Mourning

The Medics Of Newnham are in mourning.

Why? I hear you cry. Well, in order to answer that, I have to explain a little history.

After our arrival at Newnham, we rapidly came to realise that transport in Cambridge means either walking or a bike. Or both. So it came to pass, in a rather Biblical turn of phrase, that we bought ourselves bikes. In particular, several of us bought second-hand, reconditioned bikes from OWL bikes, a charity in Cambridge. These bikes were given names. Names such as Felicity, Geraldine, Jo (I think it's short for Joanne? or maybe Joanna...) and Julio (Julio is fluorescent pink and green, very flamboyantly gay, and we keep on catching him having rampant bike sex with bikes we don't know).

These names we adopted (well, Geraldine and I adopted them, anyway) as our names for posting on here (just in case we say something dim and might get in trouble for it, also because who doesn't like a little alter ego in their life?). We feel even closer to our much-beloved and relied-upon bikes as a result.

I went home this weekend, leaving my bike chained up outside the station. I think you can see where this story is going, can't you?

When I returned to Cambridge (laden with bags, and after a truly horrific journey, filled with bus replacement services and delayed trains and missed connections), I found Felicity (the bike) had gone.

Felicity has been stolen. I am very, very, very upset.

A moment's silence, if you please, for a lilac bike that only ever wanted to console, with her charming whirring-squeak and falling-off mudguards.

Love, through my sadness,
Felicity (the medic)