculating how many points the Danish and Italian riders were collecting on the seemingly random races in between the cruising around looking at each other. In the end the commentator got shouty (inevitably) and the Italian won, collapsing in a flood of tears, leaning on his mum and dad who were in the crowd. Mark Cavendish finished in silver medal position, which is good, but he seemed a little crestfallen.
Then, tonight, Master Johnny is watching another bike race. This one seems to involve a bloke called Kieron on a pizza delivery moped.
Kieron must be a really hard bloke, because none of the cyclists, all finely tuned, testosterone fuelled athletes, are brave enough to overtake him. He holds up their race for ages before getting fed up and having a rest on the side. All the cyclists then have a good old burn up to decide who wins. Or something.
No doubt, somebody out there understands all of this. All I can say is I have no doubt that after the awards ceremony, Kieron is out the back flushing the cyclists’ heads down the toilet and nicking their medals.