You call this shopping? purleaze
Arrange to meet the Phillimore Firecracker at Evans Cycles on the Hill. We look round non-plussed until Matt and Paul take us under their wings. Being sized for a bicycle is very scientific and requires various mathematical formulae to calculate the correct height of the seat/saddle. The angle between the knee and the ankle, when the heel is on the pedal, is measured with a large protractor – I kid you not – and discloses the optimum seat height.
I tell Paul that notwithstanding the mathematical result he has arrived at, the bicycle seat seems much, much too high for me. Paul tells me that I think this because I am a woman. He confides that he knows all about women. The problem with women is that they think they should be able to have their feet firmly on the ground. This is wrong. At any rate if you want to ride a bicycle – properly. “You should be able to touch the ground on tippy-toes” (not Paul’s words but I think this is what he was trying to tell me). “You achieve this by leaving a foot on one of the pedals and leaning forward so as just to be able to stabilise yourself with your other foot’s toe”. What do I know? I haven’t been on a bike since I can remember, and Paul speaks with great authority.
I am concerned to know whether I should purchase the same bike as Mrs B, the top model. Paul looks at me and asks what I will do with the bike after my three day, three country ride. I look blank. What can he possibly mean? We stand in silence. Paul suggests that I might use the bike for long rides in the country, alternatively to dash into town. Neither of these ideas had occurred to me before. I admit that I very much doubt that I will use the bike ever again after I have raised £10,000. He looks disappointed and tells me that I might love cycling. “Yes, and pigs might fly”, I think to myself, but don’t say this to him.
Paul suggests I try the bike out in one of the nearby streets to see how it feels. I tell him that the prospect is too terrifying for words. He tells me I will have to get on it some time. This is obvious, even to me, but I see no point in risking my life just yet. This will have to be something I work up to, slowly.
“In that case, this Specialized Vita Sport Women’s Hybrid Bike at £499.99 is perfect for you”, Paul says. I don’t want to be outdone by Mrs B who has a sparkly low cut black number and ask about her Specialized Vita Elite Women's Hybrid Bike at £649.99. Paul looks uncomfortable for a minute then tells me that Mrs B’s a top model, and the bike he has chosen for me will do just fine. This is the first time I have been in a shop when I have been prepared (in order to keep up with the B’s) to buy a more expensive item, and not been encouraged to do so. Then again I am not familiar with bicycle shops. Paul tells me the bike he has chosen for me is in fact reduced by 15% because it is a 2009 model. I wonder whether he is pulling my leg – a 2009 model? How can one tell? It has no giveaway number plate to date it and looks exactly the same as a 2010 model to me – is there a fashion in bikes? Will I look ridiculous in my last season’s bike? Will the Beautiful People, who won’t have to share a berth as they can each raise £10,000 without breaking sweat, all have Vita Elites rather than Vita Sports? Will they all have 2010 models?
I ask Paul what else I will have to buy. Will I need special shoes? He thinks not. I am disappointed and ask again. “Not yet” he says. This sounds more promising. I like shoes. What else? He takes me to the helmets. I tell him that I want one which won’t ruin my hair. Paul looks completely bemused. I try to explain to him about ‘helmet hair’, but don’t think he gets it. I start to wonder whether Paul does in fact know all about women. He suggests I buy the cheapest version. Again I look disappointed and point to others. He tells me that the helmet he has chosen for me is also made by Specialized and will match by bike. I feel slightly re-assured.
“What else?” Paul tells me I will need gloves. So that I don’t get calluses from the reins or handles or whatever they are called. Unbelievable. Calluses! He suggests I buy two pairs, one thickish for now and then a summer pair. He meets no opposition at this multiple purchase.
“What else?” Paul tells me those are the essentials. I now realise that Paul may know about bicycles but that he knows nothing at all about women and shopping. “What about a yellow jacket thing?” Paul takes me to some very expensive jackets in luminous lime. I decide that I don’t want to spend a lot on a cycling jacket at Evans in case there are more expensive designer models in and about Bond Street – for all I know Donna Karan or DKNY may have just the ticket. I point to a vest in yellow and orange with reflective bits. “But someone might take you for a navvy in that”, he says. I look him in the eye. “Do you think anyone would take ME for a navvy? I ask. He thinks for a moment, then says, “I suppose not”. “I suppose not”, rings in my ears. I wonder whether the only thing which stands between me and a navvy is my fashion-victim wardrobe. If so, what better reason to go on buying designer ensembles.
“More!” Paul says I could buy a lock which could be fitted to the bike and a water bottle. “Great” I think “accessories”.
Paul says he will fit the lock and the bottle to the bike and strip it down (for a safety check?!), put the seat to the right height and that I can collect it shortly. I have arranged to see my Skinny Friend for lunch at 202 and tell Paul that I will be back for the bike when all is done.
What of the Phillimore Firecracker? Well, there isn’t a bike big enough for her, so she orders one. She buys a pair of fingerless gloves she will wear for golf and appoints Matt to be the second person on her team, subject to him being around in September and not cycling round the world/finishing his masters/she knows all about his life ….
After lunch I am back to collect the bike. The seat still looks very very high. I buy a spanner-thing to be able to lower it, even though Paul tells me this is a cardinal sin. I realise that short of walking the bike back under the horrid underpass near Paddy via Venice there is no way of getting it home. I simply can’t ride it (too scared, too many roundabouts, seat too high), my car is in the knackers’ yard and the bike is too big to get into a cab. What to do? Reader, I texted Mr Big to tell him my bike was ready for collection and sauntered off.
Arrange to meet the Phillimore Firecracker at Evans Cycles on the Hill. We look round non-plussed until Matt and Paul take us under their wings. Being sized for a bicycle is very scientific and requires various mathematical formulae to calculate the correct height of the seat/saddle. The angle between the knee and the ankle, when the heel is on the pedal, is measured with a large protractor – I kid you not – and discloses the optimum seat height.
I tell Paul that notwithstanding the mathematical result he has arrived at, the bicycle seat seems much, much too high for me. Paul tells me that I think this because I am a woman. He confides that he knows all about women. The problem with women is that they think they should be able to have their feet firmly on the ground. This is wrong. At any rate if you want to ride a bicycle – properly. “You should be able to touch the ground on tippy-toes” (not Paul’s words but I think this is what he was trying to tell me). “You achieve this by leaving a foot on one of the pedals and leaning forward so as just to be able to stabilise yourself with your other foot’s toe”. What do I know? I haven’t been on a bike since I can remember, and Paul speaks with great authority.
I am concerned to know whether I should purchase the same bike as Mrs B, the top model. Paul looks at me and asks what I will do with the bike after my three day, three country ride. I look blank. What can he possibly mean? We stand in silence. Paul suggests that I might use the bike for long rides in the country, alternatively to dash into town. Neither of these ideas had occurred to me before. I admit that I very much doubt that I will use the bike ever again after I have raised £10,000. He looks disappointed and tells me that I might love cycling. “Yes, and pigs might fly”, I think to myself, but don’t say this to him.
Paul suggests I try the bike out in one of the nearby streets to see how it feels. I tell him that the prospect is too terrifying for words. He tells me I will have to get on it some time. This is obvious, even to me, but I see no point in risking my life just yet. This will have to be something I work up to, slowly.
“In that case, this Specialized Vita Sport Women’s Hybrid Bike at £499.99 is perfect for you”, Paul says. I don’t want to be outdone by Mrs B who has a sparkly low cut black number and ask about her Specialized Vita Elite Women's Hybrid Bike at £649.99. Paul looks uncomfortable for a minute then tells me that Mrs B’s a top model, and the bike he has chosen for me will do just fine. This is the first time I have been in a shop when I have been prepared (in order to keep up with the B’s) to buy a more expensive item, and not been encouraged to do so. Then again I am not familiar with bicycle shops. Paul tells me the bike he has chosen for me is in fact reduced by 15% because it is a 2009 model. I wonder whether he is pulling my leg – a 2009 model? How can one tell? It has no giveaway number plate to date it and looks exactly the same as a 2010 model to me – is there a fashion in bikes? Will I look ridiculous in my last season’s bike? Will the Beautiful People, who won’t have to share a berth as they can each raise £10,000 without breaking sweat, all have Vita Elites rather than Vita Sports? Will they all have 2010 models?
I ask Paul what else I will have to buy. Will I need special shoes? He thinks not. I am disappointed and ask again. “Not yet” he says. This sounds more promising. I like shoes. What else? He takes me to the helmets. I tell him that I want one which won’t ruin my hair. Paul looks completely bemused. I try to explain to him about ‘helmet hair’, but don’t think he gets it. I start to wonder whether Paul does in fact know all about women. He suggests I buy the cheapest version. Again I look disappointed and point to others. He tells me that the helmet he has chosen for me is also made by Specialized and will match by bike. I feel slightly re-assured.
“What else?” Paul tells me I will need gloves. So that I don’t get calluses from the reins or handles or whatever they are called. Unbelievable. Calluses! He suggests I buy two pairs, one thickish for now and then a summer pair. He meets no opposition at this multiple purchase.
“What else?” Paul tells me those are the essentials. I now realise that Paul may know about bicycles but that he knows nothing at all about women and shopping. “What about a yellow jacket thing?” Paul takes me to some very expensive jackets in luminous lime. I decide that I don’t want to spend a lot on a cycling jacket at Evans in case there are more expensive designer models in and about Bond Street – for all I know Donna Karan or DKNY may have just the ticket. I point to a vest in yellow and orange with reflective bits. “But someone might take you for a navvy in that”, he says. I look him in the eye. “Do you think anyone would take ME for a navvy? I ask. He thinks for a moment, then says, “I suppose not”. “I suppose not”, rings in my ears. I wonder whether the only thing which stands between me and a navvy is my fashion-victim wardrobe. If so, what better reason to go on buying designer ensembles.
“More!” Paul says I could buy a lock which could be fitted to the bike and a water bottle. “Great” I think “accessories”.
Paul says he will fit the lock and the bottle to the bike and strip it down (for a safety check?!), put the seat to the right height and that I can collect it shortly. I have arranged to see my Skinny Friend for lunch at 202 and tell Paul that I will be back for the bike when all is done.
What of the Phillimore Firecracker? Well, there isn’t a bike big enough for her, so she orders one. She buys a pair of fingerless gloves she will wear for golf and appoints Matt to be the second person on her team, subject to him being around in September and not cycling round the world/finishing his masters/she knows all about his life ….
After lunch I am back to collect the bike. The seat still looks very very high. I buy a spanner-thing to be able to lower it, even though Paul tells me this is a cardinal sin. I realise that short of walking the bike back under the horrid underpass near Paddy via Venice there is no way of getting it home. I simply can’t ride it (too scared, too many roundabouts, seat too high), my car is in the knackers’ yard and the bike is too big to get into a cab. What to do? Reader, I texted Mr Big to tell him my bike was ready for collection and sauntered off.
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