I Blame Bradley Wiggins - the MAMIL

The husband who has reached that ripe old age and likes to fill his lycra and the Surrey hills with the Help of Kingston Borough Council. Inspired of course by one man.....

My missus is quite angry, she thinks I've gone quite mad,

Since Sir Bradley won the tour you see, cycling’s been me fad.

So I worship Bradley Wiggins, where's the harm in that?

And I love donning the Lycra she says that I look like a prat.

Though the outfit isn't flattering, can't hide my mid-life spread,

I'm trying to reduce my paunch a bit before I end up dead.

Life revolves around my bicycle, use Kingston’s cycle paths.

No more need for motor cars, now see how I laugh!

She doesn't understand my pain, she knows not of my plight.

It’s called a mid-life crisis, all I want’s to ride my bike.

She needs to count her chickens, don't want a new Thai bride,

All I wants to mount my bike and just go out and ride!

It's a crisis, it's my mid-life, it's austerity

I've taken to the cycling which is much more fun for free.

With the blue skies and the scenery in those Surrey Hills,

Means getting lots of exercise and cutting down on pills.

So Sir Bradley, I am trying, to stay within your wake,

The mutterings of my lady wife, how much can I take?

I'll follow how you're doing in the time trial and the tours

And continue with me cycling risking wrath of her indoors.

And now Kingston Council have banned cars from the road

I can cycle up the Portsmouth Road to my home abode

People think I’m crazy they’re putting up their banners

But it really isn’t me that’s mad. It’s Kingston Borough’s Town Planners!

I Blame Bradley Wiggins - the poor long suffering, caring wife

A man reaches an age where sore feet stop him from pounding the streets, and the allure of lycra becomes too much. Oh yes and the inspiration of 1 man and the worries it causes his long suffering wife...

In 2012 my husband changed, the thought just makes me wince,
He's still a loving husband, but has been strange ever since
And if I cast my mind back to that year in July,
I recollect it started with a scream and cheerful cry
When I luked into the lounge to see the cause of the commotion,
He was staring at the telly with a look of pouels devotion;
The screen shone a bright yellow, like my kitchen top formica,
There was a man on bike with side-burns wearing figure hugging Lycra.
You see Bradley, he had triumphed, in the cycling Tour de France
Since then you see my husband's, been in this sort of trance.

Then in early August, things started to get worse
When watching the Olympics, I think that was the curse.
It wasn't the flag waving or cheering any British folks,
It happened at the cycling and was caused by this one bloke.

Well the affect that it has had on him, well he hasn't been the same;
The only thing I think of that Bradley is to blame,
You see he started talking language, that I don't understand
Of hubs, derailleur, gear sets, don't think it's under hand
He garbled about cadence and the peleton
He chuntered in this language, what was my fella on?

His bike thats what me fella's on, cycling everywhere
I don't mind when he is on it, but it's that extra facial hair
And the thing that really worries me and causes heads to turn
Is the style of his new clothing along with those sideburns;
It's the fact he wears tight lycra, oh my god it's such a site.
If only he would wear it when he's riding on his bike.

When Bradley missed the tour last year, I thought I michal just get him back
He'd forget about the lycra and wear his Marks and Spencers slacks
But it seems my wishful thinking, well it happened just too soon
He's now got an obsession with another bloke called Froome
And any chance of him returning,  well there definitely aint
He gallivants in his lycra and says call me Geraint!