The World According to Bob

of that training hadn’t gone to waste.
    Handing Bob’s lead to Rita, I took the bike and flipped it upside down to inspect it properly. The tyres were inflated and the chain looked like it was well oiled and moving pretty freely. The seat was a little low for me, so I adjusted it up a little. I then took the bike down on to the road and gave it a quick workout. The gears were a tad on the sticky side and, as Rita had warned me, the front brakes weren’t working properly. I had to apply maximum pressure on the handle to get any reaction and even then it wasn’t enough to bring the bike to a halt. I figured there was a problem with the wire inside the cable. It was easily fixed I suspected. The rear brakes were fine, however, which was all I needed to know.
    ‘What does that mean?’ Rita said when I reported all this back to her.
    ‘It means it’s OK to ride,’ I said.
    By now I’d made a decision.
    ‘Tell you what, I’ll give you a tenner for it,’ I said.
    ‘Really. You sure?’ Rita said, a little taken aback.
    ‘Yes,’ I replied.
    ‘OK, deal. You’ll need this as well,’ she said, fishing around under her trolley and producing a rather battered, old black cycle helmet.
    I’d always been a bit of a hoarder, collecting bits and pieces, and for a while my little flat had been full of all sorts of junk, from mannequins to road signs. But this was different. This was actually one of the first, sensible investments I’d made in a while. I knew the bike would be useful back up in Tottenham where I could use it for short journeys to the shops or the doctors. I’d make the £10 back in saved bus fares in no time. For the longer journey to work at Angel or into central London I’d carry on taking the bus or the tube. That journey was too treacherous to cycle because of the main roads and junctions I’d have to negotiate. Some of them were notorious cycling accident spots.
    It was only then, as I mentally mapped out the journeys that I’d be able to cycle from now on, that it suddenly struck me.
    ‘Ah, how am I going to get this home?’
    Bus drivers don’t let bikes on board and there was no prospect of getting it on a tube. I’d be stopped at the barriers immediately. I might get away with taking it on an overground train, but there were no lines that went anywhere near my flats.
    There’s only thing for it , I told myself.
    ‘OK, Bob, looks like you and I are riding this home,’ I said.
    Bob had been soaking up the sunshine on the pavement near Rita but had been keeping half an eye on me throughout. When I’d climbed on the bike, he tilted his head to one side slightly, as if to say: ‘what’s that contraption and why are you sitting on top of it?’
    He looked suspiciously at me again as I strapped on the cycle helmet, slung my rucksack on my shoulders and started wheeling the bike towards him.
    ‘Come on, mate, climb on board,’ I said, reaching down to him and letting him climb on my shoulders.
    ‘Good luck,’ Rita said.
    ‘Thanks. I think we’ll need it!’ I said.
    The traffic on Islington High Street was heavy and, as usual, at a virtual standstill. So I walked the bike along the pavement for a while, towards Islington Memorial Green. We passed a couple of police officers who gave me a curious look, but said nothing. There was no law against riding a bike with a cat on your shoulders. Well, as far as I was aware there wasn’t. I guess if they’d wanted to pull me over they could have done. They obviously had better things to do with their afternoon, thank God.
    I didn’t want to cycle along the High Street so I wheeled the bike across a pedestrian crossing. We drew more than our fair share of glances; the looks on people’s faces ranged from astonishment to hilarity. More than one person stopped in their tracks, pointing at us as if we were visitors from another planet.
    We didn’t linger and cut across the corner of the Green, past the Waterstones bookshop, and turned into the main road to north London, Essex Road.
    ‘OK, here we go, Bob,’ I said, bracing myself to enter the heavy traffic. We were soon weaving our way through the buses, vans, cars and lorries.
    Bob and I soon got the hang of it. As I focussed on staying upright, I could feel him re-adjusting himself. Rather than standing he decided, sensibly, to drape himself across my neck, with his head down low and pointing forward. He clearly wanted to settle down and enjoy the ride.
    It was mid-afternoon and a