I think I passed the 'real cyclist test' this morning. I woke up looking forward to my ride. I was asked by Mrs BTFB to take in her car to the garage for a service, pick up a courtesy car....oh ...ok...if you insist...so off I go in the 4x4 (apologies but it's true)....it took me an hour to get there in heavy traffic of the most mindless and moronic variety. I could have got there quicker on the bike. All i could think about was how much better things are on the bike....even in the current weather. The courtesy car was (of course) not a car, but a lawnmower with a roof and an empty petrol tank. being a gentleman of large(ish) proportions I fight to gain access to said lawn mower, suffer unbearable pain and gross indignity and embarrassment...I mean...me...a cyclist being degraded to peasant motorist status...no...much more worse even...lawnmower status.....anyway...off I truck...erm...tremble....through another hour of mindless traffic, only this time hindered by said empty petrol tank and crippling back pain caused by said midget mower. Finally i arrive home after 90 minutes of sufferring (which is about 40 minutes more than I have done the same route on my bike in the past). I was surprised I managed to remove myself from this tin can withing 15 minutes without the help of the fire brigade. I cursed the infernal machine and opened up the garage to gaze on my bike to calm myself. The phone rang...."YES!"...."erm...Mr BTFB?"...."YES!!"....this is the garage...."your car is ready to collect"...."Oh ****, really?"!