WHISPERING SMITH: Look out for a whirling of wheels on the Prom

The Prom looked safe enough, no potholes, no roundabouts. I don’t do roundabouts on a bicycle. My bike had been at least two years in storage. Found it eventually, tucked away behind a discarded mower and an old washing machine, both of which I had promised myself to fix when time permitted. Took a while to get some air into the tyres and that puffed me, but finally, weary of arm but stout of tyre, I wheeled it from garage to pavement and mounted. Oh dear, my feet did not touch the ground on either side. Either the Dawes Hybrid Roadster had grown, or I had shrunk. I read somewhere that, as we get older, we lose 1cm in height every decade from the age of 40. Uhm, that was some time ago, and at that rate I shall be about 2ft 6in next year. In some respects, that could be an advantage, but I cannot think of one right at this moment. Took the Dawes in to Spokes, the Beach Road cycle shop, and explained my difficulty in balancing with both feet waving in the air. Andy, the owner, suggested lowering the saddle. Funnily enough, not being very technical, I was quite proud of the fact I had already thought of that myself, but it seemed as if, like me by then, the saddle was at its lowest ebb. I suggested a trade-in for a smaller framed machine, perhaps even a tricycle, but he told me he could lower it sufficiently. Now I can touch the ground on both sides so, if you are sitting on the Prom in the twilight and should see a wobbly cyclist in a Stetson hat and playing a ukulele coming your way, I suggest it might be prudent to stand on the bench, rather that sit upon it… BOUGHT a super new book on the history of collective nouns by Chloe Rhodes titled An Unkindness of Ravens. Three I really love are ‘a rascal of boys’, ‘a wandering of tinkers’ and ‘a worship of writers’. I am sure I will find others as I progress through these delightful pages. I may even make a few up…