Nights in White Satin (Tri in White Lycra)

It was around 1967-70 when Justin Haywood with The Moody Blues first caused my jaw to drop when I heard him sing, Nights in White Satin. I stood transfixed like a rabbit caught in the headlights, knowing then that I would always love that song. Today I watched it on YouTube and was stilled again by his voice and forgave him for his carefully straightened shoulder length blonde locks and even let him off for the generous amount of black eye liner. All is forgiven Justin, because of your voice and the song never faded from being one of the all time greats.

 

However, I will never forgive any male athlete, who thinks he can get away with wearing white Lycra! This is an unforgivable sin. Tight white Lycra on a man of any age cannot be allowed. This rule of mine is not simply because if it rains it becomes completely transparent; it is also because there is no way on Gods earth that the wearer cannot know that this is so. This alone means, that it is nothing less then indecent exposure in my book. Do they not look in the mirror when they make the purchase? Do they not cast at least a quick glace at themselves in the mirror before leaving their hotel room?  

This morning my long suffering husband and I sat in the vast reception, lobby, bar area of this very pleasant modern city centre hotel, waiting for our friend to arrive for a chat and a few moments relaxation, before going to the bike check in. Ironman Frankfurt is tomorrow which is also the Ironman European Championships. As we sat there waiting for Craig to arrive, there appeared a man wearing the Bianchi triathlon top and Skinfit tri-pants IN WHITE and positioned himself right in the centre of the lobby. He stood still for a moment and then as if he was a fashion model took two steps forward and turned sharply and then two steps in the opposite direction and turned again. He then took a right hand grasp on his bits inside the skin tight pants and hoiked them into what he felt was a comfortable position. Moments later, another, dare I say member, of his group arrived and the rapid Italian chatter began. 

We were sitting in two cosy chairs around a circular table at which four more chairs completed the setting. The two moved toward ‘Our table’. Steve turned to look out of the window as I said in a stage whisper “Oh no, no, no, please,” as the two guys moved toward us. Thank God in Heaven, all the Saints and Angels, several others arrived to join the Bianchi group; two were wearing the far more modest black model of the same suit with the white shirt only. The meeting in the centre of the lobby was held almost captive because it was lashing rain outside and riding in the rain on normal roads, would result in not only the dreadful transparency occurrence, but would also make sure that road grime would add a grey black bushy squirrel tail to the already ghastly appearance.  

By this time, I was repeating softly into space “Please go away now”, two of them looked around, wrongly presuming that I was talking to Steve. Who is covering up the fact that he is laughing into his chest behind his hand, at my complete lack of control. Craig will be wearing his dark blue Tuff Fitty Club kit I am pleased to report.