Cycling home last night, me on my Brompton. At a three-way junction. Lights red against me. In front, a roadie on a racing bike properly kitted out all the skintight gear with legs like brick outhouses, crouched and ready to rock.
I cycled past him and, as there was nothing coming in any direction, carried on across the junction.
About 200 yards further on, I saw in my rear-view mirror that the lights had changed and that he was charging up at some speed.
As he drew level (and very close) with me, he shouted “TIT!” at the top of his voice and sped off.
Gosh. I wonder if he’s there again this evening…