Last night I got a puncture just seconds from home so I fixed it in the living room and headed off this morning full of the joys with cycle vouchers in my pocket from my fabulous sister.
A few hundred yards in something was wrong. Yes, the front wheel was on backwards. Oops. Put it back on and continued.
Got to Evans only to discover that they only had the tights I wanted in 'small' and 'medium'. In women's cycle clothing this means 'stick insect' and fat 'stick insect'. Outraged, I demanded that bigger ones be ordered in. The guy across the counter started to ask for payment with a refund of they didn't fit but an icy glare meant the sentence was abandoned long before it concluded.
Tootling on to Hammersmith I reached a road that, while unmarked, you're supposed to go to the right or left depending on which way you're going at the T-junction. I headed for the middle as I was turning right and if you hug the right-hand curb you get squished. I was thwarted by a nobber who was crawling up the middle in everyone's way. I decided to overtake him on his right only to have a blacked-out pimp-mobile roar up my right-hand side. A cloud of suspicious smoke rolled out of the window as it was opened. 'WHAT THE F*** YOU DOING YOU C***?! STOP CYCLING LIKE A F****** IDIOT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD!' Was spat out of the window by the passenger.
Normally I would have retorted with similar wording but men in hoodies in blacked out cars and who own gold teeth are, in my experience, to be avoided. 'I'm turning right and the guy in front of me won't move, what do you want me to do?' Was all I could say. I was shaking with rage and near tears with frustration a the injustice of it all.
I decided a Starbucks would cheer me up. I came out with a coffee and realised my front tyre was flat. Again.