As I stumbled into theatres the other day, red faced and sweaty in my cycling gear, a tall German anaesthetist of my acquaintance looked at me in disbelief. “But you have an ebike! That’s not work!” This blind prejudice against ebikes has got to stop. I know mine looks like something you would take out for a gentle ride in a sundress and a big floppy hat on a summer’s day, but when I’m (unusually) running late for work, fighting to stay alive in Wellington’s traffic and negotiating the various hills that add greatly to our city’s charm but also to the effort required to get around when you are under your own steam – yes, it is hard work!
Later that day I was in theatre when I caught a whiff of BO (body odour – well that’s what we called it in our day, is it still the same?). I couldn’t identify the source and then to my horror I realized that it could have been me. It reminded me of a teacher we had at my old school – Mrs McGechan – a lovely lady – but unfortunately afflicted with bad BO. One year, legend had it, she had been given some deodorant and soap by her class, with the worst of intentions and much giggling at her discomfiture. It seemed incredible even then that anyone could be so cruel. What made it worse for me was that my sense of smell has always been very bad, so it just seemed to be random as to who would be targeted in this way. That evening after cycling home from work, I asked my family to smell my armpits and tell me if I was indeed the culprit. Surprisingly, my daughters were most unwilling to help out (yes indeed, they turned up their noses at me). They thought it was Simon’s job to sniff my pits, as that was what he had signed up for all those years ago. But even Simon was disinclined to help out. I guess I will just need to ask Santa for some industrial strength deodorant before someone with less kind motives does it for me.