Your latest trick

On Hallowe'en I rushed out at lunchtime to buy things, and rushed home after work to do things. All the rushing was accompanied by a wheezy cough, but hey, it meant that by 6pm I had some Beastly Bats on the window (but not in the belfry), and parcels waiting for any trick-or-treaters who might turn up -- big flouncy black-and-purple parcels (binbag and tissue-paper) tied up with a gold-ish ribbon. Inside the parcels were a few of these scary beasties:

Plus a couple of handfuls of monkey nuts, some sugar-free "Cyber Chews", some mini-Pringles, and a silly plastic snake.

I think four sets of T&T'ers turned up in the end: from the two embarrassed-sounding teens in scream masks, to the two tiny boys dressed as vampires (with their dad hovering nervously in the background). My favourites, though, were two other tinies who both shouted "Thank you!" when I gave them their parcel, but then as they walked away, one of them said reprovingly to the other, "You didn't say 'thank you!'" (though I'm sure she did) ... at which she turned round and shouted "Thank you!" again, just to be sure.

No tricks, though, and no unpleasantness; just a few giggles and a few snacks (of which I'll gladly eat the unused remainder). And hopefully now a few of the local kids know that the weird woman at number 61 is not actually very scary, though she does have this weird habit of wearing her Hallowe'en clothes at other times of year as well.

Tyred

Dear manufacturers of bicycle parking stands,

In the grand scheme of comparative widths, bikes are reasonably narrow. This, in the urban jungle, is probably a distinct evolutionary advantage; the humble bicycle can squeeze through small gaps in traffic, park halfway up lampposts, and when necessary be carried down flights of stairs, all with only medium inconvenience, shin-barking and car-scratching incurred by self and other road/pavement users.

If, however, your locks are designed such that the front wheel noses into a cosy metal fitting, to which it might be imagined that one might want to lock one's bike, then unless one has a tactical bike-lock which can be fired at the wheel area and activated remotely, the situation changes; suddenly the svelte vélo has a somewhat less streamlined pedestrian attached at one side, sticking out like the proverbial sore digit which is no longer a mere metaphor, being almost certainly about to be acquired in actual, painful, bicycle-cursing reality.

No amount of pie abstention, however dedicated, is going to render me sufficiently skinny to fit my frame in a space smaller than required for that of my bicycle -- though the contortions I am required to perform to fit myself between two bicycles might in other contexts be considered useful exercise towards that fat-free goal. In the meantime, what action would you advise -- other than extensive cussing, or resigning myself to acquiring an array of bruises (these latter options form the current two-pronged strategy), or simply parking elsewhere (not always possible in the heaving cycle-congested metropolis)?

Yours faithfully,
Tyred of Cambridge.