I remember, not too long ago, when Michael Heseltine, in all his wisdom, threw out that little gem of advice to the youth of yesteryear: “Get on yer bike!” It was, I believe, in the glorious Thatcherite days when the unemployment rate was rocketing higher than a teenager’s TikTok follower count. Heseltine, our great oracle, proclaimed that jobs were out there if you just hopped on two wheels and pedalled your way to success. Well, Michael, congratulations. The youth of today have clearly taken your words to heart—just not in the way you might have envisioned.
Picture this: a 5’10” (alright, maybe a little shorter now—thanks to a recent back operation that apparently removed both my discs and a good chunk of my pride) man that some might say looked a little like me…hobbling down Hythe High Street. Not exactly what you’d call “nimble-wimble” these days. So, there I am, minding my own business, when along comes the modern incarnation of Michael’s cycling dream: a trio of 15-year-olds, one of whom is performing a wheelie with all the grace and precision of a giraffe on roller skates.
Now, this delinquent—I mean, youth—was clearly so absorbed in his world of Instagram likes and Snapchat streaks that he didn’t even see me. No, this lad rode straight into me. SMACK! Down I go, all 5’9” (yes, I think I’ve shrunk again) of me sprawling across the pavement. My recently stitched-up back twanged in agony as I scrambled to regain my dignity. Just as I’m regaining composure, what do I hear? The eloquent voice of his mate, shouting, “Loser!” as they rode off, probably to knock down another poor sod further down the street. Ah, the youth of today—such wit, such respect for their elders.
But wait, it gets better. I sat outside the model shop afterward, watching in growing fury as this group of cycling prodigies continued to terrorize the high street for the rest of the afternoon. Wheelies, swerving, showing off their supreme disregard for common decency, and, apparently, the laws of physics. There’s a pedestrian zone sign right there, mind you, but who cares about signs when you’re 15, invincible, and clearly the next BMX world champion?
I’d had enough. So, with what little mobility I had left, I hobbled back out, ready this time to sidestep any incoming hoody-clad hooligans. I shouted, perhaps a little too passionately, that the high street was for pedestrians, and if they were so keen on becoming organ donors, they could take their death-defying stunts elsewhere. The response? A beautiful symphony of expletives and, of course, the timeless classic: “Shut the F up, pensioner!” Ah, music to my ears.
Now, let’s pivot to the glorious infrastructure we’ve all been forced to pay for—cycle lanes. I’ll start with the monstrosity between Hythe and Dymchurch. Who thought it was a good idea to pour taxpayer money into a 16-foot-wide cycle lane that, from what I’ve seen, is used about as often as the average gym membership post-January? I’ve driven by it more times than I care to admit, and guess what? The cyclists are still on the road! So now we have a glorified, completely empty stretch of tarmac while cyclists insist on playing Russian roulette with traffic, causing cars to swerve and drivers to grind their teeth.
And just when you think it couldn’t get worse, I recently took a drive to Folkestone via Cheriton. Brace yourself—another cycle lane, this one even bigger! We’re forking out yet another ungodly amount of money on cycle lanes that will, once again, sit empty while cyclists continue to clog up the roads. Brilliant, isn’t it?
But here’s the real kicker: it’s all at the expense of the local high street. Shops are struggling, businesses are shutting down left and right, and what’s our brilliant solution? Let’s get rid of parking spaces! Yes, let’s make it even harder for people to park, pop into a shop, and spend their hard-earned money. How delightful! You’d think a metre-wide strip would suffice for a cyclist, but no, apparently, they need a 16-foot-wide, parking-space-destroying monstrosity. It’s a tragedy in the making—the slow, inevitable death of the high street, brought to you by the cyclist lobby.
So there you have it, folks. The cycle lanes we didn’t ask for, the cyclists who refuse to use them, and the youth who seem determined to knock over as many pensioners as possible while they perform their acrobatic stunts. Is this progress? Is this what we fought for? If it is, I’m tempted to get back on my own bike, ride off into the sunset, and find a place where common sense still reigns. But let’s be honest, with my back, that’s not happening anytime soon.