There’s something you should know about me.
I’m a cycling commuter. In London. And most of the time, I’m relentlessly smug about it.
Come rain or shine (I make an exception for snow, because I don’t have a death wish), I don my helmet and lycra, drape myself in as many fluorescent items as I can lay my hands on, and pedal off to work.
On these journeys, I’ve recently been reflecting on cycling and the nature of sin.
Let me explain.