Written by birbee
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Thursday, 23 June 2011

image for Thurso to Mybster, The Journey Continues. Two Wheels on my Wagon.......

The Story So Far.............

Never Wanting To Get Involved at This Early Stage, Seaton Carew dragged his sorry arse from his bed and was nearly physically sick when he saw the time.

The Bed & Breakfast in which he was staying, in Scrabster on the outskirts of Thusro, was a bit of of a flea pit. Worse than that, it was a shit pit and he was glad to be leaving.

Climbing wearily onto his tricycle, Seaton Carew reflected on his recent history. Being the half-step-brother of Justin Bieber would have it's advantages he mused. Think of all the girls that would throw themselves at him.

The lorry threatening to cause severe personal injury as it flew by, doing it's best to suck him off his trike, soon brought the hapless ex-one-time-thespian back to his senses. Justin Bieber was a prick, he didn't even know him, let alone loathe him but he was still a prick. Half-step-brother or not, he was still a prick.

As Carew reached Thurso he was struck by the sheer awfulness of it all. Then he was struck by something altogether more awful.

"Wakey wakey prick" came the familiar drones of Jaggedone. "Bout fucking time you got here, loser."

Refusing to adopt the semi-sponsored bike with leather saddle, the 41 year old wanna-be entrepreneur decided the best course of action was to remain seated. Peddling even. So before long he was heading south, with Jaggedone panting alongside his, bottom cheeks glowing in the early morning mist.

Resisting the urge to call into the train station, the pair trundled along the B-roads, past the Golf Course, through the Buckles until they came to a cattle grid.

A sign on the side of the grid instructed riders of bicycles to dismount and push their bike slowly over the metal bars.

"Fuck that mofo, I aint dismounting for any bastard," shouted Jaggedone as he proceeded to buckle both of his wheels.

"Prick," Carew muttered under his breath before peddling away without him.

Soon they were on the A9, Jaggedone wobbling away as he was unable to fully straighten his wheels and Seaton freewheeling on his trike his cassock, borrowed from birbee in order to garner increased support from the curious bystander, flapping wildly in the wind.

Queen Mudder was nowhere to be seen on day two, presumably still breaking her fast with figs, dates, almond croissants from Starbucks and other such luxury items, however the sun was out so the need for a support car diminished as the hours rolled by.

As they reached Mybster, Carew was forced to pull over to apply cream to the chafing on his lower body, cause by the cassock and the wind.

As there were no other spoofers around, the trying twosome decided to visit the local hostelry, and so got back on their bikes to find it.

Eventually, many hours and beers later, they stumbled through the door of the Auld Post Office, and were confronted with the alarming sight of.............

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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