If you’re sitting comfortably then I’ll begin.
There was once a girl of indeterminate (but definitely not excessive) years who loved bicycles so much that not a day would go past without some time spent riding her shiny, metallic steeds. Continue reading
Everywhere around me the water is churning and bubbling like the inside of a washing machine. I can see nothing as cold water seeps into my eyes, up my nose and down my throat. The world is spinning and the surface appears to be below me. I breathe in and my lungs inhale a soup of chlorine rather than air. Continue reading
Cycling in a skirt 