Twenty something year old doing twenty something year old things

Europe and, for that matter, most of the world now find themselves in the tightening grip of Covid 19 and all the restrictions and fears that come with it. The time before Corona Virus (BC) is  nostalgically viewed through rose tinted glasses and now it's not just good summer weather were wishing for but one that does not have to include the buzz words of 'social distancing' that haunts our empty streets at the present. AC no longer stands for Air conditioning. On Tuesday this was all brought into sharp relief for the Irish, pubs had been closed 36 hours previously, public gatherings were called off and there were to be no dancing people in green costumes parading around the streets. There were no parades. In short, St. Patrick had been taken down by the virus too. Cycling through Dublin on the 17th of March and you would have been forgiven for thinking that you were in the lost city of Atlantis. Despite the crackdown however, 'craic' cannot be cancelled and I'

After cycling from London to Brighton in early November 2019 and arriving just about in one piece at the end, our bicycles took the names of Terrible Tim and Grant. As someone who has always decided on the sex of my bikes as female, the fact that these velocipedes became men says something about the success rate of the trip. This is not me being a man hater, just a feminist, supportive of the sisterhood and having an innate trust in women. These bikes did everything to lose the trust of myself and cycling chum, Lily. It should be added that I did everything to earn the mistrust of Lily for my sub par planning skills and hare brained schemes. The distance between London's teeming epicentre and Brighton's sea salty goodness is 60 miles, so deciding to err on caution given that our bicycles would be of the trusty riding school variety rather than racehorses, we split the journey into two days. This would give us plenty of time. Wouldn't it? Again, erring on caution, w