Across Continents

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Confessions of a cyclist

Crocodilus domesticus. Happy hunting. Up there with the loneliness monkeys. And the cyclone slip knot. Product of a furtive imagination. And a leather saddle.

I’d toyed with not owning up to a bit of creative writing. After all, if someone had fallen for a domesticated man-eating predator or a ludicrously implausible seaman’s knot, I’d not stand in their way. If only to get them out of the gene pool. Quickly.

But this is an increasingly litigious world. You know the sort. Reason they write "Caution Hot" on cups of steaming coffee.

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