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Oliver Schick
@cliveo
Imagine yourself back in the late 1960s or early 1970s. Standing at the bar of a suburban gold course with a pint of Double Diamond and a double whisky (blended of course) chaser in front of him is a man with a car coat, his driving gloves perched jauntily on the bar next to his car keys and his Rothmans. He has a moustache. Discussion turns to cars. After ratting Barbara Castle for introducing the breathalyser (“It’s socialism gone mad. Worse than the Soviet bloody Union”), discussion turns to cars. He rattles the keys to his company owned and maintained Rover 2000.
“She’s a beaut” he exclaims.
Move on 50 years. Change the car coat for Rapha, the moustache for a beard and the alcohol for some nonsensical coffee related drink in a cycling friendly cafe near Shoreditch.
Having escaped from the suburbia of late 1960s golf courses, I refer to my bicycles with gender neutral pronouns.