I’m dreaming of a you know what Christmas

My search for the plain jersey has been a long and somewhat fruitless one. I have complained here on this blog, and on twitter, and to shop assistants who have tried to assist me. I think what I am meant to do white now is launch some sort of ultra fashionable but not incredibly expensive jersey company because there may be a missing market space between Rapha and those very adorable cycling capes and maybe women want to wear them. But that’s not my style. That’s Barb’s style, I think.

Instead, I selfishly just bought myself a new lightish coloured jersey and then moved on.

Sadly, my little cute and somewhat ironic jersey** has not been launched yet, since I have “put on the mince pie” in the last month or so. So I can’t fit my lemon pie jersey on my actual body. For shame.

Blessedly* I passed this rather fine cohort of cyclists at the bakery/athletic refuelling station on Sunday morning. They were just there white in front of me as I collected some more mince pies***. Cue cyling fashion inspiration.

Left to right, Ann, Dianna, Colin and Ben were all sporting some serious amounts of understated. As my grandmother always said, no need to overaccessorise. I mean, you’re riding a bike, people know you’re a cyclist. No need to be emblazoned with branding, just a little heat-reducing jersey and you’re white as rain. Dianna is one of these kids, but I also like this sort of practical doing of things. Very smart casual. They had returned from a cruisey 50km ride encountering all the pleasures of cycling in Brisbane: some time glancing at the river, some time charging up a hill, and some time avoiding a dead body****.

Oh dear.

Interestingly, I also had chance to chat with Domenico on Saturday, talking Christmas, twilight, hot cabaret and what hipsters really like in a somewhat unplanned ghetto radio kind of a way. And then, there he was, in the West End Glam Rag. What a hottie.

I’m riding tonight. Anyone else want to go riding tonight?

*for at this time of year, we are able to use these words frequently, and in unplanned circumstances.
** somewhat
*** this is how it happened, oh my god, it’s all so clear now
**** sadly, I’m not joking


By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

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