I see the most brilliant things on my bike.
I cycled through the quiet back streets of Hackney the other evening, along the cycle route from Angel to Stoke Newington. Incidentally that route is a bobby dazzler, quiet, well signed, lovely. If only they were all like that.
The sun was shining, I was listening to Beirut (with one earphone out, safety people) and generally bombing along happily when I encountered a character who added exponentially to my joy. He must have been at least forty, was wearing a smart navy suit and looked EXACTLY like Eddie Izzard before he lost all that weight running two million marathons. Slightly egg shaped head, goatee, the lot. No stilettos, sadly, but that was made up for by his mode of transport. He was skateboarding. Earnestly and energetically propelling himself up the slight incline, sweating like a swede in a sauna, completely focused on his goal. Whatever that may have been. Home, presumably, because he was going to be in no state for a social occasion by the time he arrived. I was slightly concerned he might pop one of the veins in his big red forehead, but mainly I just wanted to follow him up the hill in order to watch his face change at the crest as he began to freewheel. I imagined it changing from stressed-out executive to eleven year old boy instantly. I'm still a bit excited for him, though he and I are both long gone.