When you've had a bad week at school and are sick to death of adolescent girls the last thing you want is to come across a group, no wait, gang of them when you're on a bike ride, especially going up a steep hill on your way home.

As I ride past them one waves so I politely wave back but that's not enough for them - they have to yell out 'let's chase him'. Oh, I'm really not in the mood for this. I hammer down on the pedals like it's the last stage of the Tour de France - but with no drugs in me, except for the remaining alcohol in my blood stream from the previous night. 'Can I have your number?' is the next cry. I pedal faster, though I suppose the quickest way to get rid of them would have been to stop and actually give them my number. That would probably have turned the tables rather quickly and had them running all the way home.

In the event they give up the chase, being no match for my powerful legs turning the pedals as though I were Lance Armstrong attacking on the slopes of a giant col. Though I don't remember him ever having speed bumps in the way.