And So It Begins

I have been doing a lot more cycling down south of the river of late, largely because a certain stubbon mister lives down there and he starts getting twitchy if he leaves the SW postcode, poor rabbit.

There is a noticeable culture difference between the cyclists up norf compared to those down sarf. In my [slightly jaded and bedgruding] experience, cyclists in the Southerly parts of London are:

-faster, no question.

-more likely to be of a manly persuasion; yet

-less likely to sport a moustache.

-if of a feminine persuasion; less likely to be wearing heels and skirts.

-more likely to cycle in packs, like hyenas. Or is it a cackle of hyenas? Either way, like hyenas.

-more likely to wear hi-vis and helmets. Well, duh! South London roads are much meaner than the quiet back streets of Hackney that constitute my current commute.

-less likely to have a child seat on the back (see above).

- more aggressive. I copped an earful of bile this morning from a bunch of bad-tempered wheelers when I failed to take off the instant the light turned green (I was still folding my map back into my pocket). In North London, they would have waited patiently or maybe ding-a-linged their bell.

-more likely to wear full-body lycra and those hideous yellow sunglasses that don't look much like this:



-less likely to have a pair of bike polo sticks (bats? racquets? mallets?) attached to the back. Actually that is pretty specific to Shoreditch.