I had to buy a new helmet, because my old one broke when I was going round the corner near Heaton Park Road (actually, the junction at Heaton Hall Road and Wandsworth Road) and did a huge swerve to avoid some numpty riding a downhill bike. I mounted the pavement and ended up gently crashing to the floor in a tangle of skinned elbows and bouncing craniums.

Whilst I was fine physically, it would have been nice if the idling taxi driver parked nearby could have checked on me, as I lay on the pavement looking dazed. It would have been even nicer if my fellow cyclist, who I swerved to avoid, had done a little more than turn his head to check on me. But I don’t expect any signs of intelligence from taxi drivers or people who ride downhill bikes in city areas.

My new helmet is manly, huge enough to fit my bonce, and comes in lovely 1980′s colours. It’s difficult to not buy a new helmet when you prang yourself and find a bad-ass crack down the back of your old helmet, and I’d like to thank the manager of my local Edinburgh cycles for taking the time out to help me find a helmet accomadating enough for my cranium. Because, in all modesty, my head is fecking massive.