So, when did you last have your leg over?

The saddle of a bike that is. Speaking personally, it was a long time ago.

In the news the other day I noticed that the government, the British one, has discovered a new way to tell the nation how kind and caring they are.

Boris, the leader of the pack, has decided that the nation is too fat. Everyone is overweight and it’s time that something was done about it. Now the way it strikes me, is that if Boris has a good idea, he will pass it over to the next available Prime Minister’s special adviser to attend to.

So if you were the Prime Minister and you had already been specially advised that, by and large, the nation that you lead is overweight, then surely the only advice that they need, is to eat less.

But that’s no good. It’s far too easy.

We all know that it’s the truth, but Prime Ministers don’t particularly want the truth.

They want to be popular.

It’s not their fault that the supermarket shelves are bending under the weight of sugary or fatty convenience foods and, to be fair, this is the one time that they can’t say that it is the fault of the opposition party.

Then someone had a brilliant idea. How about bribery?

Why don’t we pay people to take more exercise? We could offer them £50 each, to be used towards repairing their old bikes.

And as we all know, one good idea always leads to a better one. Someone else suggested to the Prime Minister that if a patient could prove to their GP that they had only become overweight because they couldn’t afford to buy a bike, maybe it could be possible to get one on prescription?

We shall see.

Talking about bikes, is it just my imagination or are there really more cyclists on the roads than there used to be?

I suppose that, in the summer, the fine weather will always entice a few more brave souls out of the cave, but equally if you stick your head into one of the smart new cycle super shops that have sprung up around town, who can fail to be tempted?

They must be doing the business or they wouldn’t carry such a wide range of bikes and sales staff.

On the subject of cycle shops, here’s a puzzle for you.

I think that I can remember most of the names of the old-time bike shops and proprietors in Douglas.

There was Bill Carberry in Peel Road who was followed by Stan Deighan. Then there was, I think, Bill Callow in Dalton Street, Tom King on the corner of Prospect Hill and Athol Street and Gilbert Harding in Duke Street.

The shops that I can recall are all from about 60 years ago. There were later names such as Jayne White and Charlie Turner and many more.

Now I hope that I’m not going upset anyone when I bring up the next subject, but inevitably, there is sure to be just a teeny weeny spot of friction between cyclists and the drivers of motor cars.

It is sad but unfortunately true, that I have at times witnessed members of both varieties of road users waving to each other with various combinations of fists and fingers.

I don’t think that they are saying hello.

These days, I hasten to say, I neither ride a bike or drive a car, but in my day, I first cycled 75 years ago and then passed my driving test 60 years ago.

I can recall a list of misdemeanours as a young cyclist. I have been stopped by the constabulary on several occasions and the list included no bell, faulty brakes, no red reflector on my rear mudguard and a couple of times I was rewarded with a home visit by the local constable who had taken my name and address after I was stopped for carrying a passenger.

The other day I was cruising through Strand Street on Pullyman 1, when a young constable smiled and said: ’Good morning sir’.

All things change.