Cycling in London freaks me out – too much badly-behaved traffic for my liking. But this bike fills me with daydreams of cycling through French fields, with a baguette, a ripe brie and a bottle of something chilled and chablis-like in my basket. I have a red and white gingham picnic cloth, the sun shines, there are wisps of cotton-wool cloud pulled across the horizon, and cicadas chirrup from the shade of nearby trees as I chew and sip my lunch at leisure. The afternoon is made for dozing and flipping lazily through the pages of Paris Match, wondering if Johnny Halliday will live forever. Funny how the sight of one simple bicycle can transport a person to such an idyllic afternoon, no real wheels required.