Another MOT, another year.
Every car I've ever had has been hanging in there on a wing and a prayer, so I can't shake the habit of feeling worried that they'll need expensive stuff done to fix them. The Trav needed some new tyres on the back, but is otherwise fine.
I am trying to get fit and thin. The thin bit is problematic, as my genetic inheritance is big and peasanty. Fit, however, I can do. So I stuck the bike on the car roof when I took it to the garage on the south side of the city, and cycled home. And then cycled back through the rush hour to collect it, later. I weaved, or maybe wove, my way through nose-to-tail vehicles in the twilight.
Car drivers are noticeably more bolshy during the evening rush, than they are earlier in the day. Must be the stressful jobs they've got, poor lambs.
I, however, know no fear.
Though perhaps I should.
Look, it's my bike.