Doper

A friend of mine recently found herself in a spot of bother when she broke her ankle whilst embracing the world of Roller Derby.

As part of her recovery, she was required to inject herself in order to avoid her blood clotting. Knowing that we have a sharps bin (purchased upon receiving the news that CH has Diabetes Type 1 - of which his mother is convinced that cycling caused??) she handed the needles over to me to dispose of, as I was hopping in the car to leave her house.

Becoming so engrossed in practicing my singing on the way home, I forget all about the syringes laying around in the back seat of the car.

The next person to take out the car is CH himself - to a bike race of course.

Bike races are great places to show off your new lightweight wheels, your awesome DI2, but it is no place to have syringes laying about.

With CH's posse swanning about the car, it didn't take long before the syringes were noticed.

Cycling Buddy 1: 'Here's the reason you've been riding so well lately - Check this out!!!'

Cycling Buddy 2: 'Someone call Doping Control!'

Cycling Buddy 3: 'Can I get some?'

CH, also unclear as to why there was a pile of used syringes in the back of our car, couldn't explain his way out of that one. Needless to say, I copped twenty questions when he arrived home that afternoon.