The westerly wind was so strong this morning that, on my bike ride from East London to Bloomsbury, I felt at times that the strength of my body wouldn't manage to move my bike forward, and I regretted my choice to cycle in the first place. I was sweating so profusely inside my green puffer jacket that, once I arrived in the square, I risked the cold air and took off my coat to try to air myself out. I coudl tell that passerby were wondering what a person in nothing but a thin shirt and blazer was doing holding a metal object to the sky at half past nine, but no one approached me. On my cycle home in the evening, the wind, as I hoped it would, practically carried me forward, so that the roads felt glossy and smooth.