There are some things you just don't expect to see when you're out with Amelie on a Sunday afternoon...
I admire anyone who decides to wear gloves but no pants. I expect the panniers are packed full of donuts.
Anyhoo, the sweet smell of chafing can mean only one thing: it's that time of the year again. The time when rational people attempt to fight climate change and influence government policy by cycling through Brighton with their privates out. Rule number one, though, is don't forget the sun cream...
That's a nasty bit of sunburn. But spare a thought for the small girl riding shotgun between the scarlet woman's thighs. She's had an afternoon to remember.
As it happens, Amelie and I didn't go out with the intention of seeing the Naked Bike Ride yesterday afternoon. To be honest, we didn't even know it was on (otherwise we would have gone out with the intention of seeing it). The first we knew of the nudity was when we strolled out of Jamie Oliver's and saw two hundred genitals coming towards us.
Lisa had major reconstructive surgery on Thursday (well, she went to the dentist), which has left her a bit down in the mouth, so I took Amelie into town to buy her an up-cheering gift. Preferably something she can eat without breaking her dental work. Jamie Oliver's just opened a shop called Recipease in Western Road, so I popped in and bought the world's most expensive lasagne. It looks nice, but it only serves one, so I'll get Lisa to tell you what it tastes like.
Obviously an overpriced ready meal needs a suitable dessert, so from there I took Amelie to Waitrose and bought a bar of Rococo chocolate. I can't reveal how much it cost for legal reasons, but I had to remortgage my flat just to get me through the checkout. As it turns out, Rococo were the people behind The Apprentice final, so I thought I'd save a square for Big Sis's research. Unfortunately Lisa had finished the bar within ten minutes of me getting home. She doesn't know what it cost, but she says it was worth it.