My Brompton sits forlornly in the hall alongside landing nets, fishing rods, wading sticks, a bowler hat and other forsaken sporting impedimenta.
I have had cycling accidents in London when drunk, sober and considerably younger, so no more biking for me. But a folding Brompton is a fine bit of engineering to own. I bought mine in the late 1980s from the then Brompton factory in Brentford. My salesman was Andrew Ritchie, OBE, not to be confused with the retired soldier of the same name, CBE. Andrew’s invention is the Rolls-Royce of folding bikes. I think he was wise to call it a Brompton, where he lived, not a Brentford.
Well, yesterday morning I was toddling down to the bureau de change in Hammersmith Broadway to buy an inordinate number of euros for something that does not concern you – at least until Thursday. Why are they called bureaux de change? The French vocabulary is so impoverished that a towel is a serviette de toilette, and swap shop hardly encapsulates FX transactions. Anyway, en route, there I go again slipping into my native Norman French, I happened upon this.
To join the club you choose an annual subscription: either £25 or £5 a year. If you opt for the former each day’s hire is £3.30, if the latter £6.50. I used my Brompton when there were tube strikes and, once, to go to a fancy dress party in Berkshire. I took it on the train and cycled to the party nearly being undone by a ford on the way.
In the eight neat little lockers above are eight little folded Bromptons. There are thirteen locations in London and a total of thirty-eight, all in the south of England. Take one from one location, put it back somewhere else – no problem. I wonder what happens if somebody nicks it during your hire period? Their “best value bike” retails for £1,130.00. I will be on two feet, not two wheels.