Fate

Hi everyone.

Fate is a funny thing in this universe of ours and whilst it has dealt me "ass to mouth syndrome", I have met the most interesting person in this small hospital in Amsterdam. Let me type it out for you. I'm sitting in the café minding my own business, reading the latest Men’s Journal magazine. Sitting on the table directly opposite and slightly to the left of me just happens to be the great Norwegian coach Knut Louse (pronounced 'loose'). He has recognized me and kindly invited me to test out his group in Norway after my recovery.

I know he has coached some cyclists in the past and also has a sports science degree so I have no doubt he will help me on my cause towards the 2012 Inter-world’s. 

I will leave Amsterdam on Sunday morning so that gives me some time to do some sightseeing. I hear Amsterdam is famous for its homely cafés and window shopping, so I will no doubt go in search for the best local coffee and a souvenir for my sister Melia this afternoon.

Yesterday Dad was called into work for a few weeks so he has taken the balloon to company headquarters in Zurich. This means I will have to find my own way to Norway. Dad is the CEO of a large steel company who specialize in the small hard sphere’s that, when rolled, dispense oil based ink from ballpoint pens. If it wasn’t for him and his company a ‘ballpoint pen’ would simply be called a ‘pen’.

Being the son of a ballpoint pen sphere maker has its perks. Obviously I receive many top of the line pens from company’s dad supplies his 0.7mm balls too. Company’s like Parker, Waterman and Montblanc. I’ve luckily never had to use the, well, let’s face it, ‘poor people pens’ that are tied up at the bank. Quite frankly I don’t know who would want to steal one of those grubby pens anyway. I will always personally carry my trusty Montblanc because you never know when it will be needed.

Just the other day I was approached by a young fan for a signature, he would have only been 11 or 12 years old but before I could grab my Montblanc he persisted to thrust his half chewn school pen in my face. He was obviously an orphan so I humored him and used it. Never in my life have I endured such a poor writing experience. Luckily it was only a short note. I was soon on my way stroking the shaft of my Montblanc in my pocket to get the ‘bad taste out of my mouth’. To many onlookers this stroking may have looked rather odd having just signed an autograph for a young boy, but I assure you it was the shaft of my Montblanc.

Well, I’m off to meet a man by the name of Bert who is also traveling to Norway. He might have a spare seat that I can occupy for a small fee no doubt. From what I’ve heard he seems like a very interesting fellow. People have told me he has a family of birds that live in his beard. This is something I have to see for myself.

Train hard,

Fig