The embarrassing truth about how I got injured

I had a bicycle accident last week. Not terrible, but not great either. Of the five I’ve had since I took up cycling more than 20 years ago, it ranked third. No stitches needed,unlike the worst, which required more than 50 and a night in hospital. I didn’t bother with A&E this time, in spite of concerned onlookers advising me to. I think it looked worse than it was. Head injuries generally do because there’s so much blood.

I’m slightly wary writing about this because I don’t want to give the anti-motorist lobby any more ammo. In fact, there were no other vehicles involved. The accident was actually caused by the front wheel of my bike hitting one of those kerbs in the middle of the road designed to stop cars drifting into cycle lanes. I was heading towards Liverpool Street station at about 11.45 p.m., saw a cycle lane and turned into it without noticing the kerb. Ironically, a safety measure designed to protect cyclists caused my accident. Although to be fair, if I’d had my glasses on I probably would have spotted it. I’d been to the optician earlier that day, discovered I needed a stronger prescription and left my spectacles there to have the new lenses fitted.

As soon as the wheel touched the kerb, the bike stopped dead and I went over the handlebars. Had I been wearing a helmet, I would have been better protected. The left side of my face and forehead hit the asphalt, along with my left knee, left elbow and – weirdly – the knuckles on my left hand.

My immediate reaction was anger with myself for doing something so embarrassing. I don’t mean in the eyes of the late-night revellers, who crowded round to see if I was OK.