Cycling is almost a pleasure in the post-thaw world.

The moto-bike is bright yellow and perfect. But has a kick start. We huddle in a damp dimly lit multi-storey car park; three blokes bulked into big coats and me in my woolly hat and granny coat. I'm standing on the peddles of the machine trying time and time again to get it going. They look on, balance the bike, and occasionally show me how easy it is. This goes on for half an hour until I'm allowed to admit defeat. A damp car park bad enough, but imagine stalling in the middle of a highway. . .

Back to square one.

The apartment is a possible but with heavy questions.

Ul alternates between intense activity and looking up kitten clips on U-tube.

The photo has no relevance: we just didn't get one of the bike.