Pucker Playlist: June 2014

A collection of songs I’ve found myself listening to. I don’t know if my cup has been half empty recently or whether I even have one anymore but regardless, these songs have been circulating. None are particularly new, all are particularly good.

1. Toro y Moi – Say That

Video above, I mean, that dance in the chorus right? Great glasses bro.

2. G-Easy – Far Alone (Feat. E-40 & Jay Ant)

So fucking ghetto innit.

3.  Chet Faker – Talk is Cheap (Ta-ku Remix)

You know when you call your girlfriend fat and you can just hear the last words tumble out of your mouth and everything slows down to almost nothing and it is everything you can do to hope that the world will open up and engulf you? That.

4. Funkineven & Fatima – Phone Line

Wassup girl.

5. Sylvan Esso – Hey Mami

I remember kissing a danish girl in my car so long ago who was so incredibly beautiful she made my stomach ache. We spoke for so long and I felt like I hand’t been closer to anyone for the longest time. All I wanted to do was kiss her and feel her against me. In the end I reached across and kissed her fully expecting my world to implode. It turned out to be one of the worst kisses I have ever been involved in.

6. The Slackers – Alone Again

Sometimes being alone isn’t so bad. For three blithe minutes, this song certainly thinks so.

7. The Notorious BIG – Ten Crack Commandments

I spoke to some guy about East coast and West Coast and he spoke at length as to why Biggie was inferior to Pac. I nodded and listened and let him be. What a fucking twat.

8. Jaw Jam – Tha One I See In My Fantasies When Im Dreaming (Mix II)

Old school garage that’s not old school garage. You know what I mean right? Can’t find the youtube link for this. Soundcloud it, you wankers.

9. How to Dress Well – Repeat Pleasure

I think this is a trilogy? I mean, what’s the fucking point. Why not just write another song? It’s not a fucking film. You cunts.

10. D’Angelo – Spanish Joint (Osage Remix)

Afrobeat is one of the best things to have happened to music. I guess I don’t know whether this is afrobeat but the statement still stands.

Day 19: Fin (Le Jog)


Brilliantine Mortality (It’s a boy)

First of all: we are exhausted. Waking up at 0605 as hazy sunlight floods into the living room, I was sleeping as my mind wandered back over the trip so far. 15 days on a bike. One on a train to Thurso. One in Glasgow. Two in Pontypridd. It has been almost 3 weeks that we have been consumed with the task of cycling the length of the country. Last night saw us sat in a first floor flat overlooking Perranporth beach eating risotto generously prepared by an old friend of Aldercy Manning and walking back through pitch black unravelling country roads to bed down in a beautiful cottage owned by another friend. Once again we are at risk of taking the exceptional hospitality we have seen throughout Scotland, the North of England, South Wales and now the South West for granted. It really would not have been possible for us to get this far without the encouragement and belief of a few key people. You know who you are (TEAM CHAINLUBE FOR LIFE).


As I lie there looking to the days and months ahead, I am filled with a strange anxiety. It has been 19 days of heaving our heavy limbs out of bed, to climb back onto our bicycles and push on relentlessly towards our new destination. Now that we are closing in on Land’s End – I wonder what happens the morning after we arrive, and the morning after that. The joy and the relief of reaching our goal is twinned with a melancholic nostalgia. Luckily Reuben Merriweather and Lucius Harvey soon appear, dog walked and begin preparing a hearty breakfast of tea and porridge to distract from such thoughts.



Brushing aside the news of a Royal baby, we clamber back upon our bikes and head determinedly towards our final destination. Reuben Merriweather leads us along 20 miles of stunning coastal roads towards Hayley but we pay a price for such beautiful views, climbing some of the steepest and taxing hills along the way. Here, feeling somewhat the worse for wear and with my bicycle’s front derailleur once again refusing to shift into the little ring, we rejoin our old friend the A30 for the final jaunt. Before the day is out, we will see an unlucky cyclist slumped by the side of the road, having collided with one of the many seemingly reckless cars; which come careering around the unaccomodating corners at eye watering speeds. It is a stark reminder of just how lucky we have been to escape the trip with only a few near misses, rather than full blown accidents.

There has been a constant balancing act on our trip between “avoiding highways” picking smaller more serene scenic roads and a simple need to get to where we are going. On the whole, we have been successful albeit several long hot shifts on the sides of unforgiving and precarious dual carriageways which would have been much better avoided. While we have enjoyed the success of the Sustrans routes in Scotland, they are unaccountably unsatisfactory in England and we have more often than not, neglected them for the pure reasons of efficiency.


As we spin towards Land’s End however, these thoughts are pardoned and we are triumphant. Some 5 miles from the coastal precipice and abrupt ending of England it suddenly becomes very clear that we may well indeed complete the pilgrimage after all. A bunch sprint is in process on the final flats into the theme park that is Land’s End and instead of the Atlantic, we see the Arc De Triomphe. Instead of the call of the tides, we hear the roar of crowds. There is no sun, only bright lights and music. It is 1pm when Team ChainLUBE assuredly arrive. The milometer reads 1109 miles. Reuben Merriweather wanders into a local cafe to order us 3 cream teas and is charged £24. We are home.

Rafe Watson







Day 18: Le Jog (The Reuben Merriweather Chronicles – Plymouth to Perranporth 61 miles)


In the wake of Chris Froome’s triumphant victoire. I was eager to commence my mini tour. Invitee to ‘Le Jog’ and team ChainLUBE, a reunion of old friends and significantly my first big ride since a Toyota MR2 sent me from bicycle to a spinal board three months earlier… time to get back on the steel horse. *clenches bum.

0930 down town Plymouth meeting with the grey Atlantic sea fret. A welcome haar by all accounts. After a heavy session the previous day, odometers now boasting four digits, the boys were in a bad place, the John Wayne stance said it all.

Fuelled up on pasties we got going…the Shimano symphony sung in unison as the tamar bridge expelled us from the back passage of Devon. Kernow a’gas dynergh. Welcome to Cornwall.


Respectfully I slotted into le derrière of le peleton, full of ‘big ring’ gusto. This was to be my undoing as after a couple of ventures to ‘la tête de la course’ I noticed my legs seemed to be generating significantly less wattage than the finely chiseled hams of Aldercy Manning and Rafe Watson. I was pleased I even made it to Liskeard. Team ChainLUBE’s collective pride took a battering however, during a brief traffic light encounter with a fellow cyclist, who casually dropped into conversation that he had done Le Jog four times. In fact he had done it there in three days, and back also in three; a truly absurdly ridiculous statement. We later agreed that it was possible if he did 300miles/day. Unanimously we decided he was clearly a man of great integrity and more significantly you should have seen his legs. Ridiculous. Calves of truth.


After a quick pitstop and a hunt for flapjacks we skilfully negotiated our steeds between scally’s and mobility scooters and locked onto the A38. It’s funny how a road you think you know so well becomes a complete fuck on a bike. A route I fondly associate with a run to the sun…holidays, trips to the beach and parties…became a bleak relentless burning bastard of despair. That said we beasted through Bodmin at a rate of knots following onto the bowel inducing A30; a stretch of road that has taken many a cyclist’s life.


The hard shoulder’s white line became my God as we continued to the north coast, rush hour traffic backed up by the dozen thanks to our pothole slalom. 61 miles later we made it to the beautiful village of Rose, greeted by Larry the black lab who was expecting far more energy than we had left to give.


We were later collected by Rosamund Marcellus who whisked us to Trevose in the beamer. We ate in the flat overlooking the evening haze of Droskyn, Perranporth. Weary legs replenished with risotto seasoned by Rosamund Marcellus’ phallic mill. Finally we visited the local ale house. After deep discussions on eldercare, the monarchy and Chad Kroeger it was time for to say goodbye to today, and replenish for Le Jog’s closing chapter.


I thoroughly enjoyed the day. I feel a bit of a fraud swanning in on the champagne final days of the tour, but glad to share some of the experience with this great team. Cheers for getting me back on the bike boys!!!

Many thanks to Lady and Lord Grantham for putting us up this night. Pints (were) waiting for you at the tavern xxx

Reuben Merriweather