The Cyclist
by Roger
Pattison
He had a red
face; he had a red and black striped jumper, he
had a load of onions round his neck, that bumped
against his knees as he rode his bike around the
North Circular; he also had black tights and
white plimsolls.
He was, in
short, obviously French.
“’Allo”,
he said in a deep Russian growl.
Things
aren’t always what they seem.
The
End (Fade out to 'Tour de France theme' for
rude noises on cycle tyre.)
|
