Vale Rossis...

It had to happen. My faithful Rossi Senora size 5 bike boots have finally reached that stage where retirement is looking good.

The Velcro closure has been a bit fluffy for a while now. The inside heels wore away a while ago, to be replaced by comfy gel inserts. The stitching had to be redone a couple of years ago after I went for a slide down the road.

The soles are barely worn.


I’ve worn those boots almost every single day for the past 4 years. I commute in them, tour in them, go to rallies in them and wear them all day. They are the most comfortable things I’ve ever had on my feet.

They’ve also saved my legs/feet/ankles more than once, although they weren’t able to prevent a tendon avulsion on my foot when I leapt off the falling bike during the willy-willy incident a year ago.

They’ve been the final resting place of a million grasshoppers, have deflected the odd stick or stone, and once caused the demise of a suicidal crimson rosella. They’ve seen about a hundred thousand road kilometres in all weather and all seasons.

This morning, though, as I parked the bike near work, I noticed this neat little hole worn through the spot where I press against the gear lever. It’s all the way through to the lining.


My dilemma - should I take them to the bootmaker and have them repaired, or should I fork out another three or four hundred for a brand new pair? Should I look for a different brand? Decisions, decisions. Another repair job would certainly be cheaper than new boots, but perhaps it’s time to allow them a gracious retirement after such faithful service.

I love my Rossis. They’re Australian made, comfortable, durable – for the sort of riding I do (coz I’m not a girl racer) they’re probably perfect – and definitely value for money. The only beef I’ve ever had with them is that the moulded soles don’t allow the addition of extra height. A mere extra centimetre on the heel would’ve been useful for this short-arse on occasions.

I shall spend a little time trying on other boots, I suppose – it’s a good excuse to do the rounds of the bike shops (as if I need an excuse!) but I suspect I’ll come back to the tried and true Rossi Boots.

The Straitjacket Bra - a rant

Men are so lucky they don’t have boobs. Well, some of them do, I suppose – those ones aren’t lucky at all, coz their man-boobs just have to wobble and jiggle and be uncomfortable (I’m kind of surprised that Mr Costanza’s ‘mansierre’ didn’t catch on, ha ha ha!)

Erk – wrenching my mind away from thoughts of man-boobs now. It’s been that sort of morning.

Bras suck. They really do. They’re expensive, uncomfortable and it’s hard to get a good fit. The straps slide down your arms. The elastic loses its elasticity. The underwires poke into tender spots. Sometimes the underwires decide to come out altogether. The hooks bend or come off. The straps on convertibles come off at awkward times. *sigh* They’re a nightmare.

Youngsters with perky boobs (or oldsters with little boobs) have it made. They can go through life without knowing the horrors of [dramatic music] the Straitjacket Bra.

I bought a couple the other day. They weren’t cheap, either. I suppose that’s because they have good ‘support’. Here’s a hint to the makers of bras – ‘good support doesn’t mean they need to feel like a boa constrictor, squeezing the life out of you and stopping your rib cage expanding. Sheesh – the whalebone corset era, when young women would faint because of the tightness of their foundation garments, is supposed to be gone with the wind, folks!

These new bras of mine are so horribly, unbearably uncomfortable, especially in the hot weather; more especially when the air-con at work decides not to work, and even more especially when I get a bloody hot flush on top of all that! It’s hell on earth, I tell you! I want to scream and rip off my bra and burn the bloody thing! Such a public protest, however (quite apart from being mistakenly interpreted as a belated conversion to feminism - WRONG! I've been a feminist for years) and potentially giving me bruised knees, would no doubt lead to me having to wear a different sort of straitjacket!

It’s hard being a woman.

All Thumbs as a New Year Begins

Last year I was sick - so sick that New Year came and went and I'd forgotten to make any resolutions - I was jubilant! At the time I said:

Resolutions are a yearly reminder of my total inability to stick with anything that might improve me as a person. Annually I resolve to be tidier, to lose weight, to exercise, to save more and to drink less - and annually I don't do any of these things. My resolve lasts anything from 10 minutes to about 3 weeks before I inevitably slide back into my shambolic lifestyle, a glass of red in hand and my feet up on the coffee table. If I bother to remove my bike boots I'll notice there are holes in my socks - and I won't even care.

No such nifty resolution-avoiding excuses this year - I am disgustingly healthy - but I decided to be sparing with my resolutions anyway, in the hope I might actually keep them. I ended up making just one - but it turned out to be the wrong one.

'Worry Less', I said.

It should've been Cook Less.

Why? Well.... after the excesses of this holiday season I have regained a little of the blubber I lost in my '7kgs competition' with my mate Lucy, down at the Fun Factory. But that's not why I should've resolved to cook less.

In order to kick-start the return to weight loss competitiveness, and to clean out my system after all those daiquiris and barbecued sausages I decided to make a giant pot of that

fabulous
fat-burning
fart-making
detoxing
delicious
super duper
special cabbage soup - and that was the problem.

I knew I should've resolved to cook less.

Cooking is a health hazard. The knife slipped as I was chopping the cabbage and I sliced into the tip of my thumb, through skin and nail, and I don't even know how deeply I cut coz it looks gross and I didn't want to be poking about at it with all that blood running out anyway. I couldn't see any bits of thumb in the pile of chopped cabbage, though - and I didn't even bleed on the cabbage, so the soup was safe!

I rinsed it and rinsed it and poured iodine over it (my thumb, not the cabbage) and it didn't make me scream, so I figured it wasn't as bad as it looked, didn't warrant a trip to the emergency room with something nasty in a bag of ice, and would probably be ok.

See? I'm already worrying less!

Happy New Year!
PS The soup is delicious - look out, Lucy - I'm going to kick butt in the 7kg comp!
PPS My thumb hurts.