A month without drink: Diary of a slightly slimmer man

Sunday 30 Sep 2018

Had a good drink up on Friday night. Really good long drink up, arriving home about 2am at the end of a £60 Uber ride. Still, drinks had been free all night. It had been a retirement do, but celebrating not only the long and distinguished City career of the good friend retiring, but also the end of an era of jobs for life, final salary pensions, corporate hospitality and lunchtime drinking. Dozens of old friends there, mingling with current colleagues and family of the great man.

Then talking of the end of good things, I figured that approaching 50, with teenaged children and subtly but progressively poorer health, it’s no longer appropriate to come home at 2am with large gaps in my memory. Whilst going completely dry seems rather extreme, a month without alcohol might be good for me. 

Not sure I can make an entire month, so won’t be doing this for charity or making a big public statement, just quietly avoiding booze. Let’s see how this pans out..

Monday 1 October

One of those days where everything seems to require running to stand still. My work as a Project Manager tends to be erratic - I am usually either pretty idle between project events, or rushed off my feet to resolve a sudden onslaught of problems. Today was definitely the latter. Combined with a bunch of admin resulting from weekend activities that I struggled to find time to deal with; I just managed to get to Guides on time to collect my daughter, and finally home, desperately craving a glass of wine. Once there, some argument within the family had resulted in a distinct atmosphere, which I’d normally hide from in my study with a glass of whisky, but felt that Day One was a bit early to give up giving up.  After my mediation efforts were shown to be unwelcome, I retired to bed early with a good book.

Tuesday 2 October 

Get a text mid-morning from a good friend who I originally met through ante-natal classes for our (now) 16 year old children. He’s in London unexpectedly today, fancy meeting for a drink around Kings Cross about 5 or 6pm. It’s convenient, and tempting. I cancelled our last drink at the last minute after failing to notice that the date was my son’s birthday. But my will power is stronger in the morning, and Kings Cross isn’t so handy, so I refuse.

But then a Mid afternoon Whatsapp from another friend suggesting a drink during the week, 4 of us. We need to get together anyway to sort a few bits out, and they are good company, so definitely up for it, but how to do this without actually drinking. Maybe I’ll have fallen off the wagon by the end of the week anyway, but then it turns out that tonight is the only evening we can all manage it. Maybe I should pretend to be on antibiotics. 

As it happens, I am first there, so order myself a glass of sparkling water. We’re in the Jolly Sailor,, it’s been my local for 18 years so feels odd to both me and the bar staff. However it does mean that I don’t need to explain it to everyone else as they come in, and by the time the second round comes, I get a bit of a curious look, and explain I’m just trying to cut down a bit, and by the third glass the others seem to accept it. However the conversation seems to swing from amusing banter to awkward disagreements. I’m normally very chilled, but getting increasingly tetchy by turns, and can’t help thinking that a couple of beers would have kept us all more genial. Get home about 12.30, put the kettle on and spot the whisky bottle again, luring me in. I switch off the kettle and the light and go to bed.

Wednesday 3 October

Finishing off work, nothing really planned for the evening, one of my colleagues tells us he is going to Watling for a quick drink if anyone would like to join him. Now I love the Watling. I worked across the road from it for 4years, and became regular enough to know most of the bar staff by name. The wide range of beer is impeccably kept. The bar service is swift, friendly and efficient. Although predominantly men in suits, there are men in other clothes and the occasional lady. There is space to stand in the cobbled streets outside, and it’s looking like a lovely warm evening. It’s on my way home, so a quick one isn’t a radical diversion from my new healthy lifestyle..

I fight it and go home. The frosty atmosphere of the previous evenings appears to be subsiding, so we watch football on TV together, then The Apprentice. It was pleasant, I was glad I’d left the Watling for a new generation to discover it. 

Thursday 4th October

Thursday is usually my big drinking night. In my city circles it always has been, leaving Friday clear to get home for the weekend. It’s something I normally look forward to from arriving at work on Monday morning. However, this week it’s not to be.  As it happens, I have an alternative plan, one incompatible with drink, which is partly why I felt this might be a good week to start my new resolution. This evening I will tour a local girls school with my daughter, as part of the charade of an intelligent and informed free choice of appropriate education for one’s offspring. We grab a Chinese takeaway on the way home, a tin of lager would have gone with it nicely, but water will do tonight.

Friday 5th October 

I meet an old university friend for lunch in the staff canteen. This is a regular Friday arrangement, we co-incidentally work in the same building but for different companies at the moment, so it’s a refreshing non work catch up. There’s also no booze on offer. I return to my desk, and the team next to mine are heading out to the Vintry for a quick drink would I care to join them. I’ve not got any critical meetings this afternoon, and it’s still unusually warm out, so perhaps one quick half in the courtyard might be nice? But no, lunchtime drinking is a bit of a bugbear when we’re supposed to be paid to be competent, so joining them is both hypocritical and failing my new resolution. I stay at my desk and get finished off. The same group invite me for an end of day swifty later, but they’re already boisterous and I’m not in the mood. Besides, one of the kids is in trouble at school, so shirking that wouldn’t help the situation at all.

I go out for a stroll with my wife instead while one of the kids is swimming. Normally we’d stroll around the park by the swimming pool, but it’s dark and unlit, so we stroll up towards town, taking a detour along one of the old coaching roads into the city centre. There’s a lovely cluster of old pubs along here, really traditional inns serving great beer. Discount for Camra members (which I’m not, but you get the idea). My wife has never been along here in all the years we’ve lived there, and is fascinated. We bump into a friend going for a drink in the White Lion, we chat for a bit, but manage to excuse ourselves and head back to the swimming pool. Another day done.

Saturday 6th October

Oddly enough, I don’t usually drink at weekends. The day is always busy ferrying the kids around, and we tend to spend evenings in rather than going out on the busiest night of the week. My wife doesn’t drink much at all, so we don’t tend to go out “for a drink”.   I have in the past attempted dry Februaries as they are the shorter months, but never got beyond the first week. Discussing this with a friend (over a drink) a few months earlier, he’d suggested a better way to cut down is to go dry for one week each month. Perhaps I’ve done enough already?

I’m kind of aware of it being more than a week without a drink, and also I’m not sleeping too well - maybe because of missing it. I can feel a cold coming on as well, one which a quick glug of that whisky will shove away. But I decide to go for lemon tea instead.

Sunday 7th October

A busy morning of ferrying children around Sports fields in North London, followed by a splendid roast beef dinner around 3pm. A roast dinner that would be nice accompanied by a glass or two of red wine. There’s quite a bit on the wine rack, some nice stuff too, but I don’t want a whole bottle, and it won’t be so good over a few days. The bottles remain in place.

Monday 8th October

You may remember that last week I just made it to Guides on time to collect the girl. Over the summer when work was reasonably quiet and the evenings were warm and bright, I got into an unhealthy habit of stopping in the pub between the station and Guides for a quiet pint on my own. I’d sit and sip quietly for half an hour or so, contemplating the world at peace, then hop back onto my bicycle to collect her. Although dark, it’s oddly warm tonight, and I’m not massively busy, and I kind of miss the experience. Having said that, my pile of non-urgent things to do is growing longer, there is actually plenty for me to do in the office before I go. I look through my list, select a job that requires an hours concentration, and do that instead.

Tuesday 9 October

Bumped into an old colleague today who I hadn’t seen for a while, and we got chatting about getting the guys together for a few drinks. There’s a private rooftop bar nearby that we have access to, and I agree to organise a drink there for the group. Trouble is, rooftop bars are nice when it’s warm, and that really means this week. Can I just prevaricate?

Get home early after a meeting away from the office finishes early. Early doors on Tuesdays are nice because most of the family are out doing something energetic. I can open a bottle of red and listen to my music loudly without criticism. As Prince and the Revolution boom through the walls, I reach for the wine rack before correcting myself. I sit down at my desk to catch up on various bits of personal admin, and suddenly feel very down. The mild sense of achievement from the first week is now replaced with a general feeling of misery.

Wednesday 10 October 

Have a 4pm meeting, couple of the attendees suggest relocating to The Listing, a pub close to the office. Tempting, but not on, there’s a fair bit to discuss and it requires concentration. However my wife texts after a bit of a row with one of the kids suggesting we go out. Trouble is we won’t get out until about 9.30, a bit late for dinner or cinema, so it’s looking like a drink. Not sure whether to tell her I’m trying to avoid drinking for fear of ridicule, but equally the urge to drink isn’t massively strong. However, we will be back in the Jolly Sailor, and it will be the second time I’ve gone there to drink water. I’ll get myself barred.

In the event neither of us are really up for a evening out once all the kid-ferrying is complete, so we sit down to watch “The Apprentice” as a family again. No-one really watches it, but it’s a fun evening with phones and iPads put away yelling generalisations at the TV.

Thursday 11 October

I know I have to be in school for a relatively serious meeting at 7.30 tomorrow morning, so my usual big Thursday night isn’t really an option if I’m intending to project an image of responsible parenting. Instead, the Alban Arena, our local theatre, has a film night this evening, they pull a screen down to play Mary Shelley. I remember reading Frankenstein’s Monster years ago, and think this might be fun. We’ve also never watched a film there - after all - it’s not a cinema so the sound, etc probably isn’t phenomenal. The pair of us make up just under a quarter of the audience, but the film is quite good, and it’s a pleasant evening for a walk into town. On the way back the wife notes that I didn’t suggest nipping into the Jolly Sailor for a quick stop, but I remind her about the 7.30 meeting and she doesn’t think anything of it (I don’t think). I’ll tell her if I get to the end of the month, but that’s still a long way off and the wine rack still looks awfully tempting.

Friday 12 October

Friday closes with various colleagues suggesting a quick drink after work. Definitely just the one,  be good to have a quick chat, etc. Got a really busy spell coming up, so a pleasant drink this evening would be nice... but I head home for a stroll across the park to Waitrose with my wife while my daughter swims - we have torches this week. There’s some rather nice looking Chianti on the reduced rack at Waitrose, my wife asks if I want a bottle, but I say we have plenty spare. We have if I keep this up - otherwise we are down to about a 2 week supply.

Saturday / Sunday 13 / 14 October

Weekends are so similar. It’s a wet morning, but once the rain clears, my daughter and I head into town for a shop. I’m not a great shopper, so like to finish the session in a city centre pub garden with a cool beer for me and a orange juice with lemonade for her. But it’s a bit cooler today, we spend twice the usual drinks find on an espresso and a freshly squeezed lemonade in a cafe.  Sunday is a seriously rainy day, and I catch up on household jobs that have been neglected for a while. Surely that deserves a drink, but I note that tomorrow I will be half way through the month.

Monday 15 October

I also notice that this is getting easier. The original “one day at a time” approach is giving way to the occasional couple of consecutive days where the opportunity and temptation don’t really present themselves so forcefully. I again contemplate the quiet pint on the way to Guides pickup, but then think it’s a bit of a sad lonely old man thing to do. I go home, get changed, then do the pickup. I contemplate rewarding myself with a drink, thinking it will also fight the cold I can feel coming on, but definitely half way now and looking forward to the end.

Tuesday 16 October

Why did I think this was getting easier? One of the kids is in trouble at school again, which always makes me want to drink once I’ve finished having a serious word and they are in bed. I also notice that I probably have work drinks on 26th, so I’m not going to make it to the end of the month anyway. Seriously wavering this evening.

Wednesday 17 October

Well  - didn’t turn to the bottle last night. But the problem hasn’t gone away, in fact it’s slightly bigger. One of my fellow consultants comes round to my desk towards the end of the day, one of the ones that I’d deliberately failed to organise a drink with last week. I help him out with a bit of a client problem, and he suggests a quick pint in Jamie’s. Really tempted. He’s good company, and I’m thirsty, but say no. It’s avoiding home problems really, although I’ll feel the urge for a drink after that. 

Later on, harsh words exchanged, but afterwards we peacefully watch The Apprentice as a family again. This isn’t a bad Wednesday night routine.

Thursday 18 October

We’ve got tickets to see “Crazy Rich Asians” at the flicks tonight. It looks rubbish, but probably fun escapist trash. The cinema has a jolly nice bar, but I don’t normally use it anyway so we should be safe. And depending on which way we walk home, we can probably avoid the lure of some of our finer local pubs. Let’s see how we go..

We go in, and the bar is buzzing. I try to walk through quickly - one of my Grandma’s timeless pieces of advice was to always run past a public house to avoid getting tempted to go in. As we go in, we see a bunch of my wife’s friends laden down with Prosecco bottles and glasses, they offer us some, but Prosecco definitely isn’t to my taste. But once in our seats, there’s a lovely rich smell of red wine and cheese wafting somewhere, and I struggle with not returning to the bar to get my own portion. 

The movie is as daft as one might expect, but entertaining, and feeling cheery afterwards we head out for a curry. Then I have an abrupt thought that a curry without beer is going to be nigh on impossible, so we switch to an Italian instead. This is a minor disaster as my wife finds a lump of hard plastic in her pasta,  but at least I don’t drink.   This was a tough day to avoid it though.

Friday 19 October

Toughest day so far. I meet a couple of friends for a drink in The Lamb in Leadenhall market after a tiresome day at work. Its a lovely warm evening and the market is crowded with outdoor drinkers and the pleasant aroma of ale.

The bar is well managed and serves quickly, a fine selection of ales and I see a portion of delicious Scotch Eggs being served up while I wait. I order a glass of sparkling water, before spotting my friends and wandering over. The main topic of conversation seems to be my strange choice to not drink which is slightly irritating, and they seem to want to spike my second drink (but fortunately don’t). But I’m a bit bored of resisting it, so head home after the second glass. Could really do with a glass of wine when I get home.. but don’t. However I’m seriously doubting that I can keep going another 2 weeks.

Saturday 20 October

I did the park run today. I quite often do, but normally to clear a hangover and start the weekend a bit fresher. I missed it last week with a bit of a painful foot, so this is my first run since this experiment began. It’s a beautiful cool, sunny Autumn morning, dew in the grass, colourful leaves falling - you get the idea. Everyone else thinks the same, so it’s crowded. Amazingly, I break my personal record for the year by quite a margin, and what’s more, I sprinted at the end as I still seemed to have energy left. Maybe the lack of booze is making me healthier in more ways than I expected. Perhaps I should try to keep going a bit. The rest of the day is taken up with family duties finishing with a swimming gala which avoids the booze successfully. I even hope I don’t win any wine in the raffle.  

 Sunday 21 October

Sunday goes well too, until we are walking back from the shops and get stopped by a couple of friends sitting in the sunshine outside The Beech House, a large lovely pub that opens onto the market place. Oddly enough, my daughter had just been saying she was thirsty, and our friends invite us to join them, adding that a couple of other friends are coming up in a few minutes. I can see my wife on the brink of pulling up a chair. I’ve already uncharacteristically drunk water with these people recently, it will be very hard to stay and not drink. So I use my daughter as an excuse and head home.

Monday 22 October

A long day at the office without a break, then did a bit more work when I got home. Finished a little before midnight, and figured I needed something to drink to get myself to sleep sharpish rather than thinking about work. Went up to read instead, but too tired to focus on the letters and give up. Fall asleep feeling virtuous about not touching the whisky.

Tuesday 23 October

Another long day, but not working at home tonight. Sit down with Mrs H for dinner at 9, a bottle of wine would top it off nicely. But it’s not happening as I’ll then either drink a bit every day, or neck the whole bottle, both of which would defeat my purpose. Thinking about how to avoid drinking on Friday night. I might tell my colleagues about this now that the end is in sight. With leavjng drinks on 1 Nov and post-wedding drinks on 2 Nov, the plan to resume drinking at the end of next week is shaping up nicely, although I wonder if it’ll really appeal after a month of abstinence.

Wednesday 24 October

I had a chat with my boss about whether to take the team out for a drink once we’ve finished on Friday night, and confess that I’m not drinking. Turns out he isn’t either - he’s stopped for periods of time before, and says the secret is alcohol-free beer. Other than Becks, most alcohol-free lager is fine. Spanish alcohol-free lager in particular is jolly good apparently, making up 20% of beer sales in Spain. Its not happening tonight, I leave work on time tonight for parents evening at school, followed by dinner out for Mrs H and me. We went to “Little Marrakech”, a favourite Moroccan themed restaurant, with an excellently well priced set menu that includes a bottle of wine. Thing is, I need to work when I get home, and Mrs H won’t drink much which will leave me drinking most of the bottle. So I order a big bottle of sparkling water. I’m still rather surprised she hasn’t noticed that I haven’t drunk alcohol for 26 days, and I have to say slightly disappointed.

Thursday 25 October

Really too busy this week to think about drinking much, and recognising that if we do go out tomorrow night, it will be brief. However it will also be a good time to order a glass of water and crow my success in not drinking for (by then) 4 weeks. Thursday night remains a night when I still would rather go out for a drink, but having gone this long, I can keep it up a few more days.

Friday 26 October

In the event, I don’t leave work until after 11pm, so miss the excitement of The Listing.  As I cycle to the station, the worst of London’s drunks are on display. Men pissing in shop doorways, girls falling off their stillettoes, one fellow so drunk that his companions have to support him as he can’t even stand. Plenty of people are leaving Halloween parties in high spirits (boom boom) but frankly in a mess. The train is full of drunks, I find myself rising above it all.

Saturday 27 October

I do the park run again, confident of beating my previous week’s record, but narrowly fail. However its still a pleasurable run. I feel a bit of a drip for having been such a killjoy the previous evening, people were only having fun and actually I wish I was too. I confess to a couple of friends that I haven’t drunk all month, and they mention another mutual chum, a regular heavy drinker, who is doing a very public sober October. He hasn’t had a month without beer since the age of about 16, and is finding it hard. I am too, he’s a nice guy, but I know him mainly through drink and he’s a good drinking buddy. I know I’m missing the drink - I like the healthy feeling but I like the social side of drinking much more.

Sunday 28 October

Another busy day of ferrying children around. Quite behind on personal admin after a busy week of work, so find myself tapping this at bedtime with another day of no drink.  I also notice that my last drink was one month ago, September 28th, so I have managed the month. Shall I quickly sneak a glass of red?    No - Thursday 1 Nov is my first drink. 

Monday 29 October

Kids are on half term this week, oddly a week later than the rest of the country. My wife and daughter come into town to meet me for lunch, which is lovely, but  unfortunately puts me rather behind so I end up finishing late again. Still with 2 days to go, I’m pretty sure I’m going to make it now.

Tuesday 30 October

The eldest son is home alone while the others go off on a little trip, he’s supposed to be studying for mock GCSE’s. I think it might be prudent to leave work a bit early and spend a bit of time with him, so we work together through part of the evening - I suspect this is the first work he’s done all day. He cooks dinner, which we eat without drinking, we watch some rubbish on TV, and sleep. One more day.

Wednesday 31 October

A very busy day, hassled all day and no time to think or prioritise. I come home with a lot unfinished, and work well into the evening to get on top of the hundreds of emails received through the day. As I log off, I notice that it’s 11.58, I am 2 minutes from November...

In fact I last another 16 hours before finally getting out for a drink in The Listing. 

I made it. It’s over.

Diary of a Road Accident Victim Part VII: The Police Response

The earlier Diary Parts I - VI tell the story of the events following the time that I was knocked off my bike by a careless driver in March. She realised her error, was very apologetic, and provided details at the scene, as did a witness who was driving behind me. I wasn't badly hurt beyond cuts and bruises, but my clothes were ruined. I made 5 attempts to report it to the police, a process riddled with stumbling blocks.However, the driver's insurers were more helpful, eventually awarding me £600 to replace my damaged clothes. I thought that was it. However, there is a slight footnote.

Firstly, I had an unexpected letter from the Dept for Work and Pensions, to say that any kind of benefits I had claimed as a result of the accident will need to be claimed back from the insurer of the offender. Assuming that the insurer of the offender didn’t tell the DWP about the accident, they must have been notified by the police, which makes the next part even stranger.

I had two letters from the police - one to say that they were closing the case as none of the four attempts to report the accident were successful (quickly rectified with a few more phone calls and emails); and then the final letter below, which was what I expected. They hadn’t had time to contact the independent witness, or trace other witnesses, so wouldn’t be taking the matter any further.

Whilst I recognise that the police are woefully over-stretched, so can’t follow up on every injured cyclist in their jurisdiction, I (slightly selfishly) don’t think this is good enough. Some forces do manage it, and even follow up on common “non-accidents offenses” like drink driving and using handheld mobile phones.  Some forces (notably West Midlands) take this to something of an extreme, and even fine drivers for overtaking too close to a bicycle. 
Although rather harsh on drivers, this has been a measurably successful approach. Amongst other initiatives, it has led to a 20% cut in road accident victims who are killed or seriously injured. Extended across the 1,800 or so people killed on British Roads every year, this would on average save a life every day; way more than are killed in London stabbings and terrorist attacks combined.

In the same week that I received my letter, our local police force attended in person at 2 separate incidents to investigate cats being killed by foxes in my street. There must be some reprioritisation that could be done. The alternative is that we continue to accept that the lives of pedestrians and cyclists are less important to society than the convenience or pleasure of drivers. 

Diary of a Road Accident Victim Pt VI: Resolution

A summary so far:
I was knocked off my bike by a careless driver about a month ago. She realised her error, was very apologetic, and provided details at the scene, as did a witness who was driving behind me. I wasn't badly hurt beyond cuts and bruises, but my clothes were ruined. It was a struggle to report to the police owing to the need to report it in person at a police station that's only open for 2 hours per week, but the driver's insurers were more helpful.

And now
After a pleasant break over Easter, I arrived home to find that the driver's insurers had offered me £600 in compensation, a little over the £500 I had asked for, but with the caveat that I would need to accept this as full and final settlement. This seemed fair, it was enough to replace the damaged clothes which was really what I was asking for. I completed their form, signed it, got it witnessed, and sent it back today. I think now I just wait for payment so will go through the embarrassing process of getting my measurements made next week.

I won't expect a reply from the police, although they may acknowledge that I reported it.

Epilogue
Despite this happy resolution, it bugs me that the worse the driver behaves - the less they are penalised, and that incentivises drivers to leave pedestrians and riders in the road after an accident. They can't easily be traced unless a passer-by is quick-witted enough to take their registration plate, and therefore will never face any sanctions. Drivers who admit liability and stop to help will their insurance records impacted, but nothing further. Those who follow procedure and not only stop, but report the accident to the police, could end up with a fine and points on their license. Its no wonder that many drivers simply drive on after colliding with cyclists.

Diary of a Road Accident Victim Pt V: Insurance responds

Wednesday

The driver admitted liability to their insurers immediately,  the insurers asked me for an estimate of the cost of the damaged clothes, ideally with receipts. This is a bit tricky - I’ve got no idea. As you may have guessed from my Blog name, my physique is slightly unusual (think of a peeled, hard boiled egg with 4 cocktail sticks poked into it). As a result, most (but not all) of my suits are bespoke. I really couldn’t remember if this one was or not. It was from Austin Reed, which is now closed, so I couldn’t try to find something similar. So eventually a plucked a number out of the air in the range that I’d normally spend on a suit, with a bit more for the shirt. I sent the number off with a selection of photos.

The email from the insurers also said that they would cover any legal fees involved. I toyed with the idea of engaging a solicitor, but then figured that the advice I had already received was fine. 

I dropped off the completed Police form at Wood Street Police Station, aware that by then I had hugely missed the 24 hour deadline required on the form. The same officer on the Front Desk repeated his surprise that this was necessary, they would simply post it to Beds, Cambs & Herts Traffic Police, who already have all the information from the Internet form.  I had the feeling that was the last I would hear from the police. I assumed that the driver hadn’t reported it, which is an offence in itself, but probably not one that Police would have the resources to follow up. 

With Easter approaching, I wasn’t expecting any more responses for a while, so we will pick up when either the insurers, or the police, respond.

To be continued....

Diary of a Road Accident Pt IV: getting better

Tuesday 27 March

I got to Wood Street Police Station in the City of London a little after 8am. The officer on the front desk told me that I should report it over the Internet, and was very surprised at the response from Beds, Cambs and Herts Traffic Police. I showed him the email they had sent me, and he produced a self-reporting form that seemed to ask exactly the same questions. I took the form away to complete at a free moment, with just this small piece worrying me slightly.



The Personal Injury Lawyer called as planned that afternoon. He was also surprised at the Police demand to attend a police station in person (I had forwarded him the email from the police). My main purpose of speaking to a solicitor was to see if an attempt to recover costs was a waste of time. He assured me that it wasn’t; but it was also simple enough to make an insurance claim if I had the registration number of the offending vehicle. He provided a website ( http://www.askmid.com/askmidenquiry.aspx) where I could find the driver’s insurance details for £4, and told me that this should cover the cost of the damaged clothes and possibly a compensation payment for my injuries. 

I should also acknowledge a kind comment on my original post from Fifth Gear, pointing me to http://www.accident-claim-expert.co.uk/compensation-claim/civil-court-cases-uk.html, although by that time I had what I needed.

That evening I filled in the police paper form, and made an insurance claim against the driver as directed by the solicitor.  Things were looking up. 

To be continued...

Diary of a Road Accident Victim Pt III, a plan forms

Monday

After a miserable weekend of feeling sorry for myself, and then feeling irritated at myself for feeling sorry for myself at something pretty trivial, but furious at the unpunished carelessness of the driver, Monday started well. For I had not just a plan to make things better, but 2 plans. 

Firstly, it occurred to me that the requirement to report the accident at my local police station didn’t necessarily mean the one nearest the accident. Working in Central London means there are plenty of open police stations around. It’s a different force, but it’s still police.

Secondly, I remembered that the London Cycling Campaign provides free legal advice to its members. I’m a member of the London Cycling Campaign, presumably I could use this. 

I had a rather busy morning, so it was mid afternoon by the time I got to a desk to search for the nearest police station, only to find that it was right around the corner from the meeting I had just left. Never mind, it opens at 7.30 every day, so I’d just go in the next day. 

The legal helpline for London Cycling Campaign members linked to a Personal Injury solicitor. I had vague reservations about this being one of those firms that call randomly to tell you that you’re due compensation for something or other, but arrange to speak to them the next day anyway. 

At the end of Monday, my bruises weren’t going away, but I was definitely on the way to getting some justice. 

To be cpntinued...

Diary of a Road Accident Pt II

Weekend 24/25 March

The day began merrily enough as family Saturdays often do. My daughter’s need for a new guide uniform seemed to override my need to sleep off the previous evening, so up we got. Overnight I had received an email from the police to tell me that I needed to report the accident in person at a police station rather than the internet. Slightly irritating, but I figured that a detour to the Police Counter in the Civic Centre wasn’t such an onerous chore. 

Girl Guide depots are great, or at least, the St Albans one is. The volunteers are super enthusiastic, and knew exactly what we needed.  They talked excitedly to my daughter about the fun of guiding, and we left there fully equipped and pretty chipper. We walked up the hill into town, and after a whizz round a few shops headed for the Civic Centre.

And that’s where it went wrong. The counter is only open from 10-12 on a Wednesday. No other days. This struck me as rather outrageous, how could I report it whilst the events are fresh in my mind if I have to wait 5 days for it to open? If there is no front counter to report things like this, why can’t the Police accept a phone or internet report? If I take half a day off work to report it, then I won’t get paid, adding lost wages to the existing costs of replacing clothes.

The day was a bit too busy to dwell on it, but I then lay awake that night stewing about the inequity of the situation. If I had been in a car rather than on a bike, the insurers would have sorted it out immediately. Why should I have cost and discomfort while the driver carries on as if nothing happened? Where else is the vulnerable party the least protected by the law? What other circumstance, other than boxing, is one person allowed to leave another with visible grazes and bruises without a penalty?  It’s the driving equivalent of a studs up 2 footed tackle, there must be a driving equivalent of a red card. 

I spent most of Sunday seething about it, and whingeing to anyone who innocently asked me how I was. By Sunday evening I had wound myself into a plethora of hate about the motoring community in general but whilst watching the children swim, calm descended, and I had 2 good ideas.

To be continued...

Diary of a Road Accident: Pictures

Here's the damage to my clothes and tubby physique:

Diary of a Road Accident

Friday 23 March
On Friday I was pottering along to work on my bicycle as usual. After the wintery conditions of the previous week, it was pleasantly warm and I was thinking spring wasn’t far away. A white taxi was coming the other way, and I remember thinking it looked really pristine in the clear air, when there was a sudden screech of tyres from it. A moment later I was aware of something large and dark immediately to my side. My instinct was that a cloud had covered the sun briefly, but seconds later I found myself lying in a puddle on the edge of the road. I lay still for a moment rather confused about how I had gone from a bicycle saddle to the road surface. I could feel various pains, mainly a twisted ankle, but nothing intense. I sat up to find 3 people running towards me, then some arms round me telling not to move. I think that was the moment I realised I had been run over. 

Apart from the ankle I felt fine, and tried to stand up, but a woman’s voice (presumably belonging to the arms) told me that I had to stay where I was. Although I wasn’t sitting in the puddle by this stage, it certainly wasn’t a good place to make myself comfortable, and the impatient horns of queuing motorists persuaded the people around me that perhaps I should at least unblock the road. I stood up, and oddly the pain passed from my left ankle to the opposite elbow and knee. I looked down at them and my otherwise immaculate suit was heavily scuffed and torn down one side. My white shirt cuffs were a curious mixture of the crisp white that l’d left the house with, some sort of oily deposit from the puddle, and a bit of blood. It occurred to me that this was not a good look for a client meeting, so I figured I’d better go home and change. 

The people around me identified themselves, there was the taxi driver and his passenger, he’d done an emergency stop to avoid a collision with the car overtaking me. There was the car driving behind who had seen the impact with a clear view, and there was the lady who explained that having committed to the overtake, she had needed to drive into me to complete it. She kindly offered to drive me home, but I felt I would be safer on my bike, and after straightening the handlebars, I pedalled slowly home.

Once home, I postponed my earliest meetings, got changed, washed my grazes, then as an afterthought photographed the damage. I then reported the incident to the police via their website, and headed back off to work. The whole thing could have been a lot worse, the only impact was discomfort, and the cost of new clothes.  A very busy day's work following, then a jolly pleasant social evening distracted me from the whole business. 

To be continued......

In Praise of Quietways

I like the Quietway idea. I understand the complaints - that we are still sharing the road with vans and trucks, that there is nothing to prevent double-parking, that they’re used as rat-runs by school run cars; and really they are no substitute for fully segregated cycle lanes.  But they are a remarkably efficient way to make roads more pleasant for normal people to ride bicycles with minimal disruption to everyone else. Because being on two wheels doesn’t make us better than everyone on four wheels or two feet, not all of us anyway, and we have to collectively learn to share the limited space that London offers us while it gradually shifts into a more cycle-Friendly City.

I was contemplating this when doing a relatively unfamiliar route: from the City near London Bridge, up to the other side of Mare Street in Hackney. My mission was to return a hired Cargo Bike to the marvellous CarryMe Bikes, of which more later - save to say that they are conveniently situated close to Quietway 2. I took CS1 Northwards out of the City, picking up the Quietway where is crosses CS1 in De Beauvoir Town. But first, I briefly deviated over Bank Junction, simply because it’s a delight to ride across it now that it’s closed to all except buses and bikes.

One of my bugbears of cycling round London is the difficulty in finding the right route in an unfamiliar area. When I first started riding around London in the early 1990’s, any amount of advance route planning was of limited use as minor roads lead naturally to major roads, just as small streams lead into large rivers. This makes sense for cars, as do signs indicating the major roads to your destination which are generally not great for cycling.

Quietways get round this by providing a simple parallel network of trunk routes for bicycles. These are made inconvenient for cars by the inclusion of things like bollards blocking one end of a street, or cuts through narrow alleyways. As long as the signage for the Quietway is clear, it becomes a very easy route to follow. However miss a critical sign (as I had on my earlier journey in the opposite direction) and its rather easy to get lost without a fairly encyclopaedic knowledge of London streets.

No such ambiguity where the North-South CS1 crosses the East-West Quietway 2. Neither are on segregated cycle paths at that route, but the various traffic calming measures at the crossroads, in particular prioritising cyclists at the traffic lights, means that this is distinctly a cycling route rather than a vehicle rat-run. And so I swung right following Quietway 2 through Hackney’s fine Georgian residential streets. It was a beautiful cool and sunny afternoon, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t passed through this part of London for over 20 years. Back then many of the houses were either derelict or occupied as squats. But now the boards had come off the windows, the brickwork repointed and the splendour of the architecture was restored.

The Quietway crossed Kingsland High Road, a Street where I remembered returning to our college minibus to find every single window smashed, but now quite a chic high street. The signing led clearly on through Hackney Fields, a lovely park with children playing and their adults sipping coffee, which I don’t think I was ever aware of before. This is one of the magic things about London cycling, the sights that you’d miss from a train or, god forbid, a car, and the way they all change over time, and lead seamlessly from one to another.

I was pretty alert to the signage here, as this is where I had gone wrong coming in the opposite direction a few days earlier. This is a problem with Quietways. It’s easy to inadvertently deviate from it, whether through a missing or damaged sign, or just day-dreaming, which I am rather prone to when cycling. Suddenly there is nothing to indicate where the Quietway might be, and picking up where you left it is not always easy. 

However this time round I managed to follow the signage through a series of calm roads and shared paths to the rather oddly placed selection of Designer Outlet stores. There’s a few that I think it’s safe to say are not really aimed at me, but there is a Nike Outlet. I was alert enough to remember that at least one of my children wanted something from here, but not sufficiently attentive to have a clue which child or garment was required. 

So I pottered on, on shared paths this time, behind a school party dawdling slowly, but then I’m hardly speedy... and on past Clapton Square. This is yet another delightful quiet London space that other forms of transport would miss altogether.

And then I was at my destination. Just under 30 minutes from one bike shed to another. A healthier chap on a speedier bike would probably manage it in half the time, public transport would take considerably more, and smell worse.

Quietways aren’t a perfect piece of cycling Infrastructure, particularly if you’re in anything of a hurry, or during busy times of the day. But they are an effective way of enabling more people to use bicycles to get from one place to another. That in itself enables normal people to think outside an assumption of jumping into a car, and feeling much better for it. And the next stage, that London may slowly be getting to, is a full network of segregated cycle lanes. Until then, join me in celebrating Quietways.

Kids love bikes - a good enough reason to ride them to school

About ten years ago, my (then) 5 year old son had his bike stolen from the school from the school playground while pupils and staff were all inside during lessons. Whilst we expect to get bikes stolen periodically, I was surprised that anyone would steal a child’s bike from a playground, particularly as it involved walking in from the street and presumably spending some time cutting through the lock. However the bigger surprise was the school’s response when we reported it - that he shouldn’t be cycling to school at that age anyway. This view was also supported by our local cycling campaign group. 

Roll forward to 2016, and the school run in our area at least has become much more cycle friendly. Whilst it remains illegal to ride on pavements, it is a rule not enforeced by Police, as most people see small children on a bicycle as friendlier than parking a car across a pavement. Like most schools, children are encouraged to walk, cycle (and scoot) to school with parents supervising until they have completed some form of on-road training like Bikeability, sometimes still nostalgically referred to as Cycling Proficiency. After this, children should be able to cycle independently. In our area, the vast majority of children live within a mile of their primary school - there is a school every couple of miles or so, not a good distance for a car journey. Even so, only 1% of British children travel to school by bike.

Kids love bikes. They are fast. They can look cool. They have bells that make noises and lights that flash. They can potter along together with relatively little effort. A mile is a fairly long daily walk for very small children, but is a breeze on a bicycle, and the thrill of it takes away the boredom of walking that brings on the “I’m too tired….” phrase that we don’t all love. The thrill doesn’t really wear off with age - my children aged from 10 - 15 still get as much pleasure from riding to school as they did when they giggled away in their bike-mounted toddler seats. Perhaps most importantly, it prepares them for life as older children and young adults when a bicycle is inevitably their main means of transport, particularly to friends, clubs, and parks a couple of miles away. More practically for me personally, it means that after drop-off, I carry on to work on my bike, breezing past other parents sitting in traffic jams having dropped their children at pre-school clubs.

Safety is a worry, but a really irrational one. My picture taken as I dropped off my youngest daughter at primary school yesterday illustrates the difficulties of combining almost 400 children arriving at the same site each morning by a combination of car, feet, and bikes. This will always be the case. Many drivers would like to see bikes banned from the road, other parents want to restrict car journeys to school gates. Cars are big, they are hard to see round, they move quickly and doors open unexpectedly. Whilst the occasional graze from flying over handlebars or skidding round a corner is crucial part of growing up, the potential impact by a vehicle travelling 5 times the speed of a bike is never far away from a parent’s mind. However, it is important to get some perspective on this. According to Government stats collected over the last 5 years, the general risk of injury of any severity whilst cycling is 0.05 per 1,000 hours of cycling. Cycle deaths, whilst horrific to contemplate, only occur on average once per 29 million miles of cycle travel in Britain, less risky on an hourly basis than gardening (although that may be partly to do with my children’s Ninja approach to spring pruning). Seriously - its scary - but not dangerous. 

There is something of a fashion parade in children’s bikes. Children whose parents really love them normally have Isla Bikes. Ranging in price from around £300 up to £750, these are so good, so very very good that they are rarely brought out of the house. However they do hold their second-hand value, so you get your money back. They are properly designed to children rather than being adult bikes cut down to smaller proportions. Consequently they are much more comfortable and lighter. Time will be when the phrase “this is the Rolls Royce of…..” will become “This is the IslaBike of….”

Sadly for my offspring, my meanness stretches to whatever is available on eBay or Gumtree as they grow out of their previous bikes, usually every 2 or 3 years. Our price range has varied from £6 (ironically one of the best bikes we ever bought) up to £40. Children’s bikes get scratched against fences, left outside, ridden through rivers, woods and over rocks, skidded across anything remotely slippery; and are generally not worth being prissy or generous with. Love for a bike comes from regular use and adventures together rather than looking really nice all the time. I see no need for starter bikes without pedals, just take off the pedals for a normal bike, re-fixing them once they have the hang of it.

The five-year old is now 15 and rides off with his posse to secondary school a couple of miles away each morning. The school provides plenty of bike racks away from the road and with a separate access from the main car entrance. The school makes clear that at secondary school age they cannot ride on pavements, enforcing fixed term exclusions on any kids caught doing so. Whilst I think the school could be more encouraging towards cyclists, I am convinced that getting used to cycling as a means of transport at this age is a welcome set-up for adult life. Its quicker, cleaner, healthier, and crucially - pleasurable!