I’m sick of seeing blokes on bikes

Their swept-back helmets and lycra shorts

And muscled legs pedalling furiously

I’m really feeling out of sorts.

They ride in packs; it can’t be fun

For there’s never a smile on any face

Colour co-ordinated latest gear

Seems designed to inspire a cracking pace.

In these days of affluence

It’s de rigueur to be in fashion

And to give oneself whole heartedly

To what is one’s consuming passion.

It’s serious business, that’s for sure

But in days gone by there were kids who rode

In uniform for the PMG with telegrams

brought to a stranger’s door.

But that was then and this is now

When e-mails are the latest rage

And telegrams, along with morse

Have been consigned to history’s page.

So peddle on, you trendy blokes

Without a moment’s backward glance

Perhaps it is your dearest wish

To train and ride in the Tour de France.

But for Pete’s sake,

do it somewhere else!