A bunch of us are doing the Tour de Bristol, which is like the Tour de France but tougher – several thousand pedal strokes over all manner of hillocks across the great south-western little Himalayas. Eddie Izzard was offered it as his first choice but went for the soft option of 27 marathons in a month, the big ponce. We are made of sterner stuff. We do not take this lightly. Some of us have been in training since Tuesday.
Oh, okay, I realise that nearly all of my facebook friends are triathletes, or runners, or skydivers, or birdwatchers even. I know we're not going much further than some of you go on a gentle training ride.
Hell, when Anne's dad was courting her mum, sometime after the war, he used to cycle 100 miles just to see her and then, later in the day, probably without even a cheeky finger, cycled 100 miles home again. (And do you know what they did for the few hours they were together. Yep, they went for a cycle ride.)
And even I've cycled further, often, and have never thought hitherto to ask for money to do so. Even though these days I do it with the equivalent of one of you strapped round my belly.
No, let's be honest. What we're doing, in itself, probably isn't worthy of your money. But what St Peter's Hospice does is. We're just their oleaginous marketing men, pretending to put on a show so that St Peter's can get on with the real job of making people's last few days on earth as dignified and peaceful and painless as they can.
So give us some squid. For Karin. Or as insurance for you when your time comes.
(The above was my facebook begging letter. I've posted it up on here hoping to snag the casual passer-by. If you have ever enjoyed wasting five minutes reading the nonsense on this site, or liked Farewell Trip, or if I've ever made you some money on the gambling page, or made you laugh out loud, do us a favour and pay it forward. Thank you.)