A London council (Islington if you must know) has installed speed bumps on a pedestrian street to slow down cyclists.

“Ridiculous,” screamed the cyclists.

Cyclists were also screaming earlier this month at celebrity chef and motoring columnist James Martin after he wrote about driving up behind them in his silent electric car and beeping the horn so that they lost control of their bikes and tumbled into a hedge.

There was outrage across the world at Chef Martin’s frivolity. So much so that he has been forced to apologise and state for the record that he loves cyclists and would never harm so much as a hair upon their heads.

Olympic gold medal winning cyclist Bradley Wiggins weighed in, calling James Martin a few choice words.

Later the same week Bradley’s wife was knocked off her bike on the way to the garden centre. That particular incident wasn’t James Martin’s fault.

Oh, it’s a frantic old world when you’re on a bike isn’t it?

I was screaming at one particular young cyclist myself this summer holiday.

“Pedal, keep pedalling,” became a familiar cry on family outings as we tried to get four-year-old daughter to ride without stabilisers.

Watching her struggle to keep balance was both terrifying and inspiring. I was constantly afraid that she would fall off and graze her knees/elbows/hands/head but I admired the dogged determination she showed in never giving up. She didn’t really master how the brakes worked to begin with, preferring a daredevil sideways leap off the bike as she lost control.

A couple of weeks later she was riding with no stabilisers without a care in the world.

Which led to another momentous event in the Parnell household – it was ‘the day we got the bikes out of the garage and rode them for the first time in about eight years’.

We bought them just after we got married and used them a few times. Then my wife worked out that we live on the top of a hill and no matter which route we cycled we always ended up having to pedal uphill to get home. And we had to freewheel at the beginning of the ride, which my wife decided she didn’t like either. It was too fast.

So the bikes went into the garage, we started a family and only now that the girls are seven and four have we discovered that two wheels can be fun.

Tarrant Rushden airfield is our ride of choice. It’s just far enough round to wear the girls out and close enough so that the bikes can be strapped to the car and driven there before the ride begins.

And the drive there adds to the excitement for me.

Will the bungee straps holding the bikes stay attached? Will those handlebars that are tapping the back window come smashing through as we drive over the little bridge outside of Witchampton? And will drivers coming the other way slow down so that we can both get down the tight country lanes?

I’m still screaming at cyclists, but now it’s mainly the two terrors racing away at breakneck speed towards the field of pigs while I’m frantically trying to get my breath and follow them.

Where’s my wife as all this happens?

Dunno. She’s probably walking with her bike up the uphills or down the downhills, waiting to get to a bit of flat track.