Boris Bell.

I've returned from a journey. Spiritual? I hear you ask. Nay. Found yourself? I see you're getting bored. Nay.

I've been on my first Boris Bike.

Despite being called a wanker, dangerous idiot & a slow coach. I enjoyed it. All 51 minutes. Cycling past London Zoo, Albany Street and Harley Street, I couldn't change gears, my foot slipped more times than I have fingers and toes & this looking over your shoulder malarkey? Balance is not a virtue.

The reason for my late night ride was a colleagues bid to cycle Europe. Organising an hours jaunt to enhance her vigour for the trip, I signed up as an apathetic support. As the time drew close, naturally original enthusiasts depleted, & when, at 8.45pm came, three were left.

I admire a goal.

I set myself a challenge.

Cycling isn't for me.

BBikes don't have a bell

I too have a goal. & in supporting my peer, I gather momentum for my own.

Wonder whether Boris has peddled those metal contraptions.