Ah me, fare thee well, Bluebell!  After all, she was just gathering dust under the spiral staircase, but the wicker basket came in terribly handy as a general dumping ground for my hand bags (there ought to be a collective noun, I think.  A sprocket of bags? A bimsen of bags? An I-have-an-excess of bags?), and as brother in law Nick pointed out, I’ll now have to go and spend 20p on a hook for my coat, since I can no longer fling it in the cavernous space of said wicker basket.

The thing is, it’s all very well in the ideal, owning a Pashley.  And I was very swayed, I must admit, by all the smart accessories you can buy to accentuate your bike riding experience.  There was the bike helment cleverly disguised as a hunting hat, the riding coat which wouldn’t look odd on une demoiselle riding side saddle, and saddle bags of course, purchased, rather than those I already ‘own’ if you see what I mean.  But living in a countryside which is less than completely flat, you do need muscles of an Iron Woman just to get to the corner shop.  Which I did, and arrived looking like the Ribena man, thinking I was about to expire in front of all those good people.  The second time I rode it, was to accompany teen daughter on her paper round.  That was a huge mistake.  I watched her tail light zipping up the hill and nearly wept.

Of course I’m not as lithe as I once was, but unable to ride this lovely thing, I had begun to think that my fitness might possibly be at fault.  The answer, of course, is to ride the Pashley into submission, well, the bike or my thighs, whichever came first.  In typical prevaricating fashion, I did neither of the above and decided to sell it.  It sold immediately and this morning, the new owners are driving over from Leamington Spa to collect.

I have been assured that there are some lovely hybrid bikes to be had which will be far easier on my legs, but none of them could possibly have the old world charm of the elegant Princess Sovereign in Buckingham Black.  I promise myself that one day, when I’m living in a farm house down on the plain rather than up this hill, I’ll get another one, if only just to look at and of course, store my bags in.  Now where did I put my coat?

The delightful Abi and family have come  and gone, taking Bluebell to her new home, and, I am delighted to say that things could not be better since Abi is a founder of her local WI and plans to dress up in 1940’s gear for her summer fete, Bluebell in tow!    Abi has thirsted after a Pashley since forever and is happy as a clam with my now ex-trusty steed.  May the wind be always at your back, Abi and Bluebell!