Boris, Rivers of Blue and bike docks

Well there I am at 8.05pm last night on my, er, second bike (my first stolen two days ago: £1000 reward), thundering along Theobolds Road talking on my phone…when I hear this booming voice…

‘Snow! Get off that mobile phone!’ . I look across the road and there is a bent heap of semi suited humanity; head down; jacket flying, and the unmistakable blond thatch flowing out of the helmet. It is Boris.

‘Boris’, I roar. He has passed, the arm waves and he pounds on.

And I think, ‘magnificent’. No Lexus in pursuit, no motor cycle outriders, and no nodding compromise to the sartorial demands of any Mayoral role.

And in his wake I think about London’s new bike docking stations…and the rivers of blue paint etching his Super Cycle highways across the city.

This is getting serious. Boris is putting his mouth where his bottom is – on a bicycle and doing his damndest to get London and its folk to do the same.

This is no puff for Boris, remarkably unpuffed despite the speed with which he passed me. Merely an observation that someone somewhere is actually putting a policy in which he believes, into action. All power to his er saddle.