So there we were.
About half-past midnight no New Year’s Eve and Mel and I are riding merrily along Brighton’s seafront cyclepath.
Given the time and date, it is no surprise to see dozens of pedestrians wobbling about in the cycle lane. Understandable given the whiff of booze in the air.
So we ride along, happily honk-honking (Mel) and ting-a-linging (me) to clear a path through the merry-makers. We’re greeted with countless cheery waves and new year wishes as folks get out of our way.
Until one bloke turns around and shouts “What are you doing? This isn’t fucking Amsterdam!” We smile and wave back. There may even have been a bonus honk from Mel.
But he was serious: “This isn’t fucking Amsterdam!”. What could we say? It wasn’t.
But it did smell a little like it.