How The Other Half Live

As I head out into the cold and wet morning on my bike, the dogs are enjoying liver and potatoes for breakfast. How the other half live, it was probably even warmed for them.

The roads seem to be getting busier with bikes, perhaps the credit crunch is getting more people onto two wheels or perhaps they're all trying to tone up their physique and make themselves irresistible to the opposite sex. I keep trying.

Apparently, 12 per cent of British workers now cycle to work but more men than women are doing it, 15 per cent compared to eight per cent of women. Which won't be news to L. Although I don't think it's the 2:1 ratio that this research implies. In Derby/Nottingham the ratio of male:female cyclists must be something like 15:1. Where are you girls? Get that skimpy lycra on, you know it makes sense.

L's been told to give up caffeine and chocolate because she's been experiencing what her GP called chest wall spasms. I though she'd be distraught at this news but she just seems delighted it's not a side effect of Leffe. Giving that up would have proved more problematic. At least it was nothing to do with her heart, which is fine, a touch cold sometimes but otherwise perfect, just like the rest of her good self.

After a few problems stopping in the wet, I get home and decide it's time to change my brake blocks. This wasn't as easy as it should have been. Just like whenever you get your tyres changed at a garage, you can then never get your wheel nuts off again because they've put them back on at maximum torque. The same seems to apply to bike shops because I can't get the bolts out of my brake shoes to change the pads. In the end I do a bodge job, hope it holds. Pray for a dry day tomorrow.

Meanwhile, the boys and L are hopping impatiently from foot to foot, as I'm delaying their Tuesday night perambulation around the pond. L's replaced MD's harness so he's now got something else to chew through and he attempts to start on it immediately. I tightened it up, now if he gets his teeth inside that, he'll get his gob trapped, which would be well funny.

L's also come home with a huge bottle of doggie shampoo, just in case.... So now, every night can be bath night.