I’ve been blessed/cursed over the past couple of weeks with the task of designing a seat for my new bike. Everything else on the thing is sorted (well, in my head and on paper at least) except for that goddamn arse receptacle. In one memorable session I sat down with a note book and pencil and drew no less than 25 different shapes, each one only a few grains of HB graphite different from the last, yet all totally unique. And none quite right. One looks like a fighter from Battlestar Galactica. The next one a shovel. And then a loaf of bread. And on it goes. Until slowly I realise I’m going a little bit crazy. But obviously not as crazy as the boys from the coolest Parisian ‘ped shop we know, Children of Decadence. They spent so long on their seat it started to look like a slab of rare roast beef. And you know what? It really kinda does.
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