Stuck in a car, the weight of Christmas chores hanging like garland around weary shoulders, I saw a fluent red hat, moving with purpose and grace. The hat prescribed an arc (from my angle at least), swooping neatly around a downhill bend. Then I glimpsed the bike. Small, a ladies with standover frame, wooden box lashed to rear rack. Then I observed the rider, late 20s, rain mac, concentrating on her line. Legs spinning, errands to run, places to be. Despite the enterprise, she flowed handsomely, expressing the beauty of the bike over the blunt instrument of the car, bouncing from place to place. Were it not for the ironic need to pick up a bike later, I’d be occupying that same place, a nett contributor to free flowing human spaces. The image above is not that of the red hat, but a bike I saw at Bristol Dock recently, elegantly wreathed in flowers, parked somewhere no car can follow and representing much the same philosophy.
Below, Air’s ‘Sing, Sang, Sung’. Substitute a red hat for a black ball.