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middleaged lady said. One or two other people made supportive noises. As various other voices chipped in, not one of them backed up the lady in the tweed suit.
The expression that had formed on her face by this point told its own story. She was, by now, even redder than ever, almost purple in fact. She spluttered and grumbled for a moment or two but made no real sense. Clearly the penny had dropped and she realised that she had lost this particular battle. So she turned on her heels and disappeared once more into the crowds, this time thankfully permanently.
You OK, James? one of the onlookers asked me, as I kneeled down to check on Bob. He was purring loudly but his breathing was steady and there was no sign of any injury from when he was dropped to the ground.
Im fine, thanks, I said, not being entirely honest.
I hated it when people implied I was using Bob in some way. It hurt me deeply. In a way we were victims of our circumstances. Bob wanted to be with me, of that I was absolutely certain. Hed proven that time and time again. Unfortunately, at the moment, that meant that he had to spend his days with me on the streets. Those were the simple facts of my life. I didnt have a choice.
The downside was that this made us easy targets, sitting ducks for people to judge. We were lucky, most people judged us kindly. I had learned to accept that there would always be those who would not.

 

Chapter 3
The Bobmobile

It was a balmy, early summer afternoon and I had decided to knock off from work early. The sunny weather seemed to have put a smile on everyones face and Id reaped the benefits, selling out my supply of magazines in a few hours.
Since Id started selling The Big Issue a couple of years earlier, Id learned to be sensible, so Id decided to plough some of the money back into buying some more magazines for the rest of the week. With Bob on my shoulders, I headed over to see Rita, the coordinator on the north side of Islington High Street on the way back to catch the bus home.
From a distance, I could see that she was having an animated conversation with a group of vendors in red bibs who were huddled around something. It turned out to be a bicycle. I got on well with Rita, so knew that I could gently take the mickey.
Whats this, Rita? I joked. Riding in the Tour de France?
Dont think so, James, she smiled. Someone just sold it to me in exchange for ten magazines. I really dont know what to do with it to be honest. Bikes arent really my thing.
It was obvious the bike wasnt in prime condition. There were hints of rust on the handlebars and the light at the front had cracked glass. The paintwork had a few chips and nicks and, just for good measure, one of the mudguards had been snapped in half. Mechanically, though, it looked like it was in reasonable condition.
Is it roadworthy? I asked Rita.

Think so, she shrugged. He muttered something about one of the sets of brakes needing a bit of attention but thats all.
She could see my mind was working overtime.
Why dont you give it a try, see what you think?
Why not? I said. Can you keep an eye on Bob for a second?
I was no Bradley Wiggins but I had ridden bikes throughout my childhood and again in London. As part of my rehabilitation a few years earlier, I had been briefly involved with a bicycle building course so I knew a bit about cycle maintenance. It felt good to know some of that training hadnt gone to waste.
Handing Bobs lead to Rita, I took the bike and flipped it upside down to inspect it properly. The tyres were inflated and the chain looked like it was well oiled and moving pretty freely. The seat was a little low for me, so I adjusted it up a little. I then took the bike down on to the road and gave it a quick workout. The gears were a tad on the sticky side and, as Rita had warned me, the front brakes werent working properly. I had to apply maximum pressure on the handle to get any reaction and even then it wasnt enough to bring the bike to a halt. I figured there was a problem with the wire inside the cable. It was easily fixed I suspected. The rear brakes were fine, however, which was all I needed to know.
What does that mean? Rita said when I reported all this back to her.
It means its OK to ride, I said.
By now Id made a decision.
Tell you what, Ill give you a tenner for it, I said.
Really. You sure? Rita said, a little taken aback.
Yes, I replied.
OK, deal. Youll need this as well, she said, fishing around under her trolley and producing a rather battered, old black cycle helmet.
Id always been a bit of a hoarder, collecting bits and pieces, and for a while my little flat had been full of all sorts of junk, from mannequins to road signs. But this was different. This was actually one of the first, sensible investments Id made in a while. I knew the bike would be useful back up in Tottenham where I could use it for short journeys to the shops or the doctors. Id make the £10 back in saved bus fares in no time. For the longer journey to work at Angel or into central London Id carry on taking the bus or the tube. That journey was too treacherous to cycle because of the main roads and junctions Id have to negotiate. Some of them were notorious cycling accident spots.
It was only then, as I mentally mapped out the journeys that Id be able to cycle from now on, that it suddenly struck me.