There is enough space for all of us, providing we all observe the same road rules.

I have no problems with cyclists in general. You and you mate want to team up together and ride to work. Good on you. It is the Lycra-clad peloton that does my head in. Six abreast, ten deep. This, in a suburban street. They are not only blocking traffic in both directions, their grim determination to replicate Tour de France on the Lower North Shore is both infuriating and screamingly funny. If I was to pretend that I am in contention of the Bathurst 1000 on Sydney roads, I would be very quickly relieved of my driver’s licence and a very large amount of money. And rightly so. Come on, guys, I don’t mind if you are blocking my way, and only one direction of traffic. I am OK to wait until I can safely overtake. As a corporate worker, if I arrive few minutes late it is not a tragedy, though the tradie in his van behind me may not share my lack of enthusiasm for reaching my respective destination late. However, I do believe it is against the law for you lot to ride more than two abreast anyway.

Just as aside point, if you are going to wear white Lycra, stop sticking your butt in the air and get off the bike at traffic lights. The view of your rear truly leaves NOTHING to the imagination.

The other sore point is CBD pedestrians. I do not drive on the footpath, I obey the road rules. Stop at red lights and the rest. Please trust me, that SMS you are sending is not important. It will not solve world hunger or create world peace. Everything else can wait. The number of people who simply walk out on to the road without looking or caring (as it seems) is mind-boggling.

I nearly witnessed a tragedy this very morning watching a pedestrian crossing Clarence Street. The business woman wearing what a friend calls “sitting down shoes” launched out on to the road in front of a bus without a care in the world. I would have given anything to hear the bus driver trying desperately to stop roughly 10,000 kg of moving vehicle plus a number of unsuspecting passengers hurtling forward as this female unsteadily teetered across the road, obviously unable to even walk properly in her super-high heels. Love, I love beautiful high heel shoes just as much as you do. However, as somebody who drives to work every day, I know to mind the road rules, and have no intention of ending up a greasy spot on Clarence Street where some poor council worker will be sent out with a high-pressure hose and industrial detergent to scrape my remains off the tarmac.