Sunday morning and an urge to get the bikes out. Just about ready to go and I made the call to ditch my new and rather elegant top for the old trusty rain jacket in commuter yellow. That old saying holds true, there’s no such thing as bad weather; just bad clothing. The delay was just enough to mean it was hosing down when I reached the front door. 

Five minute time out for the shower to pass, or at least make some move, then onwards. A few hundred metres along the road and the rain was still coming down, the wind was howling in my face and my feet and hands were freezing. I was ready to turn round the block and go home. 

But JT was having none of it. Up the hill, along the road and a roughly 30km ride. The first hill starts his favourite way with a short and sharp incline. Then onto my kind of hill, steady and long. As we climbed I felt my mood lifting and after a while the rain stopped and on the horizon we could see patches of sun. 

Maybe the NHS should prescribe bikes? That would sort out more than just the rise in depression.  It’s a tale for another day why making that claim as an extrapolation from prescription numbers isn’t necessarily indicative of an actual rise in depression.