As the gallant sevensome (is that physically possible) stole their way through the hinterland of Kirkintilloch and swept unhindered into the bastion that was Muirhead a faint cry whispered through the air..................
"The chains come off!!!" Obviously I assumed that a terrible accident had become the Cultural Attache's chainmail underwear. No amount of prising with a pair of medieval pliers can ever put that kind of damage right again.
Having returned to the scene of the incident I was relieved to see that TCAFSNOT was in fact intact and despite looking bemused was tucking into his 17th cigarette.
However his steed aptly named Blue Varedero the Swift(ish) was a sorry state indeed. The red rusty attachment (otherwise known as a drive chain) seemed to be totally in the wrong place and seemed about 2 cubits shorter than it should be.
In its hunger for distressed and oxidized steel BVtS has conspired to eat a short length of its own mechanicals.
The Scottish round of the 'Ye Olde Head Scratching Competition' was then held for about an hour whilst removing lots of nuts, bolts, plastic and gallons of a black substance which (because of all the shed X rings) resembled Black Spaghetti Hoops.
All seemed lost and we were almost at the point of leaving TCAFSNOT by the roadside to fend for himself when, an apparition appeared through the mist. It was non other than the legendary Sir Dermott of XJR. His armour shone in the murky half light and his steed sparkled and purred unlike any of the OS mounts.
His magical powers are the stuff of myth and within the hour BVtS was fixed and, other than the amputation of a chain guide with a Swiss Army knife was ready for the trip.
Onwards brave knights. To the Skyle of Iye. For honour and gallantry. Onwards.