I would never buy a bright pink bike. Even though there’s probably feminists and certainly ‘trans-activists’ lining up right now to accuse me of some kind of ‘rape!’ just for saying that. But I would ride on one. At least the lorries might see the fucking thing. But I didn’t buy it. It’s currently one of a kind. The (soon to be) first electric bike rental in London. And the rental company was bought by Uber so I was brung one to play with. All I had to do was tell the bike’s security system that my name was ‘Moh’ and it let me ride. Uber rule.

And I’ve never previously ridden an electric bike, but it is fun. And more importantly… or possibly more problematical from an obesity/exercise perspective, it is totally effortless. In a wonderful, surprisingly powerful kind’a way. You just touch the pedals, pretending that you want to, errr, pedal, and it just zooms off from under you. You keep up some nominal pretence at pedalling and it just does all the hard work for you. You appear to have legs of steel whereas in fact the bike’s battery (good for 20 hours apparently, and topped up by a weeny solar panel on the back, just to appease the Greens and other non-binaries) just does all the work. And more. Because its fast. Basically its a motor-bike without an exhaust pipe. And consequently without the need for all that regulation shit and helmet rubbish and licensing nonsense.

Available early next year apparently for just a few quid a trip, probably. Wonderful.

Football is all about schadenfreude. It’s about really enjoying the fate, misfortune and tragedy of all the teams that you don’t exactly ‘not like’ but just wish bad things upon. Which is essentially all of them other than your own.

So when the front page of the Times runs a piece about Abramovich’s ‘money laundering and crime links’, its not only funny but also possibly explains why he’s never sued me (he is a very litigious person generally) for making precisely those accusations numerous times over the years of his reign. Also because he doesn’t know I exist, perhaps. Nice to be validated.

And best of all, we all love to see Manchester United lose and Morinho squirm. Both of which occurred simultaneously last night as the reds crashed out of the Meaningless Cup to Derby County. But only after yet another public spat between Jose and Paul Pogba. The French ‘superstar’ (when it suits him) blamed the manager for inhibiting the team when they failed to beat Wolves on Saturday. Everyone else pretty much blamed Pogba for losing the ball and not making any efforts to win it back. Plus ca change. So Jose said that he would never make Pogba the captain; he’s unworthy, not for playing in his lacklustre manner but for speaking to the press about such things. Just like, errrr, his, errrr, manager does all the time. But such nonsense destabilises a team, upsets the players, causes aggro in the dressing room. Pogba’s a stupid player, knows no better. Morinho is not stupid, possibly why he was never really ‘a player’, and should know better. If nothing else but from his vast experience of fucking things up by attacking his own players publicly.

Frank Lampard is 57.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx