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A Terribly Tweedy Coruscant Day

And so, at midnight on Friday night, I was to be found marinading chicken, preparing bacon butties and packing up our vintage wicker hamper for The Tweed Run. Meanwhile, boo prepared the bikes, and of course his outfit.

For various reasons, we didn’t set off in time, but we were prepared with a route map, and easily caught up with fellow Tweeders well before the first tea stop.


Vintage bicycles, penny Farthings galore, gents in full morning dress, gents in hunting plus fours and a fez or Fedora. Ladies in the most beautifully tailored outfits or natty tea dresses. Small children, and dogs, all dressed up. For the sole purpose of cycling, very slowly, a 12 mile route around central London, in vintage finery, for jolly japes. It is truly a sight, I don’t know how many thousands of tourists have photos of us, especially when we went over the bridge, they were several deep both sides. Clicking away and cheering us on.

The done thing when you prepare to leave the traffic lights is shout up” Roulee”, but one wag said not now we’re coming out of the EU, and so every time we kicked off, “Up yours Junkers” was the battle cry.

It’s de rigeur to picnic, and the lunch stop was The Imperial War Museum, where commenced a plethora of


We started chatting to a chap, and he was from Oz, same place as Rod, and they had a lot of places in common. He said he and his partner would join us and so all 4 of us spread out in the sunshine. And then we saw their numbers, they were 506 and 507. We were 504 and 505, which meant they were in the shop in Piccadilly, collecting their ride numbers, at exactly the same time as Rod was two weeks back. They had met a year ago at The London Cocktail Club, which Rod is a founder member and investor in. They’ve just started the dance classes we’ve recently finished ………..and thus it went on and on. Anyway, we all got on famously, and spent the rest of the day, long into the night together.

The Tweed Run culminates in a bike festival somewhere in East London. The done thing is to smuggle booze in, which of course we did, and sat listening to the bands whist drinking wine and scoffing cream cakes, it was absolutely lovely. And we were supposed to head home, but ended up in a nearby tavern with a gang of Tweeders, including a taxidermist, talking all sort of nonsense, because most people were several sheets to the wind by this time.

Rode back to Liverpool Street, and when I say rode, I mean wavered, no lights, accompanied by a Police car, hahahaha!

I cannot rate this event highly enough, it’s wonderful. One of those quintessentially British things, done for no reason other than showing off really. The ride is easy, the outfit options are endless and I just can’t wait to do it again.


Call me Madam

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