'Again?' I could be heard to mutter on occasion (especially in the winter), as I donned yet another pair of bibshorts and struggled into my overshoes (why do they have to be so tight?) in preparation for the five purgatorial urban miles in wind, rain and single-digit temperatures that would deliver me from office to house.
Was it worth it, the rigmarole? When were they – whoever 'they' might be – going to invent the teleporting device that we were all teased with by Star Trek?
