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So... I went out for a ride this morning. I knew last night that it'd be a cold one, so I got everything organised ahead of time, so I wouldn't be able to pike because it's all too hard etc. So I got up at 0445, sat in front of the heater, sat my clothes in front of the heater, shivered, and donned my winter cycling gear: undies, short-sleeved jersey, arm warmers, long-sleeved jersey, wind-breaker vest, wooly gloves, knicks, shorts, leg warmers with the shorts tucked in, bootees, neck roll and yellow-tinted glasses.

AND I WAS STILL BLOODY COLD!!!!!!!!!! About 10 metres into the ride, my fingers (encased in the magical, special, wind-resistant, cold-resistant wooly gloves) started crying from the pain of the cold. HTFU, I told myself, and kept riding. About 200m down the road, I went down a hill. Oh, the cold. The wind. The agony. I kept riding. My fingers were screaming blue bloody murder at me at the 1Km mark. I pressed on for another 500m before my fingers declared they would carry out a mutiny if I didn't take them home straight away. I took their threat seriously, and turned back. The climb near my house was done standing, in third gear. Let's just say I was motivated to get home!!! By the time I got home, I couldn't use my hands as they'd frozen over. I fumbled for my keys and let myself in. Thank god the dog had gone back to bed because I wouldn't have been able to deal with him carrying on. So here I sit, still in my cycling attire, typing instead of riding. At least I can feel my fingers now!