Bizarre crime

Yesterday evening, while British athletes were showing the world how it’s done, I was in a recreation of a Paris bar of yesteryear.  The final concert of this year’s particular fine Cambridge Summer Music Festival was an homage to Edith Piaf: there was even a glass of pernod on offer in the interval.  The concert was surprisingly good fun – but once again, I found myself missing Paris: it really is time I returned.  As result, I had to shed my tears at last night’s sporting drama this morning – but then, I blub at (almost) anything.

As the rain had largely dispersed, I took my bicycle into town and parked it under cover near the West Road Concert Hall.  When I returned to it after the concert (and post-concert bar and chat), I did sense something was awry – but couldn’t initially work it was.  As I was putting the lights on I finally realised what had happened: some wretch had stolen my front tyre.  Not easy to do, and probably the lowest value part of the bike. Why?  I haven’t a clue but it did make the bike impossible to use – perhaps foolishly, I don’t carry a spare tyre (not even around my waist as so many of my age seem to) – so, my velocipede and I were forced to endure the ignominy of a cab ride home (though I think I’ve given the taxi driver a story to use for many months to come).

So, tomorrow I shall have to take my wheel to the bike shop to have it re-tyred and seek a method to secure my tyres in future (I’m thinking I need some more lockable skewers) – I really hadn’t seen them as potential swag before…

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