I loved the exhilaration of pedalling quickly through the city, flowing between stationary cars and weaving through the lines of moving traffic. I loved the mindlessness of the job, the absolute focus on the body in movement, the absence of office politics and cubicle-induced anxiety.
At 8.30am, Old Street is clogged with other cyclists.
Lycra-clad bankers head into the City on their carbon-framed racers, wobbly commuters on Boris bikes hug the gutter. Suited Brompton riders glide through the gaps. Graphic designers and web developers, bound for Soho, drift by on their track bikes, studiously ignoring everyone else. I join the peloton, attacking when I see a space until I’ve moved to the front of the bunch.