Orthodox dreams and symbolic myths
Aug. 1st, 2005 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ventaOn Saturday morning, I became aware that there was a Very Strange Noise going on outside. I went over to the stereo and politely asked the 4ft Fingers to quieten down a little so I could listen.
Yup, out in the street, something big was revving its engine. I trotted down the stairs, noticed our front door was open, and saw Andy sittng in the drivers seat of my car. Surely that god-awful racket wasn't my engine ? I know William's a little old and running a bit rough, but he's not that bad... is he ?
Making it out onto the pavement in something of a slight panic, the answer turned out to be 'no'. The revving was caused by a minor horde of motorbikes clustered a few doors up the road, all running their engines. Shortly afterwards they moved off, following a couple of cars decked out with white ribbons - they were part of a wedding cavalcade. It's not often you see the mother of the bride, in pastel suit, departing on the back of a Harley. Good for her, I say.
I would have been jealous, but come Sunday I got my own fun.
The morning-after leftovers of a university reunion posse were massing to head out for a pub lunch. We'd had a fantastic evening out the night before (and Jo becomes this Week's Designated Hero for single-handedly organising us into being there), but sadly a large number of people had had to dash off to various things, or had started long drives home.
So, we were a small, select gathering on Sunday. No one seemed to be keen to make a sensible decision about which pub was going to provide us with lunch, so I took the decision upon myself because I had a secret agenda. I wanted a pub which was too far away to walk to, because I wanted![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
failmaster to give me a lift.
Failmaster's chosen means of transport looks like this:
How could you not like it ?
So, despite having once referred to his bike as "a sorry heap of rusting Russian scrap", and despite assurances from the two bikers in my office that "to ride with a sidecar you'd have to be insane", I cheerfully zipped up my leather jacket, donned a borrowed helmet and leapt in. Having recently seen Garden State, yes thanks, I am aware this makes me a bitch.
It's great :)
The seat is really quite surprisingly comfortable, and, having got over the initial surprise of not having a seatbelt, reasonably safe-feeling. I thoroughly enoyed the fifteen minute ride down to Marsh Baldon and was quite disappointed when I realised someone else was claiming the ride back.
More surprisingly, the bike is not in fact the veteran I'd assumed it to be when looking at it - it was made in 2001. It's just that Ural got their basic design sussed in about 1960, and have only done minor tweaking since. It looks the part, though, and is exactly the mode of transport you want for a picturesque Oxfordshire village like Marsh Baldon (own pub, thatched cottages and cricket team, obligingly playing on the green).
Yup, out in the street, something big was revving its engine. I trotted down the stairs, noticed our front door was open, and saw Andy sittng in the drivers seat of my car. Surely that god-awful racket wasn't my engine ? I know William's a little old and running a bit rough, but he's not that bad... is he ?
Making it out onto the pavement in something of a slight panic, the answer turned out to be 'no'. The revving was caused by a minor horde of motorbikes clustered a few doors up the road, all running their engines. Shortly afterwards they moved off, following a couple of cars decked out with white ribbons - they were part of a wedding cavalcade. It's not often you see the mother of the bride, in pastel suit, departing on the back of a Harley. Good for her, I say.
I would have been jealous, but come Sunday I got my own fun.
The morning-after leftovers of a university reunion posse were massing to head out for a pub lunch. We'd had a fantastic evening out the night before (and Jo becomes this Week's Designated Hero for single-handedly organising us into being there), but sadly a large number of people had had to dash off to various things, or had started long drives home.
So, we were a small, select gathering on Sunday. No one seemed to be keen to make a sensible decision about which pub was going to provide us with lunch, so I took the decision upon myself because I had a secret agenda. I wanted a pub which was too far away to walk to, because I wanted
failmaster to give me a lift.Failmaster's chosen means of transport looks like this:
How could you not like it ?
So, despite having once referred to his bike as "a sorry heap of rusting Russian scrap", and despite assurances from the two bikers in my office that "to ride with a sidecar you'd have to be insane", I cheerfully zipped up my leather jacket, donned a borrowed helmet and leapt in. Having recently seen Garden State, yes thanks, I am aware this makes me a bitch.
It's great :)
The seat is really quite surprisingly comfortable, and, having got over the initial surprise of not having a seatbelt, reasonably safe-feeling. I thoroughly enoyed the fifteen minute ride down to Marsh Baldon and was quite disappointed when I realised someone else was claiming the ride back.
More surprisingly, the bike is not in fact the veteran I'd assumed it to be when looking at it - it was made in 2001. It's just that Ural got their basic design sussed in about 1960, and have only done minor tweaking since. It looks the part, though, and is exactly the mode of transport you want for a picturesque Oxfordshire village like Marsh Baldon (own pub, thatched cottages and cricket team, obligingly playing on the green).
