In fact Dear All as this is an open letter, a heartfelt letter, to all loyal weekly readers. E.B.C.C., The Edinburgh Beige Cycling Club, was a big part of my life in the late fifties early sixties. One of the worst things that happened to Scottish cycling (1963) was when Colin Newbattle, possibly the most renowned slow lane sprinter, put it to the board that E.B.C.C. should have it’s headquarters in The Kyle of Lochalsch. Obviously, I could understand his way of thinking but some of the great racers from Torphin and Gracemount could not stand the pressure and by early 64’ E.B.C.C. was disbanded.
I was therefore really delighted when a young man Mungo Macrean, originally from Eigg and a long time member of K.O.L.C.C. decided that West Coast cycling was getting far too sexually orientated and attracting too many good looking young women. I have for years argued the point that ‘serious’ cycling is very, very homosexual. Therefore when he told me the E.B.C.C. was to it’s home city with new headquarters at Tynecastle I just thought – God Be praised. Mungo is a great cyclist and thoroughly queer.
The E.B.C.C. now has a great future ahead with training starting at Arthur’s Seat commencing middle of September.
It has always been a contentious issue as to how much sexual antics should be mingled with the tough sport that is cycling. My personal point of view is that they are one in the same – pumping, sweating, exquisite and yet painful pleasure. That is sport – that is sex – that is E.B.C.C.
Dear Mr Simpson,
I have read, with a great deal of interest, the previous letter in this publication and quite frankly Sir I have to warn you I am incandescent with rage! Having just recently watched ‘Le Tour’ almost exclusively live on ‘British’ Eurosport for twenty-one punishing days I am gobsmacked that you can let such a detrimental piece of prose ruin the good name of professional cycling.
Big Frank’s response:
If the last three weeks have taught me anything it’s that cycling is a man’s sport – a real mans sport. Thick, thick, trunk like thighs thrusting hour after hot sweaty hour under a torturous unrelenting, unforgiving sun. Smooth shaved legs attached to firm big muscular buttocks pushing always pushing towards greater human endeavour. Furthermore chaffing!! Has the previous author thought about the chaffing!! Big bulging packages in tight, tight lycra being pushed against hard unforgiving saddle hour after punishing hour huge members being squashed against….(The final paragraph of this letter cannot be published in The Shavers Weekly which prides itself on being a family newspaper. It can of course be read in full in our online sister publication Shavers Weekly After Hours)…
John & Kelly Travolta.
Dear F. Simpson,
Having read the two previous letters I find it very unusual that the second reader would have been able to have read the first letter and then had time to have his own letter utilised in that self same publication. Should I call it a publication? Are these so called letters real or just some insane dreams from a childlike wandering mind? This sort of thing doesn’t happen in the letters page of The Metro does it? Do you really think a quality publication like The Metro would simply make letters up and push them into an unsuspecting public? I put it to you sir that you are nothing but a…(the following paragraph cannot be published in The Shavers Weekly which prides itself on being a family publication and strangely neither can it be viewed online at our sister publication Shavers Weekly After Hours – for different, awkward, unusual reasons that we can’t really go into)…
Dear Shavers Weekly,
I have noticed through my time reading your publication that you really take an active interest in Glaswegians or Weegies are you seem to like to call them. I would therefore like to bring to your attention the T.V. programme “Blue Heaven” I think you’ll agree with me after just a single viewing that it contains all the footage of weegies that you could ever hope for from the comfort of the East side of Harthill.
All the best
Manager Rangers Football Club (Ex Hibs, sorry not enough cash or talent)
With the start of the new football season just about upon us do you not think that the many of thousands of pounds spent by Hibs fans on season tickets could be put to better use? Such as drinking heavily, followed by urinating against the nearest wall before going to watch European matches on the telly which is what they all seem to want to do deep down anyway?
Big Frank’s response:
Why how dare you! I’ve never heard such… I suppose your right. Maybe we could build a giant sandcastle on Portobello Beach in the pissing rain as well.