It’s wrong on so many levels to want to drive a car again…

I HAD an odd experience today – I woke up fancying a drive. 

Actually, the first thing I thought was: ‘I need to book a car and take the cats to the vet’.

But I fancied driving.

For once, the thought of getting into an automobile and not on a bike, settling back in a comfy seat instead of perching on an inadequate saddle, and not having to do all the leg work myself gave me a warm, happy feeling, rather than a shudder. 

Drivers are currently a severely endangered species in this house. Three of us are old enough to set off for a spin whenever we want, but we hardly ever do. 

The main reason for that is that we’re Londoners. We don’t drive to work. That’d be silly.

The buses, trains and Tube all run fast and frequent where we live and, anyway, I am semi-permanently joined to my bikes; a middle-aged, sweaty, semi-centaur.

The other reason that we don’t drive much is that taking to the wheel in the capital is horrible.

Continue reading “The Long, Baffled Hunt For A Handbrake” →