Boris bikes and skirts

I work for the government, and with the looming approach of the Olympics I have been pondering government advice to rethink my travel plans in view of the impending arrival of millions of tourists who will colonise the tube, take over my dentist's surgery and GP clinic, swarm through my local supermarket and generally get in the way of every conceivable daily routine. Well, with the closure of St James' Park for the beach volleyball in Horseguards Parade I have already been experiencing a modicum of inconvenience - no more early morning stroll by the cantankerous swans, now it's a trudge up the concrete jungle of Whitehall with an extra 20 minutes of walk thrown in for good measure. Bummer, particularly for my newly reconstructed foot, which has been protesting with increased bolshieness at the overtime being demanded of it. But this week I've begun to think more radically about how I can avoid the stations I need to get in and out of as part of my commute and this has brought me to the Boris Bike. I am hugely in favour of the Boris Bike. I first saw their equivalent in Paris and the first time I saw someone on one my jaw dropped in awe and admiration. She was an attractive young woman, sailing through the Marais wearing a beautifully cut cape, high heels and jodphur jeans, and her designer handbag perched obediently in the cleverly designed space between handlebars and wheel. I want to look like that, I thought at the time. Get me to a Sephora, and then find me a hybrid that I can coast over the cobbled roads on, adding to the picturesque. Move on a year and I am contemplating the row of blue bikes, thinking, not for the first time in my life, isn't it amazing how huge the distance is between fantasy and reality. Firstly, I wear skirts and dresses to work, and the minute I climb on to one of those bikes it's going to be all about managing wardrobe malfunctions and diverting attention away from my lumberjack legs. Secondly, I travel with multiple bags. My gym bag full of kit, my workbag with its cumbersome government issue laptop, and whatever receptacle I currently have for my daily intake of food. Boris bikes have room for just the one decorous designer bag and otherwise you're on your own. And finally, what about helmets? - or is there something about the Boris bike that makes it impossible for you to be knocked off while cycling gaily down some of London's busiest roads with its worst tempered drivers? I am Not Convinced. I love the idea of alighting at Camden, pulling out a Boris bike, navigating my way gaily through the centre of town, my beautiful red Summer dress wafting in the breeze, just enough to show some leg but not so much as to make me look like a wind up walking pomegranate, drawing admiring looks as I coast past restaurants and historic landmarks en route through Green Park to Victoria. But I know this is never going to happen. What will happen is, that it will pour, I will get soaked, I will need to bring a change of clothing to facilitate the downpour, which means I will have four bags not three, most of which will teeter precariously off the handles, while I stop every few seconds to tug my dress, which has ridden ingloriously up to my bottom, vainly back over my knees. By the time I reach my destination I will probably be crying for my Mother. No. It's a great idea Mr Johnson, but there are only two answers to this. Buy hiking boots and walk the route. Or stay at home and hope nobody notices.