Well, I’ve just got back from Amsterdam and as usual, I am a casualty. My right leg is festooned (not with foppish breeches as the word suggests) but with bruises. I had two bicycling accidents. The first one, I was on Eddie’s parcel rack coming back from the converted water treatment centre – where we’d had heart shaped potato waffles masquerading as French cuisine (don’t ask) – when I slipped off, probably because my right cheek was the only cheek actually on said parcel rack so was doing overtime in a testing grip situation (I was also wearing unsuitable footwear, aka orange flip flops). Any road up, as they say up north, I fell off then Eddie fell off. No other casualties, thank God. The next day, I came off while slowing down and the bike fell on top of me. This time, I bled. A passing German cyclist laughed. So did I and so did Eddie. This accident was rather more serious. My jeans ripped and my right foot had a bloody gash. Still, I bought a nice nail brush and box of cheesy nibbles.