On the last train home last night, I was sitting by the door. On gets a cyclist with what is instantly recognisable as a very very very nice performance bike. If he got change from £2,000 I'd be amazed, and I wouldn't be surprized if it cost £3,000 or more.

If this was a car, one petrol-headed friend would be having wet dreams about being allowed to touch it, never mind drive it. 🙂

He rests it against the seats on the other side of the aisle to me, then goes down the carriage and sits down with his back to it.

Gasp.

On my fifteen minute, five stop journey, he only looks back to see it's still there once.

Gasp.

How good is this bike? From how it was left, I was expecting it to fall over on the journey. Mine would. But no, this one is so light that it doesn't move when the train jolts.

There was part of me that was extremely tempted to, you know, stroll off with it at my stop. He'd be miles away before he noticed. But apart from being naughty, if I did it, I'd be too nervous of having it nicked from me or being spotted on it to actually use it.

Sigh.