Best laid plans

I would just like it on record that, in the spirit of Year of Living Healthily, I tried to cycle to work this week. No really, I did.

On Sunday I spent ages (not because it should take ages, but because I am extraordinarily inept at these things) fitting a new back light to my bike. Brand new. Not cheap. A proper one. Lack of such a light has been my reason for not cycling for the last two months -- I know how easy it is to die a horrible death on the roads of Oxford if you aren't visible enough.

Anyway. Lights on bike. Sorted. Get up early, dress appropriately, sling bag across body, don helmet, wheel bike through house, climb on, feel virtuous and *incredibly* healthy, set off.

Freewheel down hill to T-junction with Cowley Road (where I need to turn right). Wait patiently for gap in traffic. Wait less patiently. Identify tiny gap, push off, realise shoes aren't actually very appropriate as foot slips off pedal and neatly kicks new back light off bike and into the middle of the road.

Reach the other side and get off. Watch helplessly but still with hope as ten cars zoom past, missing light by inches. Shout FUCK IT very loudly as No 1 bus crushes light into dust.

Walk bike back across road, cycle back up the hill, chuck bike and helmet in through the front door, walk to the bus stop. Refuse to get No 1 bus on principle (as one should anyway because they are run by bastard homophobic Stagecoach, but normally one just can't be arsed).

Do best to maintain bad mood all morning, and largely succeed.

joella