July is a wonderful month for flowers. I love it, cycling along by the river of an evening. I can hardly keep my eyes on the path I’m so busy spotting old friends; comfrey, meadowsweet, red campion, common mallow, cow parsley and hogweed. One evening a ladybird hitched a lift on my handlebars and on another a goldfinch bobbed along beside me for some yards. Lycra-clad cycling enthusiasts sweep past me on their silent steads while I puff along, lost in wonder. My heavy old mountain bike is hobbled by a child seat, a chain that falls off whenever I change gear, and me as its pilot. I have my eye on a sleak, lean all-black number in the window of the bike shop on the high street. I dream of flying along the tow-path, wind in my hair. “Just think how much faster you’d go if you had a half decent bike,” says Big Dreamer with a twinkle in his eye. Yes exactly, not actually that much faster. Mostly because I need to be fitter but also because I wouldn’t want to miss the flowers!
Here’s another illustration from my recent emergency healthcare commission. A serious incident occurred here!
