Soon I discovered the limits of my racing machine; having no clearance for mudguards, on rainy days I’d turn up to lectures with a soaking-wet bottom, gaining a reputation as a student with poor bladder control. So I purchased another bike that I referred to as my “winter trainer”, a 1950s Grandini with room for mudguards. Then I started worrying that these two quality machines might get stolen, so I bought a five-geared, straight-handle-barred Peugeot in a ghastly shade of green, solely for going out at night. It was this bike that I rode to the Comedy Store and a year later, having moved to the Comic Strip club, I sold it to Adrian Edmondson for £40, which was a lot more than it was worth. After the hypnotism wore off he attempted to get the Peugeot stolen and left it unlocked outside his house – but so repellent was the colour that it remained untouched for weeks and I think in the end he might have thrown it into a canal.

See the full article from “Independent”