chewing grit as autumn colour morphs into flat white and all the bad times swing by just to say hello again. cleaning grit out of the bikes, the bath, the house and the clothes in an endless cycle of laundry, hoovering and scrubbing. picking grit out of my eyes at the end of every day. drowning out the soul-crushing sound of the bikes eroding into piles of gently squeaking scrap with it.
am i the only person on the planet who can't wait for january?