Pete Hindle

I can just about manage to blow my nose regularly. This sucks.

I’ve returned from my Christmas break, back to ‘my’ house. Those apostrophes are there because really, it’s not my house. It’s the house of Terry Kirkham, the landlord. The house I had before that belonged to Mr Agawhal. The one before that?  Same deal, different name. This isn’t the Englishman’s grouse against renting. I believe [...]

My flatmate Alan has been having a rough time with his bicycles recently. After I convinced him that cycling was a good way of getting around, he got his bike stolen. Our friend, Topsy, then lent him a replacement which turned out to be one of Matt Seaton’s bicycle-shaped objects. But no more! I went [...]

So, last Thursday I found myself rolling around the floor near Shieldfield after coming off my bike. It was icy, and some learner driver was parked in the way, and it had nothing to do with the five pints that I’d had the night before. Thankfully, I was riding very slowly, so I only really [...]

It’s cold outside. Riding home tonight, one of my fingertips on my right hand went numb, and when I stopped at the lights my knees were shaking. Over in the West End, the salt hasn’t been put down on the streets, let alone the cyclepaths, and ice is forming.

Today was the recycling day, and as I nipped into the back alley to grab the recycling box, the wind blew the gates shut behind me. Shit. I was wearing my pyjamas and slippers, standing in the street, at midday in December. I realised I didn’t have my keys or my phone. And that I’d [...]

Last night, I rode through the streets of Newcastle with about fifty other cyclists. This was part of the Star and Shadow’s Cycling Weekend, where they had organised a Critical Mass. A Critical Mass is part of the Reclaim-the-Streets style of social protest, where activities happen in public places as a reaction against the ‘hemmed-in’ [...]