Whatever that means
Went the rear tyre. The sort of noise that you know isn’t an ordinary puncture. More of an explosion. So there’s the weary standing at the side of the road getting your hands cold and manky with oil and road crud as you get the tyre off, yank the tube out, find the hole in the tyre and cover it, fit the new tube and inflate it. All well. Set off a little less confident than you were before, worried that you now have no spare tubes and wondering if the patch will hold. A mile later, bang! whoooosh! and a walk to Dalmeny station to get the, thankfully not too busy, train to work. Discover at lunchtime that there were two holes, worn through, on the tyre. Like one of those cartoon head lumps, patching one only transferred all the pressure to the other.
And to bookend such a fine start to the day I get an email immediately followed up with a phone call at 5.55pm that lasted just long enough to miss the train.
Still, instead it was a pleasant ride home taking the slightly longer, rougher coastal route.