Theodore Bloviu
I am generating a new thread because I do not wish to
pollute Mr Bob141's 'My first commute to London' discussion
with further off-topic ramblings. I note that the former Mrs
Theodore Blovius suffers from no such embarrassment (and has
inexplicably popped up elsewhere as well). She has always
been strong-willed and outspoken, traits which are admirable
in a woman but can be tedious in a wife.
It behooves me to clear up a few misconceptions forwarded by
Gertrude into the public domain. No doubt her intentions
were sincere, but I have a very low tolerance for the
viewing of history through 'rose-tinted Oakleys':
We did not in fact make our introductions at a hospital
after she caught her skirts in the chain of a velocipede.
What romantic twaddle! We met instead at Covent Garden,
where she was selling flowers to augment the meagre income
generated by her father's weasel-handicapping business.
(Careful readers will note that already I have corrected
several curious fictions, including Gertrude's perplexing
assertion that she was seldom exposed to the 'culture' to be
found north of the river.)
I happened to be dining that night with a friend, Colonel
Pennyfarthing, who for reasons known only to himself wagered
that I could not teach the girl to ride a bicycle. Thinking
this to be a coarse metaphor I readily agreed, and was
already making the mental journey to a local merchant who
stocks sheepsgut when it suddenly occurred to me that the
Colonel was to be taken at his word: Could I teach this poor
thing to balance herself on two wheels with concomitant self-
propulsion? Forthwith I brought her to my lodgings to begin
the education.
It was not easy; somewhat like attempting to teach an otter
to appreciate Mendelsohn. Still, she was game, and hardly
seemed to notice the collection of bruises which soon
appeared on her knees. It took a great good while to achieve
her first success: the ability to balance which most even
mildly symmetrical people take for granted. (Unfortunately
Gertrude has received as part of her genetic heritage a rare
condition which predisposes the organs on one side of her
body to accumulate water and thus weight, setting her more
or less permanently off-kilter. It's an odd thing to see and
even odder to sleep next to, as I was to discover during our
married life, when nights were filled with the not
unmelodious tinkling of her internal fluids 'evening out'.)
We soon solved this problem - which alternated sides
according to a mysterious internal physiological schedule I
will not go into here - by a complicated system of weights,
which left her with the task of learning to pedal.
Alas, for a woman this simple procedure does not come as
easily as it does for a man. Merely observe and you shall
see for yourself the almost majestic inability of the
'weaker vessel' to adapt her musculature to the required
habits of motion and countermotion. I persevered. Tears
were shed. I offered carrots and sticks with each turn of
the cranks. Slowly, gradually, we achieved success. First
10 feet; then a block; then cross-town forays to Soho for
more carrots and sticks. I knew that when she began
pestering me to affix a bell to her handlebars to warn
other road users of her confident passage that I had won
Pennyfarthing's wager.
I then had other business to attend to involving the
distribution of certain patent-pending gynecological
devices, which unfortunately took me away from my digs for
some time. When I returned my pupil had vanished. The
housekeeper tartly informed me that she was attempting the
London to Brighten NOT Hove run. Shortly thereafter she
turned up at my door, sadder but incrementally wiser. She
had got as far as Lewisham and called on mater and pater,
eager to show off her new talents. It seems they did not
recognise their own daughter in lycra; and she was no longer
welcome in her old haunts, either.
It was then that I realised that this was the woman for me.
Only later did it transpire that it wasn't - but that's
another story.
Theodore Blovius (esq.)
pollute Mr Bob141's 'My first commute to London' discussion
with further off-topic ramblings. I note that the former Mrs
Theodore Blovius suffers from no such embarrassment (and has
inexplicably popped up elsewhere as well). She has always
been strong-willed and outspoken, traits which are admirable
in a woman but can be tedious in a wife.
It behooves me to clear up a few misconceptions forwarded by
Gertrude into the public domain. No doubt her intentions
were sincere, but I have a very low tolerance for the
viewing of history through 'rose-tinted Oakleys':
We did not in fact make our introductions at a hospital
after she caught her skirts in the chain of a velocipede.
What romantic twaddle! We met instead at Covent Garden,
where she was selling flowers to augment the meagre income
generated by her father's weasel-handicapping business.
(Careful readers will note that already I have corrected
several curious fictions, including Gertrude's perplexing
assertion that she was seldom exposed to the 'culture' to be
found north of the river.)
I happened to be dining that night with a friend, Colonel
Pennyfarthing, who for reasons known only to himself wagered
that I could not teach the girl to ride a bicycle. Thinking
this to be a coarse metaphor I readily agreed, and was
already making the mental journey to a local merchant who
stocks sheepsgut when it suddenly occurred to me that the
Colonel was to be taken at his word: Could I teach this poor
thing to balance herself on two wheels with concomitant self-
propulsion? Forthwith I brought her to my lodgings to begin
the education.
It was not easy; somewhat like attempting to teach an otter
to appreciate Mendelsohn. Still, she was game, and hardly
seemed to notice the collection of bruises which soon
appeared on her knees. It took a great good while to achieve
her first success: the ability to balance which most even
mildly symmetrical people take for granted. (Unfortunately
Gertrude has received as part of her genetic heritage a rare
condition which predisposes the organs on one side of her
body to accumulate water and thus weight, setting her more
or less permanently off-kilter. It's an odd thing to see and
even odder to sleep next to, as I was to discover during our
married life, when nights were filled with the not
unmelodious tinkling of her internal fluids 'evening out'.)
We soon solved this problem - which alternated sides
according to a mysterious internal physiological schedule I
will not go into here - by a complicated system of weights,
which left her with the task of learning to pedal.
Alas, for a woman this simple procedure does not come as
easily as it does for a man. Merely observe and you shall
see for yourself the almost majestic inability of the
'weaker vessel' to adapt her musculature to the required
habits of motion and countermotion. I persevered. Tears
were shed. I offered carrots and sticks with each turn of
the cranks. Slowly, gradually, we achieved success. First
10 feet; then a block; then cross-town forays to Soho for
more carrots and sticks. I knew that when she began
pestering me to affix a bell to her handlebars to warn
other road users of her confident passage that I had won
Pennyfarthing's wager.
I then had other business to attend to involving the
distribution of certain patent-pending gynecological
devices, which unfortunately took me away from my digs for
some time. When I returned my pupil had vanished. The
housekeeper tartly informed me that she was attempting the
London to Brighten NOT Hove run. Shortly thereafter she
turned up at my door, sadder but incrementally wiser. She
had got as far as Lewisham and called on mater and pater,
eager to show off her new talents. It seems they did not
recognise their own daughter in lycra; and she was no longer
welcome in her old haunts, either.
It was then that I realised that this was the woman for me.
Only later did it transpire that it wasn't - but that's
another story.
Theodore Blovius (esq.)
