Relationship crisis

Two weeks ago my bike broke, putting a serious strain on our relationship. After a change of back wheel, gear cog and chain, I was allowed to cycle her home again, but something had changed.

Indeed, I noticed that changing gear was different, likening it to a new haircut that made her look far less attractive. Actually, with the clicking noise that continually comes off the chain now, it’s as though she’s had a nose job operation and when she speaks you can hear air whistling through the nostrils. It’s really annoying.

Anyway after a fortnight I’ve gotten used to it and my love for the old bike started to return. So, yesterday I went for a reasonable 30km ride – nothing to what I will be doing daily if I cycle to Amsterdam this summer.

The Sun was low and the breeze was up, and everything felt great in the world once again. I was at one with my bike, until – cycling past Christiania – clang! Something gave way on the back wheel.

As I dismounted and carried my bike onto the pavement, I made eye contact with a pedestrian passing by. She gave me one of those ‘that didn’t sound good’ kind of looks. And indeed she was right. As you can see from the picture, the axis on which the wheel turns has collapsed in on itself. Well, you can’t really see it – but that hairline fracture on the right hand side is what has buggered this relationship up.

Of course it looks like nothing, a bit like the boil that suddenly sprouts on your girlfriend’s upper lip looks like nothing. But soon it grows bigger and bristly hairs start protruding out of it. This problem needs fixing before it’s too late.

I tried to continue cycling but the back wheel began to wobble. This is going to cost a fortune.

So my predicament: it’s Sunday morning and I can’t get to a bike shop before tomorrow. I have breathing space. I feel as though I’ve just been told she’s been cheating on me, and this is my sulk period. Tomorrow I will face the music and sort this relationship out.

I have two options. One is to mend the bike – replacing the wheel – and stomach the cost. However, what’s not to say the same situation won’t happen again as I’m heading into Hamburg? My second option is to get rid of the bike: dump her. We’ve had a good run – nearly 9 months in fact – and her brakes are loosening and her washers are rusting. She’s getting old, tired and – on account of the back wheel – wobbly.

So, do I stick with my faithful yet draining old bint with a boil on her lip, or trade her in for a leggy 21-year-old Danish blonde?

Rear Window

I’m sat at my desk right now trying desperately to do work from my apartment. It’s 9:30 on a Wednesday evening, so we can assume all the working people of Copenhagen are at home. In front of my desk is a window. Through my window is the street below. At the other side of my street is an almost identical block of flats to mine, as this photo demonstrates (snow not included).

I’m now staring at these windows across my street. Some have lights on, some don’t. There are even some candles on the top left windowsill that looks like some saucy mood is trying to be set up there. All these lights, and yet no people. I can see twelve separate living establishments, but there’s no one in them.

I’m beginning to think Hitchcock’s film Rear Window was a bit of an exaggeration. No one is playing the piano; there isn’t a shifty looking bloke on the ground floor in a trilby; and I can see no evidence of any scantily clad actress-to-be lunging up and down while cleaning the fridge.

This is an outrage. Come on Copenhagen you boring city – what is the point of me trying to pry into your vacuous void of a life if you don’t do anything exciting to fill it?

The best I’ve got at the minute is one dark window on the third floor with an occasional blue light illuminating the chasm of boredom in front of it. It’s the telly, of course. Heaven forbid anyone do anything amusing for my benefit.

Good lord! OK so this is genuine. Having written ‘for my benefit’, I looked up from my desk and saw a woman – relatively young as well – hitching up her pants on the third floor directly opposite me! My heart honestly skipped a beat then. Maybe I should take off my shirt in return…

Nah too risky – she’s gone now anyway. Probably to the sex dungeon she part-owns below the bike sheds. The old couple above with the mood candles are stirring though. Granddad is looking attentively at something in the middle of the two windows, while Grandma keeps popping in and out. Oh, she’s gone to light more candles.

Granddad’s got up now. Suppose it’s been seven minutes since he went to the toilet. I think he was sitting by a computer. The flat next to the oldies’ has metal blinds on the windows. How dare they – don’t they know I’m trying to peek into their lives?

What was I blabbering on about earlier? This is great! OK, if I stick my head out of the window and look left, the next building has a flat with three windows – all with plants on the sills. What a posh tart. Oh look, and he’s got a real lampshade as well.

Oh, Granddad’s back. That porn film must have downloaded by now then.

Well apparently there’s more to Copenhagen than I thought. Although to be honest if it wasn’t for that brief glimpse of female thigh I’d probably not be saying that.