Fueled by a full English with extra toast, I scalped a rather smug looking roadie on Waterloo Bridge. He'd rolled the red light a few seconds early and sprinted off ahead, before sitting up and taking a big road-racer style pull on his bidon. I didn't look back to see, but I imagine he wasn’t thrilled to be reeled in by an old bloke on a folder.
I've let my beard get to the scratchy stage.
And I need a haircut.