Where was John McEnroe born? *
Yup – me neither. But one of the perils of going to a pub quiz hosted by the Daily Telegraph’s sports desk is facing obscure questions like this. On the other hand the cyclist’s post-work drinking dilemma of, do you leave the bike at work and take the tube in the morning, or instead sink seven pints of Belgium’s finest and hope the gods are in a good mood as you as you tackle the Elephant & Castle roundabout was resolved .
Instead bike to the pub. Fold the bike neatly next to your table. Lose (badly) at the quiz, then tube it home and then be ready for a hangover-busting bike ride back into work the next morning.
*Wiesbaden, West Germany
“Why don’t I listen more carefully?” I whined as I failed to disentangle wires from spokes, the result of post-pub fat fingers and the failure to heed Mezzo Product Manager, Kevin Izzard’s instructions to spend 20 minutes practising how to fold the bike. The smooth sailing from work, to pub, and then tube, had ended on the KFC corner in Brixton; a strip of pavement where most things can be bought – none of them legal. And now one of its late-night residents was headed straight for me.
I was envisioning a first blog along the lines of:
11am: Given new bike to test.
10pm: Bike breaks down in Brixton.
10.01pm: Bike stolen by drug dealers. Bye bike….
Instead Mr Broken Britain quickly analysed the problem – “s’all mashed up, man – and sorted it out in seconds. The cynic in me thinks there was probably a police car nearby. The optimist thinks it’s yet another journey I’ve managed to complete through the kindness of strangers.