93_tid >>> & 5andwich3s

It’s another fine and sunny day in the CAPITAL. My lunch is a sandwich and soup combo and all is very well in my world.

While cycling to work this morning I pondered whether cycling to work was in fact a good thing – why did I do it?

Along the middle bit of Kew Road, I decided that it was something that, in the main, brought pleasure into my life. I’ve always enjoyed riding my bike – fortunately I was rarely without a bike as a kid; it’s just in adult life I’ve never crossed over to becoming a fully paid up member of the owning my own car fraternity.
I’ve been on cycling holidays with my Dad, cycling holidays with school, I’ve cycled significant distances on my own and so I suppose the main reason why I choose to cycle to work is because I enjoy it.
Many people take the bus, or the tube, the train or their own car (or a car they’ve nicked) or a combination of many modes of mobility to make their way from wherever they live to wherever they work – but I can’t be badgered with it, not in the sunshine. When you’re under your own steam to get home at the end of the day, there’s nothing like it.

If you’re anything like me, the mere thought of just being at work fills you with dread, despair and a feeling of oppression. It’s as if you choose each morning to leave your bed and voluntarily walk into the same prison where you spend all day long doing something that helps a manager (Gordon) somewhere tick a little box on something that really doesn’t benefit anyone but themselves (new legislation) and the overall greatness of the machine (Aunty). That greatness is measured by a bigger machine (Uncle), one which justifies itself by simply answering to the main machine (Tony) that, ultimately, thinks it knows the people at which it aims its good intentions, but all along drives itself further and further from what’s important…much like your boss dancing at a works Christmas bash. In fact, much like your boss actually being at the works Christmas bash!

So, anyway, what I was getting at was that after yet another day in the asylum, it’s often that moment where you take off your shirt and tie and jump into your manky old cycling clothes (no really, both legs at the same time – try it!) that life suddenly seems back in your hands again. You’re finally free at the end of the day to leave and ride home just as you like it – you can stop wherever you want, have a look down which ever street you feel curious about. If you’re up for it and need to blow out some cobwebs you can do just that too, and feel superfly good for it afterwards!

• It takes less time to cycle home than it does to take public transport
• It costs next to nothing to cycle home compared to taking public transport
• It improves your fitness and helps to j-j-j-jack your brain as well as your body
• It reminds people that there is an alternative to congestion, wheelies and cheers!


But there is a draw back to cycling on London’s roads. The Saab 93 TiD.

Cyclists if you see one of these cars heading your way, and you’ll know when one is because it’ll be on your side of the road and the wanker driving it won’t be so much as looking at the road - they’ll most probably be applying face paint while shouting at their kids (her) or bluetoothing something from a mobile phone to a palm pilot (him), beware and scarper quicksmart! These people are part of the new breed of motorist. Puretit. The essence of dumbassity captured in human form. Captain Chaos and his wife Claire sit in these cars, and move them about in a random way. They’re made from bad soup and rotten sandwiches.