And for that 1.6 miles, I had the pleasure of paying £12. Which is pretty ridiculous given that a cab from Waterloo to Wapping is normally around £10.

Now, I know that there a lot of ancillary costs associated with the whole green thing, but I also reckon that the Prius is probably a fair bit cheaper than your standard hackney black cab (£27000 vs £17-21000 for the Prius), and the costs of fuel are obviously a lot lower. Now, yes, assuming they are carbon offsetting the distance; Carbon Fund offers me a cost of, uh, $0.01.

So Go Green Cars, you’re taking the piss a little bit. I’ll be sticking to the bike for a while longer.

Everyone cycling in those videos is pretty much insane as far as I’m concerned. I’ve done a fair bit of biking in my time, and consider myself to be more than a match for London streets, at least in order not to get killed.The bikes that bike messengers are using are pretty impressive; most cyclists get bike envy on the streets, but I can’t bring myself to get that excited about fixed wheel bikes. Single speed makes a lot of sense, especially in central london, which is pretty flat.It’s the fixed wheel aspect that bothers me. Basically, that means you’ve got a back wheel that won’t let you stop pedalling at the same speed as the back wheel (normally there is a ratchet arrangement, so the wheel can only be pushed around one way, when you’re pedalling, and runs free the other direction). I tried one once in a velodrome and ate a lot of floor. And bike messengers are taking these on the streets of London? More specifically Oxford St? Shit the bed.

And I think they’re a bit of a menace, to be honest. Other than the unbearably smug ones who fuck over other cyclists, which there is no excuse for, they generally fairly uniformly sour the relationship between bikers and drivers & pedestrians, cutting red lights and weaving through people crossing the road.

I’m a strong believer in some basic rights of travel. You should be free to walk or cycle anywhere without being obstructed, as much as possible. No individual has any conceivable right to personal long distance travel at their disposal; it is a conceit of our times (I have no issue with taxi’s, rental cars or car share schemes, but the idea of every individual owning a car worries me). Public transport should be available between as many destinations and as regularly as possible, and cost effectively nothing (nota bene: I am a pretty traditional pro nationalised industry member of the left).

Several groups of people violate those reasonable rules. Slow people on the aforementioned Oxford St are the dull bovines of London, and the bane of my life. A quick trip to somewhere in the more touristy areas (such as the impressive Sanderson hotel, where the Irregulars imbibed some rather good whisky the other night, but that’s another story) proceeds like an arduous mountain climb in the Scouts (hell yes, I was a member) where every has to climb at the pace of the chubby kid at the back. Who was probably me.Cycle couriers I have already vented some on above; my main irritation is that they feel they have a right to get places faster than me. Take all the risks you want to do that, but don’t impede me or get up in my grill.

But I guess they’re a small menace compared to fat hulking SUV’s, but that’s such a clicked rant. Hackney cab’s, no, I know they’re a taxi, and will bust my balls a bit, and I expect them to be in the bus lane, and just assume the drivers are very good at what they do. Posh cab’s on the other hand (Mercs/Beemers, generally blacked out windows), show no warning, pop into the bus la, and I have an irrational fear that David Cameron is about to leap out of each one and hop on a bicycle (actually, I’m generally far too far from Westminster for that to be the case). I had a little word with the driver of one of these vehicles the other day, and I was perfectly civilised, as always. The gentleman in the back chimed in rather plummily with some jovial comment about cyclists running lights before I pointed out the dangers of gross oversimplifications to the gentleman, and, with a muttered ‘hey, fuck you buddy’, the lights changed and I was off.

“Here we are again, crammed into a sweaty tube carriage. And today’s Wednesday – only two more days until you can binge drink yourself into a state of denial about the mediocrity of you life. Oh, for Goodness sake, if you’re female smile at the bloke next to you and make his day. He probably hasn’t had sex for months”

[See post to listen to audio]