About four years ago, I bought my own bike for hoofing around London on. It was great – brakes, tyres, even gears.I use it all the time to get to and from work. The best thing about bikes in London is that you can get get totally trolleyed, get onto your black bike, wearing black clothes, and weave off unlit towards oncoming traffic. Night after night, I have managed to evade large trucks, police cars, hot hatches and BMWs, while learning to ride with no hands on various parts of roundabouts and the A4. I even managed to avoid police horses, and most of the poo they leave smeared from one end of Uxbridge Road to the other as they patrol football matches at Loftus Road.
Police horses must be fed especially on boiled eggs and plain toast for a week, and possibly immodium. Then, the night of a footy game, they start to slip prunes and figs into their hay, so that they can project lumps of cack at any hoodlums. And police horses are a bit medieval aren’t they? Send in men on big animals to force through crowds of people. Whatever happened to Police Rhinos?
I even used my bike to go to head kicking training, leaving it lovingly under the sports centre CCTV, outside my Wu Shu Kwan lesson. On Tuesday, I had as great time as ever. I got chance to spar with the master – he who can all but fly, as he whirls his legs around you like a horizontal helicopter. And then fully pumped up, I returned to my bike to cycle home.