Over the weekend an awful thing happened.
I was merrily binging away at some pedestrians as I approached a junction at which I had a green light but they clearly hadn't seen me as they were dashing across when suddenly silence descended.
I know many cyclists who do not use their bells but so vigorous am I in using mine that on Friday night the binger flew off into the night mid-flow. The bell itself remained but is a sad shadow of its former self as it can't make any sound unless tapped sharply, an impossible task when its rider is in fleece gloves.
I have been left bereft. I had no idea just how much I depended on that tiny piece of plastic to make me happy. I have even been forced to shout 'Oi!' as a short-term measure at those who attempt to throw themselves under the wheels of my bike.
On Saturday, therefore, moomin and I popped into the local bike shop to replace my binger.
Having tried all the bells on offer and the squeezy horn (oh so tempting), we decided on one that was not only pink but has a penetrating quality. The shopkeep seemed somewhat amused at our criteria but, frankly, I know what I like in a binger and am not afraid to demand the best.
Now all I have to do is get it on my handlebars and order will be restored..