Something dreadful has happened to me. I have become a bus commuter. I was spoilt by riding the beautiful hot roads of South West Australia and since I came home the prospect of breaking 2Moos out of the garage, riding to work in the wet and the cold and the slime, and repeating the operation in reverse at the end of the day just hasn’t appealed. As I lamented before Christmas, in the absence of any parking spaces at work my only alternative is to get the Guided Bus. There are severe limitations to this as a mode of transport, not least that the cheap one (Whippet – I wonder if the Tight Fisted Northerner stereotype was deliberate?) ends at 5 to 8, when the night is yet young. But it turns out I do quite enjoy the 2-mile cycle to and from the bus stop. I have my “Now’s the Time” hi-viz jacket and a pair of robust boots. Except last Friday when I had my Now’s the Time hi-viz and a pair of 7-inch heels with flames down the side. And I pay £12.50 for the week. I had to take 2Moos to the office yesterday and – quelle horreur – I didn’t enjoy it. What on earth is going on? Have I been abducted and replaced by an imposter?