helpfulhigherenglish

The shadows thrown by the ancient oil lamp moved around outside as the unseen old man moved into the doorframe. The broken plaster I'd stood on only moments before now crunched under his boots. His old voice chuckled like some maniac from a B-movie.  "Come on Robert, show yourself!" I did not move or breathe. It was so cold that I knew my breath would show. My heart thumped in my chest and rung so hard in my ears I thought he could hear it too. I had the old tin in my hand but my curiosity would have to wait. How could I open it without alerting him as to where I was? I tried to hide beside the chimney breast but if he came close enough he would not only find me, but have me cornered. He dragged his feet down the hall to the sitting room door. Woodworm held the door upright. His lamp-light began to fall into the room. I could hear him wheeze from the cold air just a few feet away. Rapid thoughts filled my head; How disappointed Mum would be that I'd let her down. Or w...

Ever heard that phrase before? Skin in the game? It means you are heavily involved in something, that you are invested. So if cycling is my thing then it is more than fair to say I've skin in the game. Literally and metaphorically. I suppose in a literal sense I've left my fair share of skin on the tarmac. If you've cycled as long as I have then you are bound to fall off, get pushed off or hit the ground some way. Along with my lost skin I've broken my collarbone [called 'joining the clavicle club'], broken three ribs, cracked a lot more and broke my elbow along the way too. Arthritis and aches and pains could also be added to the list. But I don't care or think about these incidents. I've been a racing cyclist on and off for thirty seven years now. That's nearly four decades of meeting people, sometimes losing them but altogether great times and places I've been. Decades of fun and stories to tell the grandkids.  And I'm still as passionate ...