Bike

I love these autumnal mornings. Jude and I accompanied a pack of braying hounds of various shapes and sizes as we hunted for fox, squirrel, cat and other bush meat. A cooked breakfast, supermarket sweep (my arms were a good two inches longer by the time I'd struggled home with my load) and then the Observer - and relax. No, too much relaxing. This won't get the baby bathed. So I hop on my bike with Ken Livingstone's cycle-route map sticking jauntily out of my pocket.

Cycling through the City on a Sunday is a most pleasing experience. I felt quite exhilarated as I whizzed over Holborn viaduct, before cutting up to Russell Square and finally Malet Street and Birkbeck Library. The atmosphere was studious, and wonderfully silent. I found articles and books galore (who'd've thought it) and settled down to an afternoon's beard stroking. Cycling home was less successful as I found it was impossible to retrace my route due to multifarious one-way systems which had me heading off in all sorts of undesirable directions. I made it home in time to slam a casserole in the oven and crack open a charming bottle of Gigondas.