Out of pocket for a cool, new bicycle? NO-BIKING is the perfect remedy to all your financial needs.
Heathcliff and No-biking: the latest craze to hit Australia
The old cycle-round-the-world ambition has got off to a slow start due to lack of funds for a bike. However, using my skills of pragmatics, intellectual versatility and extreme fitness, I have arrived at a cunning solution to my all my problems, the ingeniousnous of which will transform the world of cycling forever.
People, I present to you the concept of NO-BIKING.
All the fun of biking at no cost whatsoever! Tired of wasting your breath on punctures? Bored of replacing inner tubes? Outraged at petty helmet laws? Now all your troubles are at an end: no-biking is THE low maintenance alternative to conventional biking practice.
Examine the pictoral evidence if you want further proof of NO-BIKING’s brilliance. Don’t those no-bikers look happy? Amy struggled to keep her balance on a regular bike, but with casual no-biking she succeeds where she has always before failed and retains her poise whilst covering ground in a methodical and highly dignified fashion!
In this materialist world of endless production, consumption and accumulation, NO-BIKING encourages us to break free from our mind-forged manacles and invest in an alternative future predicated on resourcefulness, adaptability and the power of the human imagination!
Choose to live your life Zen! Choose the NO-BIKING way of life. I’ve made the switch. Will you?
NO-BIKING IN ACTION
Local wildlife
View from a tram
Ballarat local
Heathcliff Resurrected
Had a fairly traumatic departure from Heathrow. I drove my dear father to the airport with the understanding that he would drive the Porsche home and care for it until my return. I left him tear-stricken at Customs and then continued my solitary path onwards.
I was trying to balance three enormous bags of hand-luggage around me whilst waiting for my departure gate to show when I heard a heart-stopping announcement:
“HEATHCLIFF, travelling to Melbourne, to the security desk. Heathcliff, travelling to Melbourne.”
Bollocks, I thought. They’ve found the rabbit fur. I headed for the security desk and approached the sleepy guard behind it.
“I’m Heathcliff. I just heard my tannoy call-out.”
The guard looked baffled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I frowned and straightened my back. “The airport wide tannoy announcement that just asked “Heathcliff, travelling to Melbourne” to report to the security desk. I’m Heathcliff, this is the security desk, so tell me what’s going on,” I modulated my tone, “please.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, don’t know about any call-out.”
I appealed to a passer-by. “Excuse me, the extremely loud tannoy announcement for Heathcliff, you heard it didn’t you?” The passer-by shook her head and moved on. “Fine, I want to talk to the tannoy people.”
“That’s not how it works here, love.”
I was irate, and a tad concerned I was hearing things. I thanked the guard in chilling terms for all his help and moved off to find my airline desk. On my way I passed the Customs check-in once again, so just to be safe I hollered, “I’M HEATHCLIFF.” Bemusement rather than recognition followed my admission. Shaking my head at the general incompetence of these security officials, I moved on.
I reached the airline desk.
“That’s a very sad face you’re wearing,” patronised the desk official.
“I’m attempting to respond to the tannoy call-out requesting “Heathcliff travelling to Melbourne” to report to security. Do you know anything about it?”
“Sorry love, try the gate staff.”
Entirely convinced by now that I was hallucinating and that all early morning flights should be made illegal on grounds of ensuing mental ill health, I trekked to my gate.
“I received a tannoy call-out for Heathcliff…”
“Oh yeah, we’ve got your dad on the phone – he can’t start your car.” He handed me the line.
“Hi dad, did you switch off the immobiliser?”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah, you should probably try that.”
“Ok, daughter, safe flight.”
At least I wasn’t hallucinating.
After all the stress of rushing around panicking about my sanity and the risk I supposedly posed to security, I needed a drink. Disgusted by the extortionate price of £1.60 for a bottle of water, I nonetheless paid the slot machine and extracted my much needed refreshment.
Shortly afterwards, I struggled through my gate bearing my three full-to-bursting items of hand-luggage and found my window seat on the plane. I was just about to sit down when I realised that I had misplaced my extortionately priced water.
“Noooooo!!!”
“Miss, where are you going? You can’t leave the plane once you’ve boarded!”
“I’m sorry, I’ve dropped something really valuable – I don’t care what you say I’m going back for it!” I charged off the plane, followed by air hostess, gate staff and security staff as I scouted the waiting lounge for my missing water.
Ten minutes later I had been practically man-handled back onto the plane, where I saw the water-bottle that had caused all the fuss lying casually in the aisle next to my seat.
The drama of my exodus abated until my first change-over when I arrived back onto the aircraft to find a new passenger in my seat. My territorial instincts went into immediate overdrive. To heighten the offence, the grossly overweight smell-bag who had replaced me had decanted all my possessions from my window seat onto the seat adjacent to it.
“Excuse me, that’s my seat,” I loudly proclaimed.
The cunning bugger pretended not to understand me.
“Could you move, please?”
The guy held up his boarding pass.
“That just proves you’re in the wrong seat, you fool!” My raised voice was beginning to attract attention.
The man, clearly sensing my indomitable nature, became flustered and finally rose. I barged past before he had a chance to change his mind and repossessed my territory. At last I napped, long and dreamlessly.
I awoke to a sharp stabbing pain followed by a tremendous itching in my lower leg. I knew in that horrific moment that I’d been bitten and I was going down unless I received help soon.
Due to a blend of luck and extreme cunning, I was first to disembark (having stowed my hand-luggage in the front compartment by the exit door) and first through Customs as my check-in luggage also came out first. Amy and Julian met me with tears of happiness brimming in their eyes. Once I had disengaged myself from their frantic welcome, I was able to approach matters of business.
“I’ve taken a hit! Some killer-massive mosquito struck me in the leg! I need antihistamine pronto!!!”
White-faced and trembling in mute sympathy, Julian slowly withdrew a small, green tube of cream, marked with a toxic warning, from his inside pocket. Apprehensively, he passed it over.
“I carry this bite cream for EXTREME emergencies! It’s prescription only and the directions warn TO APPLY SPARINGLY. It’s seriously strong stuff. It could do more damage than good if you go overboard on its application…” His eyes widened.
“Thanks, Julian. I’m just going to have to take that risk.”
Once in the car I crashed out. Perhaps this had something to do with Julian’s painstaking lecture on Australia’s pressing sociological issues. Perhaps not. At some point during my loss of consciousness a pair of arms lifted me and laid me gently down in bed. Much later concerned voices penetrated my sleep and I experienced a full return to consciousness. I lay there with my eyes closed, getting my bearings.
“It’s 2.30pm and she’s still not up! Do you think she’s dead?”
“My god! She could be! What have we done?”
“You should never have given her that cream!”
“I said APPLY SPARINGLY! APPLY SPARINGLY! Oh, what have I done?”
“NOOOOOOOOOO! HEATHCLIFF!”
I opened my eyes and put them out of their misery.
“YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! HEATHCLIFF!”
Newly resurrected, I thus rose to enjoy my first day in Australia.
Heathcliff: dressed to till
Julian and Amy in characteristic poses
Heathcliff and Seedy Shakespeare
Shakespeare’s play titles are a tired formula. Originally designed to grab attention and excite curiosity, the most energetic reaction they are likely to procure in today’s modern climate is a yawn and a stretch.
My solution: seedy Shakespeare titles to titillate the senses and reignite our human interest.
The Merchant of Venice - The Merchant of Penis
A Midsummer Night’s Dream - A Midbummer Night’s Scream
Hamlet - Homo-to-Let
Anthony and Cleopatra - Anthony and Clitopatra
Cymbeline - Rimbeline
As You Like It - As Goo Wipe It
Much Ado About Nothing - Much A-goo About Fluffing
All’s Well that Ends Well - All’s Swell that Bends Swell
King Lear - King Rear
King Henry IV Part 1 - King Henry IV Fart 1
King Henry IV Part 2 - King Henry IV Fart 2
Timon of Athens - Tim moan of Athens
Othello - Brothelo
Macbeth - McBreasts
Measure for Measure - Leather for Measure
Romeo and Juliet - Romeo and Toilette
King John - King Thong
The Taming of the Shrew - The Timing of the Screw
The Tempest - The Temptress
Winter’s Tale - Fingers’ Tale
King Richard III - King Bitch-hard III
Titus Andronicus - Tight-arse Androgynous
Twelfth Night - Stealth Delight
The Merry Wives of Windsor - The Big Tit Wives of Windsor
Coriolanus - Corio-anus
Don’t tell me you wouldn’t go to see those plays.
