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New Year, no bike…

New Year, no bike…

So New Years’ Eve, I bike over to a friends’ house to see in the New Year. And then bike home in the small hours of 2004, chain my bike up to the drainpipe at 2am-ish and leave it there.

10am, Jan 1 2004: I get up, leave the house. And find no bike. The drainpipe has been pushed out of the way, and the locked bike has gone. Disappeared. Mind you, it could be worse – Iain got carjacked on New Years Day.

This is the second time my bloody bike has disappeared from my house – the first time around, it literally disappeared from the communal hallway. And prior to that, I came home one day to find someone trying to chisle away the lock on my bike that was chained to a lamppost. And being the Guardian washy liberal-left dude that I am, the best bit of anger I could muster up was “What the f**k do you think you’re doing to my bike?”.

Where on earth do I have to lock a bike in Cardiff to keep it secure? And it’s not as if it’s a gorgeous speedy bike – it’s just a cheap £50 one.

it’s just one of the things that annoy me about Cardiff – the petty crime situation. London may have been dirty, smelly, full of bored snobby commuters but at least there wasn’t any crime I experienced, I knew my way around and there was a sense of being alive, of being somewhere fantastic on the streets. Cardiff is clean (except on a Friday or Saturday night), the people are friendly and I have a fantastic (in comparison to London) social life. But it’s dull and people steal bikes for no reason whatsoever. Grrr.

There is of course the argument that your life is as dull as you make it. So whoops.

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