Everything has just gone pear shaped. I hit the ground with an emphatic thud. My legs float skywards and I can the clouds passing my boots. My mountain bike is laying on the track a few feet away, its wheels still spinning as though in some vain attempt to escape. I try to get up but my rucksack pulls me back down to the ground and, if all this wasn’t bad enough, I’m being laughed at by dogs. A few moments ago cycled past some terriers who barked at me through the bars of their kennels. As I rode away they went quiet but, since I hit the ground they’ve been making quite a noise, more like yelps than barks now, the unmistakable sound of canine laughter. I’ve made their day.
I collapse backwards under the weight of my sack once more, as I look up skyward, I think to myself, this must be where the expression, “it all went tits up,” comes from.
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