I’m back on my bike – and I have plenty to say to my fellow road users

Cycling without headphones has made it clear how not under-my-breath my under-my-breath commentary really is.

Despite the many “I have to live with a boy” Friends gifs I dispatched the weekend we moved, adjusting to living with M— has been altogether easier than expected. It is not unlike learning to live with someone else’s children – sometimes he gets a bit grumpy; sometimes I find things in places they’re not supposed to be; sometimes he wakes me up in the night (coming home from gigs, thankfully, not because he needs help going to the toilet) – and I have already proved myself a pro at that other, less common life experience.

It helps that M— has just embarked on another tour, and so is away Wednesday to Sunday for the foreseeable. It also helps that he is not averse to housework, and does useful things like laundry and preparing dinner on the days I am in the office. What low expectations I have of men, that I am surprised by these things. Still, I don’t have much to compare it to, save those locked-down months I spent living at A—’s flat, after Jenny Harries went on the telly and told us to move in together or break up (with hindsight I should have chosen the latter). The whole situation was far from what one might call normal.

So far, the major change has been refamiliarising myself with my bike, which has come out of flat-tyred retirement now my commute is 13 kilometres each way rather than a walking-friendly three. Sure, it would be faster by Tube, but I haven’t commuted on train since before the pandemic and I can’t bring myself to return to paying £192.80 a month to get intimately acquainted with strangers’ underarms.

Before I moved to Walthamstow, many fellow cyclists sang the praises of its exceptional cycle-lane provision. Well, I hate cycle lanes. Part of the problem is that other cyclists use them; a lot of them, all funnelled down the same route – and every road user knows that every other driver/rider is a homicidal idiot. Add to that the pedestrians who don’t realise their “pavement” is, in fact, a cycle lane, and the drivers who, while they know to look right before turning right, can’t seem to look left before turning left.

I form some of my most Daily Mail opinions on my bike: ban adults on electric scooters! In fact, ban adults on scooters of any kind! Ban electric bikes! Ban cyclists who ride with their helmet inexplicably hanging from their backpack! Ban cyclists who run red lights! I have plenty of time to nurture opinions: 100 minutes a day.

I used to be a naughty cyclist who rode with a headphone in – just one, on the pavement side… I know, I should be banned too. But given the intrepid length and unfamiliarity of my new commute, I’ve elected to do it distraction-free. This allows me rather more thinking time than usual, which I am surprised to find I enjoy. It has also made embarrassingly clear to me how not under-my-breath my under-my-breath cycling commentary is. Mostly it’s “stay there” and “eye contact, please” at drivers (and other, less polite, less printable things). But the other day I got a very strange look from a man cycling with his primary school-age son, presumably his first time on the road, when I said – quite audibly, it turned out – “That’s it, little man.”

Yesterday evening my bike took me to London’s Somerset House for the opening night of an exhibition, the “Make Your Own Masters 2024” showcase – a brilliant initiative started by my brother’s girlfriend to provide alternative arts education for those who are unable (because of finances, age, location or disability) to study at a conventional art college. In honesty, I spent more time petting my brother’s dog and catching up with his schoolfriends (including one who recently did a stint on Love Island ) than I did appreciating the work. But the undeniable highlight was watching my brother’s face as his girlfriend made the obligatory thank you speech: sheer pride. No doubt he’ll blame the tears on the shared exhaustion of putting together an exhibition with no time and no budget, but I know better.