First port of call was that hotbed of radical activism: Clerkenwell. Dr Matt locked his steed of steel to the iron railings of a disused public toilet, while Jon deposited his bike hire scheme bike in the appropriate computerized stand, all while being overlooked by what appeared to be a would-be suicide/smoker who felt the cold (she was sat on the first-floor window ledge, wrapped in a sleeping bag) and a gathering of Marxists outside their firmly-closed Memorial Library (one of whom Dr Matt recognized). Also in view were some gold bike frames, but we ignored these as we consulted Jon's iPhone, while Jon once again tried to simultaneously convince Dr Matt of the merits of a smartphone and locate our destination.
A few moments, and there it was: a gallery devoted to the beauty of cycling in general, and the constancy and commitment of Condor Cycles of Gray's Inn Road in particular.
And, yes, outside were some bike frames with the name of the show, 'The Art of Cycling', by James Straffon.
Inside were quite a few things that appealed, especially a large oil painting of Condor badges. The lacquered montages were also approved of, as was the collection of cycling-related razor-blades.
Deciding that a wheelset, or indeed a croissant, would be a better impulse purchase, we left before we got too smitten by anything, and headed for the second item on our hit list: the famous scotch eggs of a local pub.
The pub was just around the corner. It was as closed as the Memorial Library, so we headed to Look Mum No Hands for a couple of pies, a pair of flat whites, and a bash at the New Yorker caption competition (a Unicorn walks into a room...) More importantly, we also began to plot the autumn/winter sporting season 10/11, with initial plans for a ride from Rye next weekend.