A new legend is born.

Yesterday was a landmark in sporting history: a man with quite outstanding sideburns became the first British cyclist to win the Tour de France. Bravo Bradley Wiggins. Yellow suits you.
The Tour has long been my favourite sporting event of the year, mainly because I like the scenery. France is just so pretty. I spot my 'future home' at least once every stage that I watch. And I'm equally entertained by such a fine collection of legs. Lovely. Yes, I know that's not the point.
Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly a hardcore fan. I dip in and out and vaguely follow what's happening, helped along by my Dad's avid viewing. If I want to talk to him in July, I will pick up a thing or two about various jersey patterns and time trials and sprint finishes.
And talking of sprint finishes, one Christmas I fell upon the best present. Mark Cavendish was doing a signing in a bookshop I happened to be passing. Well, I was straight in there buying Boy Racer and queuing. I did get a little bored though and the message I finally got him to write on the title page read something like:
"Dear Richard, I hope you appreciate how much your daughter loves you. She's had to wait bloody ages for this. I hope it's worth it. Merry Christmas, Mark Cavendish."
I may have paraphrased there but you get the gist. Mark actually chuckled as he wrote and now we're best friends. Fact.
Or we could have been, but I'm very busy and important you know, so I had to rush off.
Still, as I saw him winning Champs-Elysees I was quite proud of my best friend and did a small skipping circuit of the living room in excitement. He is faaaaaast!
And what made it all really perfect was the fact the Brad, golden shirted winner led him into it, spectacularly doing it for both Team Sky and UK. Allez! Allez!
In sport, the thing that inspires loyalty in me is when someone is a hero. Like when Tyler Hamilton came fifth with a broken collarbone. Now there is some respectable feat. I was much less impressed when he got disqualified for doping a few years later. I felt personally betrayed. Heroes do not do drugs. That is all.
Bradley, on the other hand, is very articulate and clearly passionate about both his sport, and the purity of it. One can cheer for him in all respects. And because of the above mentioned facial hair he has become (in my head at least) some kind of eccentric sporting legend. Like that swimmer with the moustache, Mark Spitz. Or Steve Prefontaine.
I digress. What I'm trying to say is congratulations Mr Wiggins. A well deserved victory to an awesome chap. I will even get Sybil (my bike) out of the shed in a fit of sporting inspiration. That, and I have no other option: the Olympics are coming and I suspect London will be impossible without her. No sprint finishes for me. I might get me a yellow t-shirt though, now the sun's out.

Farewell

Yesterday I left a job. It was not a job I ever loved. I complained about it often enough and have in fact been looking forward to leaving for at least the last two years (of two and a half that I was employed). But now here I am, having to say goodbye and it's actually very sad. Whatever faults it has, the company has impeccable taste in employees- that is why I have stayed so long- so this blog is for all of you, to celebrate comradery and friendship.

Friends,

It’s hard to know where to begin actually. I’ve said so many goodbyes in the last two and a half years but now it’s my turn to go. How odd it will be not to see you all everyday.

I don’t know how to make emotional speeches, so even though it has been requested several times you aren't getting any such thing. Ha. Besides, so many of the people I cared about have already gone, said their own goodbyes, that I decided to write instead. 

As much as I hate to admit it, as much as I have complained about it, been angry with it, bitched about it, this job has been a massive part of my life. And I owe so much to it: learning how to cope when there are 300 people wanting coffee and only 16 cups and 7 teaspoons; how to survive for two months of the years on maximum 4 hours sleep a night; how to smile when all I want to do is scream and slam all the doors on my way out; how to tell people off(!!!) and to stand up for myself. All key skills in life I'm sure you'll agree.

But most of all it is the friendships I’ve made that have not just helped me survive no taxis, horrendous hours and lifting twice my body weight in tables, but made it a joy. When I look back I will think of Top Trumps, Weird Crush of the Week, drinking Red Stripe on the Piazza, Naked Calendar, WAKA WAKA!!! Karaoke, eating ice cream on the balcony, cling-filmed shoes, prosecco in plastic cups, the Single Ladies dance…

Now I think I’m pretty good at keeping in touch so there is no excuse for becoming strangers, but I can’t believe the time has come for me to say goodbye. And I’m so fricking happy! It’s my turn. Hurrah! Onward and upward I hope, but let’s make sure we continue with the good stuff and I’ll just be exempt from all the customer service. Thank you Jesus H. Christ. 

Warning: small sad story to follow (ergh). When I was at college one of my teachers told my I was too emotionally immature and I needed more ‘life experience’ to do what I wanted to do. I cried. Of course I did, I was an emotionally immature 18 year old. And I was really at a loss. I danced, I worked hard, I had…have some amazing friends who are sisters to me. It’s only now that I have met people who challenge me, now I have been in love and had my heart broken, now that I’ve gritted my teeth and got the hell on with it, that I understand what she meant. 

And a lot of what I have learnt is down to you people. Who'd have thought? So thank you thank you with all my heart. 

Cin cin, toodles! I LOVE YOU!  Now bring me a flat warm prosecco, I'm signing out! HURRAH!