It's tourist time around here. Loadsa dosh for the Bed and Breakfasts, Hotels, and Tartan Tat shops. Endless frustration and bewilderment for the locals as total strangers drive around at 35 miles an hour in a blind panic at the twistiness of the roads.

This year, for some reason, I seem to have become stuck behind more than my fair share of people huffing their way along on bikes. Brave people. There's no way you'd get me out one one of these roads on a pushbike. Not the way the tourists drive around here (or the locals come to that). But having been a cyclist, and having the wits scared out of me by people in cars just missing my elbow at speed, I do try to give them as much room as possible. At this time of year this quite often means slowing down behind them to a plodding five or six miles an hour till there is an opportunity to safely get past them without colliding head-on with some lunatic busy gawping at the scenery (Do I have time to tell the story about the guy Mike saw driving from Fort William while looking through the viewfinder of his camcorder? Probably not).

So, after a few minutes trudge watching this sweating loon's Lycra clad backside heaving away, the moment comes. The road is straight and clear. Check behind. Indicate. Drop down a gear - fuck! we're in second to start with - okay, welly the accelerator - and get past him. Back onto the right side of the road, up a gear and just round the corner is the bugger's friend; same panniers, same brand of Lycra shorts and just before the really twisty bit with all the solid white lines down the center of the road that mean I can't overtake him safely anyway.

Why don't they stick together so we can get past all of them in one go? Why is one always a hundred yards ahead round the next bend ready to slow up all the traffic again?

So eventually you get past the second one - and you don't know if there's another one lurking just ahead. Cyclists, please just stick together in bunches or, if you can't do that, wear something that tells us how many of you to expect. Like a delivery that comes in many parcels, have a sticker that says "One of Three", or however many, plastered on your offside buttock so we can see what we're in for.

Best Unopened Spams in My Inbox of the day:

J'ai Un Enorme Gulliver Dans Mon Pantalon!

and

Step into a fast-moving industry. Train as a Radiologist.