Autumn has arrived with a vengeance, damp and dewy by sunrise and dark come 7pm. A veritable clotheshorse by my own admission, I’ve cycling attire for pretty much every occasion but hadn’t bargained on how quickly daylight would succumb to dusk and therefore darkness. This led me to conclude that accessories are just as significant as high power lighting systems when it comes to being acknowledged by drivers. Donning day glow de feet gloves, reflective helmet band and vest along with dynamo and assorted blinkeys have proved more effective than clusters of bike mounted lighting more befitting a Mods’ scooter.
Talk of the devil and with “Mod” chic once more en vogue, it was ironic that Joshua and I should find us at the dvlc scooter rally. Mirroring cycling club meets, these are nothing like you’ll see at the movies. Iconic machines of every description from unrestored series II Lambretta to contemporary Piaggio passed in majestic convoy or sat patiently in the sidings while owners congregated for a convivial chinwag. I nearly bought a restored LD150 back in 1992 for £450. My late grandfather had two, an LD and later a Li 125. Painstakingly executed custom airbrushed artwork has long been a sub cultural norm, often exceeding the two-stroke’s book price but to date, this Vespa T5 is the only example I’ve seen with a cycling theme.
They bid me come out how could I say no, they said meet us at eight, round at our place you know…A recent business trip took me to the Midlands and indeed, a barbecue on one evening. As both coals and conversation warmed, a guest happened to let slip that he’d worked the line at Peugeot, welding door sections for nigh on a decade before seizing escape in the form of early redundancy and higher education. The significance of this being that I am also researching a book abut the lives of those who’d worked in the car industry and the impact of its collapse upon the host communities. The media tends only to focus upon assembly line “operatives” in the context of tragedy-suicide, bankruptcy or indeed both.
Reductionist theories suggesting the semi-skilled either fell into the mire or simply became taxi drivers are at best ludicrously simplistic. As this guest illustrates, for some it will have been the opportunity to pursue infinitely wider horizons, others may have “owed nothing to no-one” and taken retirement, some may have moved to other assembly line work or retrained… And the conversation changed as the sun went down...
Sharing an affinity for cycling, talk quickly evolved along the lines of gain/gear ratios, the joy of fixed and his late 1980s/early 90s Nigel Dean road bike. Clearly equipped with the ability to join metal together, I recommended since business was relatively slow, he seek out a week’s hands on “take home what you built” course still run by some of the old (and not so) masters.
Roast Dawes Galaxy wasn’t on the menu that evening but this rich yellow example is an innovative take on the mummification technique to draw attention from a bike’s true value. Sure, more learned types with ready access to a biro would tell from the calibre of components, chrome plastics, Brooks saddle and dynamo that it was valuable but from a distance and coupled with the old-fashioned quill stem, the disguise certainly works, encouraging nay’r do wells to look for easier pickings such as this mtb inspired commuter.
Accidents of any kind always raise the issue of cyclists and third party insurance. In principle I am in favour, not through any endearment to the insurance industry but simply for self-preservation. Such policies offered through affiliation to the Cyclists Touring Club (CTC) and London Cycling Campaign will certainly help in the context of legal costs, injury/accident or indeed being sued by another party. Such also reaffirms cyclists are traffic with the same entitlements to the public highway.
More than can be said of the red 3-series BMW that indulged in a very painful tango with me along Streatham high rd on the 16th December 2001. Not that the local constabulary were remotely interested, or compassionate for that matter. Cuts, bruises and bent mech/hanger the only real casualties.
No one can doubt the excitement and dare we say feel-good factor induced by Britain’s Olympic successes and most notably, the Paralympics. However, it would be exceedingly naïve to believe this has induced a longer- term sea change in social attitudes towards disability and opportunities for disabled people per se, not just athletes.
The present administration has been basking in the paralympian triumphs as if they were a product of Whitehall, while introducing sweeping welfare reforms, which will have the effect of muting future sporting success, in turn threatening both the social model of disability and the very underpinnings of meritocracy.
There is a lot of evidence to suggest the contemporary political elite is something of a homogenous group with their own broadly similar backgrounds and ideals. Moving away from the philosophy of inhuman institutional care was one of the more positive contributions. However, “Care in the community” based not upon philosophical, but economic reasoning. Aside from breeding grounds for unspeakable cruelty and experimentation, asylums and long stay hospitals were prohibitively expensive to run.
It doesn’t take a business degree to realise a minister’s developer friend could make a small fortune from buying the land and converting said buildings into flats. Sure, we’re twenty odd years on from there but rather akin to “care in the community” which dumped people in one bed flats, often in the more deprived areas with nominal skilled support, vulnerable people are still seen as a problem- expected to forgo access to opportunities and basic everyday living we take for granted. Accident, medical condition and indeed age all have the potential to leave us dependant and with severe, life changing impairments.
