I rode a tricycle today: a big three wheeled bike like the ones the physios used to make me ride at school. Well…perhaps not. I was up at the Olympic park as I frequently am, when, outside the famous velodrome, I saw a man showing a variety of three wheeled bikes to the general public. Naturally I thought back to school, and how, when I was about seven or eight, I used to get strapped onto very similar contraptions and told to ride around until,  almost inevitably, I tipped the zarking thing over.

Slightly to my surprise, the man came up to me and asked whether I wanted a go; in fact he seemed rather insistent. It wasn’t that it didn’t look like fun, but I immediately judged that it would mean getting out of my powerchair, putting my things in a safe place, before having to put in quite a lot of effort not to fall off the thing and crack my head open, only for a ride lasting twenty minutes or so at most. Thus, then and there, as enthusiastic and eager as the guy seemed that I should give his trikes a try, I decided it would definitely be a case of “Let’s not and say I did.”