#Diary entry number 6 - Richard Plant - heir to the British cycling throne
Richard Plant - Time to don my combat gear - goddamn pink!
It seems as if I have join a band of damn comedy mummers - this is surely the best way of describing the impossibly bad results of the Lampre platoon. The teams costume is one of a buggering stageplay artist and the teams play out their combat in such a farcical way, you can only describe it as they must be taking the absolute piss.
Fortnately the team boss after listening to the whispers of that infamous wench the grand Olifardhina, has finally called me up to give his company such much needed bite. I must admit whilst I have not been engaging in the back-door shenanigans of some of my less than straight shooting team-mates - my mojo is on a real high and I suspect in some months time there will be several anglo-Italian plantangenet bastards bursting out into the world. This increase in mojo is said to be good for the cyclist and I tend to agree I feel like I am sailing into the breeze much faster - I lust for competition as I do the embrace of some Italian housewife.
If one thing has been taught to me out here is that the tifosi are madly waiting for a new hero and perhaps despite my proud British heritage I can be that hero they can put on a pedastal. Of course I am not expecting to set the world alight yet - I am just looking to fly under the radar as a small town hero. Take control of a small fiefdom with my prestige from some prizes gained in battle. I am anticipating a run on the Catalan regions is Hispania - there should be some Moorish and Latin type riders to tip my lance too I look forward top bloodying my sword. I needs to splash some blood of my competition over this goddamn pink outfit - I just look ridiculous.
#Diary entry number 7 - Richard Plant - heir to the British cycling throne
Richard Plant - Glorious battle, I plant my sword into the fray
My long wait has at last ended and my battlelust was finally quenched at the Tournament in honour of the legendary knight Miguel Indurain.
I met the man himself the night before and whilst I do not understand his tongue I paid my respects and homage to him, though sadly it seems as if his best days are well and truly behind him. He controls the North Catalan region of Pomplena as he was said to fight in battle in an unassuming controlling way. His was the art of defence, he would wear the opposition out before impressing in a lone test against the clock whereby he could show his horsemanship and ride alone faster than anyone else. Sounds like a bit of a ponce if you ask me - I need the blood and sweat of men falling by the sword around me.
The team sent out to raid in Catalan was a distinctly motley crew - his honour sutty decided not to make the trip from his whorehouse in Tuscany. He would be to busy getting fat and wetting his whistle on the many maids - it is said once again the grand olfardhina was to make a visit. My lord always fasts himself for some days beforehand to ready himself. It is a shame as he could have vistited another well known maid Atlantiata whose residence is oh so close to the tournament. Atlantiata is said to enjoy the company of rebels perhaps she may find me a favourable sort.
We had inctructions given too us before the start of the day - I paid little or no attention. Something about working for one of the wizards - thankfully that utter insane wierdo Cardenas was not here to follow my ass. But it was the one known as Serp-ha, this guy I think was once a wizard of some potential but now I am not sure he has much magical about him. Besides there was no way I was going to sit around and work for such a weak fighter. I went from the gun and joined the early pace setters.
I was easily the better of these fools but credit to them they were game as anything. But after many miles riding together we were joined by the real knights of combat. Wizard Henao and Knight Valverde joined us - the cowards had been hiding under their teammates dresses for much of the race and of course had more energy in the final. I rolled over in 6th and recieved some nice booty for my efforts. I knew I had been the rider of the day, and indeed I would enjoy the best of the Basque beauties after the race with the generous Izagirre indroducing me to his sisters who had quite the stamina.
I have taken my cut of the stash and rode out back to home ahead of my idiot teammates who will go pennyless. I will be giving a cut to me liege and he can share it out with them as he sees fit. I will be instucting my lord to get rid of the convict Bobridge immedietely he turned up to the startline far from fresh and had clearly been on the sauce since setting off from Tuscany.
Another CLASSIC entry into the diary
Smowz wrote :
his honour sutty decided not to make the trip from his whorehouse in Tuscany. He would be to busy getting fat and wetting his whistle on the many maids
TOUR OF OMAN 
, lets hope your Mojo can bring in the results we so desperately need 
AMSTEL GOLD RACE 
GIRO DEL TRENTINO 
