The blue tandem split as we were cycling through Cumbria, just moments after I mentioned to TPR that it would be interesting to call in on locations along the route that were associated with my Lancastrian ancestors.
TPR didn’t appear to have noticed that we were no longer connected and, despite my calls, continued to pedal at high speed into the far distance until he was nothing but a speck on the horizon.
Four days later I eventually caught up with him in a Lake District holiday resort. He towered above me in his blue professional cycling outfit, muscles bulging through the lycra.
TPR admitted that he had heard my cries when the tandem had first split, but had ignored them because he did not want his holiday ruined with nostalgic trips to sites of dead relatives. So that was the reason why he sped off – with all our cash and the car keys.
I suspected that he had been up to no good in the time since I last saw him. He soon confirmed my fears. He’d enjoyed liaisons with four women so far, yet he would not reveal whether or not he had paid for any of their services.
Dreamaticus 