I Unfold A Bicycle

Here is my new bicycle. It is folded. Note how compact she is - note how well she tones in with my copy of Findings by Kathleen Jamie.

I like concision: appreciate things which are said in the smallest amount of space, but which unfold to amount to almost everything. Kathleen Jamie's short essays are a bit like my new bike - perfectly designed and rendered, sparse and yet able to take a reader on vast journeys.

You may be wondering why this post isn't called, I Fold A Bicycle. The reason is that I may need the verb 'Fold' to describe my current back problems, and I have a rule (which I break only through ignorance or deliberate fault, never through weakness) and that rule states that I cannot use the same verb more than once in my blog titles. I find it a comfort.

This is my bicycle, unfolded. Note how well she tones in with my favourite possession - a portrait of my youngest son by Gabriel, my eldest son. When I first saw this portrait in an A level art exhibition two years ago, I nearly exploded with joy, reminding me of my feelings at a school concert (I Disgrace You By Exploding). When I look at the painting, which I do often, everything that's important to me unfolds. 

My new bike also tones in quite well with the packet of paracetamol which I am taking to try to ease my back problems. Once my back's sorted, I'll be unfolding the maps, finding new routes out of town.

Blog post dedicated to Helen Lucas, who first showed me the way.