So, I started this morning with a bike accident. There’s a nasty crossroads outside Southwark Tube – I came to the junction, paused to turn right and let the stream of traffic come past. As I pull out, a black Range Rover comes hell-for-leather, belting across the junction.
I braked, but went into his side, and I came off. Driver of the Range Rover was young suit, early 30s – he had the decency to stop, but insisted that he had been doing ‘no more then twenty’ and that there had not actually been a collision. Apparently, the damage to the front wheel, front axle and front forks of my bike has been done by the notorious and well-known Traffic Pixies that loiter on Blackfriars Road at eight in the morning.
I’m unhurt, no more than scraped and shaken; the bike’s a write off. Though saying that, I’ve been lucky – if I’d been a half-jump further forward, or a less able rider, I’d be a smear of gore and metal.
We’ve had witnesses and statements and police and all sorts this morning… as well as the comedy of showing up at work carrying a broken bike.
The thing that amazes me (though Gods know why) is not the reactionary lies of suit, but that in among the gasps of horror, ONE person actually stopped to offer witness and give me his card.
That man is a hero. Certainly more of a hero than the wazzock in the Tractor.