I got run over by a little old lady last night, on the same day that police chief Ian Blair told us they were the only safe people in London.
There I was, pedalling off the Westway, and there, in front of me, crossing where she shouldn't have, was a little old lady, hobbling incredibly slowly across four (luckily empty) lanes of traffic.
"Fair enough," I thought. "I'm on the far end of the road. We're not going to collide. I'll be sure to miss you."
But no. Granny had other ideas. At the last second she suddenly bolted into an impressive run, and then, out lashed the stick and -
Batttered, bleeding and swearing I rolled over to discover Granny had reached the curb, and was shuffling away, genteel and oblivious.
Someone came and helped me to the curb and sat me down. "Don't worry about her, dear," she said, "That woman's mad and very ill."
Not ill enough.