Some of you will already have heard that the Highway Code is up for revision. As stated on the CTC’s campaign page, the proposed wording could lead to some serious problems for vehicular cyclists who value their right to use the road:

The major problem is a proposed new rule telling cyclists to “use cycle routes when practicable and cycle facilities … where they are provided” (Rule 58). If confirmed, this would open the way for driver’s insurance companies to seek to reduce the damages for any cyclists injured by their clients, on the basis that the cyclist’s failure to use a nearby cycle facility (in accordance with the Highway Code) represented “contributory negligence”.

You probably know my opinion of cycle farcilities by now – mostly I wouldn’t use them if you paid me. Exeter has some particularly fine examples of shoddy cycle facilities, not least of which is the much hyped Exminster – Exeter facility that runs up Countess Wear. Fine if you don’t mind crossing the road three times, dealing with 7 conflict points and having to contend with dog walkers. Not to mention that it’s isn’t gritted in winter, meaning hitting a patch of ice could cause you to skid off right into the path of a car doing 40mph up the dual carriageway. There’s also the incredibly badly designed Gallow’s Junction at the junction of Heavitree and Honiton Road. Sticking to the painted cycle lane while navigating that junction is a recipe for disaster. If you don’t claim the lane you’re likely to be smacked by a car turning left. I know plenty of people to whom that’s happened.

Risible cycle facilities are stock in trade for most discussions involving cycling in this country. They seem rarely to be put in with cyclist’s needs as the foremost concern. The one along Bad Homburg Way in Exeter is a nightmare, with draincovers and broken glass and all sorts – but even when they put in the new diversion along the back road they won’t be taking that one out because, according to council members I asked at one of the Cycle Forum meetings, it is there as a traffic calming measure to stop cars overtaking on a wide road.

Getting involved in this campaign is in every cyclist’s interest. There’s a handy facility there to drop a line to your MP. I suggest you take advantage of it and keep up to date. We have enough problems with erosions of our rights without it being written into the Highway Code.

Where’s Bluckpuddingonabike gone? I’ve got some free advertising for him:

My gods. I have enormous fucking shoulders.

And can I also point out that it’s damn freakin’ weird to have your Canadian Bud (some of you know who I mean) turn up and start explaining the ice hockey to you when you’re watching the Winter Olympics? Now I know that those round things with the crosses inside them are for face-offs. Thanks for that, Ben. No, really. I’m sure I could not have survived the Winter Olympiad without you inflicting your ice hockey liking on me.

Just wait. I’ll get you back with hurling, you see if I don’t.

Incidentally, if you leave the cat outside on the living room window in a hail storm, the look on its face is well worth the price of admission. If we get another I’ll put her out and take pictures.

I’m such a bitch.

Oh, and Deadpool reminds me – I saw a bit of Life on Mars last night. It was late – they do a signed version for deaf people. I only caught about twenty minutes of it and wasn’t sure what was going on, but having the little girl come out of the test card with her goddamned freakish fucking clown was almost creepy. I hate that clown. I hate all clowns, but I’ve always hated that clown. Maybe my hatred of clowns started with that one. Maybe that was the Ur-Clown that indicated to my child’s mind – young, but nevertheless insightful – that all clowns are evil and must die.

The only other entities that come close to the level of pure evil that exists in clowns are the puppets operating Keith Harris.

OK. It’s nearly 1pm. It’s snowing. Well, it’s kind’ve snowing when it’s not pissing down with rain or hailing. It’s blowing a gale. We are nearly out of coal for the central heating and Frood and Munky were up until 2am playing Thud so Frood has taken the car. This leaves me with 5 bicycles and a Bob Yak – although not the sexy new redesigned one.

I can’t get a bag of coal in the trailer. Actually, I probably could, but I’ll be buggered if even my sturdy thighs are dragging a sack of coal that’s almost the same size as me up the hill out of Crediton. Especially as Max is currently running trail tyres – very sensible in this weather.

How many bags of logs can I fit in the trailer and do we think the garage in Copplestone will have any, or do I have to go all the way to Lapford, which at least has the advantage of not having hills in the way?

How much does a bag of logs weigh anyway?

Love ya!

Oh, and can anyone tell me why there is a grinning joker face inside my brain? Is that the Trickster in me?

I love that picture. It’s fab. I’m going to have to see if I can get the original X-ray converted into a poster for the wall or something. Or maybe build myself a light box. Hurm.

Last full week in Devon. It feels strange. The For Sale sign is in the front lawn and I’m looking out of the Stuffice window at the view and thinking that the last week hasn’t exactly been the monument to “me-time” that I had intended. I had no idea that selling a house could be so stressful. I mean, I knew it would be stressful, but I didn’t expect to be knotted up into a ball of feeling physically sick over it.

Still got paperwork to do for the new job, which I’ve not had the headspace for this last week, and the interminable lists of things that need to be accomplished for the move. Still got a couple of things I want — as opposed to need — to do. Take a trip down to the monastery at Buckfastleigh – I want to go sit in the Butterfly House at the otter sanctuary but they’re closed until March. Take a trip down to Powderham, say goodbye to the cork tree. Have a final look at Starcross, maybe do that loop that takes in the ferry ride. Visit the pub in Sandford.

I really wanted to see a few other friends down here in the southern part of England before I went, too. How can it take up so much time and energy putting a house on the market? I wanted to hug Ffetcher goodbye and I’m still hoping to get up to see Bling.

Still. The League party was a riot. You should have been there. My mind will forever be polluted by the puppetry of the minge.

Joel Veitch made a new Flash for you and Bags to celebrate your wedding! I can’t imagine why else he would make something that’s just so you, dahling! Lemurs and otters and everyfing!

Apologies. Our interfernalinterweb thang at work is broken and shite and roundly screwed. I am therefore trapped behind something called a proxy server that has apparently gone a bit HAL. Access to the internet is infrequent and severely intermittent, which is worse than no access at all because it’s a total tease, as eny fule kno. I can’t even read your comments because spawning a new window crashes the browser.