Gerry Attrick
Lincolnshire Mountain Rescue Consultant
Your very own Attrick has finally finished his stint as a wage slave and retired w.e.f. yesterday. No more will he have to rise from his slumber at 0430 hrs to toil in the winter chill and precipitation. Neither will he have to bend his weary bones and seek whatever shelter may present from the ruthless east winds of Lincolnshire. The last few weeks have been a trial longer than the equivalent in working years, but now the b****rs have to pay him to cycle, and he intends to be around for many, many years to come in order that he recoups in pension greater than that he gave whilst atoil on this fair land.
In addition, he intends to pedal his way around said fair land in far greater stints than of yore, and yea visit many hostelries so far prohibited unto him owing to the curse of "driving licence". And when finally Old Attrick has cycled his alloted distance and fetches up at the gates preserved by St. Peter, he will say unto that being "giz a croggie inside mate, I'm a bit boogered". And upon arrival at that final place of peace and Colnagos, he will find and yea quaff many a pint of Tom Wood's best bitter in front of ye blazing log fire. (Mind you, I hope to swallow a few more before then at the local).
In addition, he intends to pedal his way around said fair land in far greater stints than of yore, and yea visit many hostelries so far prohibited unto him owing to the curse of "driving licence". And when finally Old Attrick has cycled his alloted distance and fetches up at the gates preserved by St. Peter, he will say unto that being "giz a croggie inside mate, I'm a bit boogered". And upon arrival at that final place of peace and Colnagos, he will find and yea quaff many a pint of Tom Wood's best bitter in front of ye blazing log fire. (Mind you, I hope to swallow a few more before then at the local).
