A Love Letter to Paisley

An excerpt from Back in The Frame about my first Brompton - the little bike that impacted my relationship with cycling in a big way.

Mar 18, 2024

With the dawn of Spring (who’s with me on being happy to say ‘hello’ to longer and brighter days?) comes something I wasn’t sure would happen to me again: the dawn of a new cycling season.

Although I’m not as involved in The Industry as I used to be, that doesn’t mean I can’t get excited about having a ‘New Bike Day’—and with a very different kind of new bicycle on my horizon, I’m sharing This was not The Plan - the introduction* from my book, Back In The Frame. This excerpt is all about Paisley - my first Brompton and the little bike that impacted my relationship with cycling in a big way.

I can’t wait to update you on my new bike and my planned adventures! In the meantime, if you enjoy what you’re about to read below, you can find more of my cycling-related words in my book, Back In The Frame, which you can purchase by clicking here.

Ride on! Jools x

May 2019: my first Spring with my first Brompton.

Introduction: This was not The Plan

While reading Back in the Frame, you'll discover I'm very honest about my relationship with cycling. I don't shy away from talking about the lows alongside the highs when it comes to the bike life - and if you follow me on social media, you'll know that's how I've rolled for the last ten years ... so I wanted to share a new part of my cycling story with you.

This happened while I was in the final stages of writing this book—and I'm talking very final, so there was no chance of getting it in the first edition. So I'm quite chuffed that I can now share the story in this brand-spanking new introduction because life doesn't always go according to plan, and this part of the story feels more appropriate than ever to my cycling journey.

I'm a December baby and also a massive festive freak. My love for the season is so strong that my birthday on the 10th serves as a 15-day countdown to The Big Day. Everything in my house is Christmassed-up to the max: the tree is overly blinged-out with the most OTT baubles I can find each year, my 'Banging Christmas Hits' playlist on Spotify is on heavy rotation, and when there's a marathon of cheesy Hallmark Holiday movies on the TV, you'll find me on the sofa, dressed in my most festive PJ's, glued to the screen.

Christmas 2018, though, was a year when my absolute favourite month turned into a physically and mentally exhausting challenge: In November, Mamma Vélo went into hospital for major surgery. As long as everything went according to our plan, Mamma V would return home two days after the op. However, she had a bad reaction to the anaesthesia, so she remained in the hospital under close observation for an extra week.

I made the almost 3.5-hour round trip to visit her every day. I considered cycling to the hospital, but I knew that I didn't have it in me physically or mentally to ride 16 miles there and back every day. Forcing myself to ride would have done me no favours, and at least on the Tube, I could zone out for a bit. Going every day was exhausting, but I had to do it so that we could all get some peace of mind. We're incredibly close, so I couldn't bear the idea of her being miles away from home, in pain and alone.

Was Mamma V being well looked after by the amazing Nurses and Doctors at Central Middlesex Hospital? Yes. Does the Caregiver in me know how to switch it off? No.

Every visit would start with a hug, me asking 101 questions about how she was doing, and her asking the same amount of questions about things at home and how the cats were coping without her. (Terribly. Peggy and Gin were missing their grandmother immensely). Then would come the same question from Mamma V, something along the lines of:

“Julie, why are you here again today? Don't you have a big deadline to meet? You didn't have to come!”

To which I'd answer:

“Yeah, but it's fine... I've brought my laptop, so I can do a bit of writing while I'm here”.

Luckily, Mamma V had been put in a side room, so I had a relatively quiet place to work when I came to see her. A hospital doesn't sound like the best place to write a book, and it may seem a little insensitive that I'd pitch up next to her sick bed and zone into my laptop screen, but it worked. I couldn't concentrate at home and was hours away if she needed me. Being by her bedside, I could keep her company, get my head down and smash out a few more words.

Mamma V was declared fit enough to go home on 5th December. But my joy was soon swamped by feelings of utter panic when the discharge nurse started schooling me on everything I'd need to do for Mamma V when she was back home. It dawned on me that, except for the once-a-week home visit from the District Nurse, she would be totally under my care.

Big smiles as we got the news that Mamma Vélo would be discharged in a few days.

There was a tonne of new medication she'd need to take, accompanied by a 4-page list of current medications she absolutely must not take while on these. Then there were the daily injections I'd have to give her. Alongside that was a bag containing saline solution pods, swabs and sterile dressings to keep her surgery wound clean. I had to learn how to change the dressing just in case there were any issues that the District Nurse couldn't come over and deal with. Mamma V would be completely dependent on me, and Ian, my boyfriend, could only visit at weekends.

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One thing that fell away in all of this? Cycling. Of course, it did. I was tired. There was far too much going on at home to leave it all and ride. Spending my days writing about cycling was the same as being on a bike, right? All the excuses returned—I'd lost the joy of cycling again. My old nemesis, Anhedonia (you'll meet her properly in the book), had come back to keep me company.

I found the time and energy to put the decorations up, but though everything looked Christmassy all around me, I didn't feel very Christmassy at all. My birthday went by in a blur. In truth, I spent it in A&E, as something was wrong with Mamma V's wound, and I certainly couldn't fix it.

When Ian was back in London for his weekend-off-work visit, and I didn't have my head buried in finishing the book, we'd have conversations about Christmas. I guess he was trying to get me in the festive mood, but I just didn't have the headspace for it.

'The last thing I want to be given this Christmas is anything related to cycling”, I blurted out while having a writing break on the sofa. He shot me a look over his mug of tea.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yep. It's really not the one this year”.

I truly felt that way. Mamma Vélo was ill, and I thought I was doing a terrible job as her carer. Almost every book deadline my editor gave me throughout December was a hurdle that I didn't have the strength to jump over. I was convinced that any words I did manage to write about cycling were absolute trash. So, the idea of actually getting on a bike? No way.

Things did become a lot more festive when The Big Day arrived. My big sister Michele and her two boys came to stay for a few days, and from the moment they all arrived on Christmas Eve, the house felt full of life again. It certainly cheered Mamma V up having two grandkids staying. We were thankful for the happy distraction, and I was excited about seeing the boys' faces when it came to opening presents on Christmas morning.

At 11 a.m. on Christmas morning, after the boys had ripped into their presents, Ian nudged me and said, “Go on.” He gestured to the massive box next to the Christmas tree and said, “That one's yours.” With Michele and the boys staying over, I assumed the present was something she'd shoved by the tree overnight while her little ones were sleeping. I started to unwrap the mystery box.

As soon as I saw the logo on the cardboard underneath, I lost all power of speech - I could only squeal; Ian had surprised me with a Brompton bicycle! It got even better when I looked inside the box. It was metallic purple - my favourite colour.

“I'm worried now”, Mamma V said to Ian. 'That stress vein in the middle of her forehead is bulging!” It's true, I have to admit, but this wasn't from stress but absolute excitement.

Staring at this beautiful bike, which I still couldn't believe was mine, my jaw locked into a gaping smile that didn't move all day. All I wanted to do was get outside and ride it - never mind that I was still in my festive Disney pyjamas!

I was that kid who got their dream toy on Christmas morning and had to take it out to play immediately. And so I did. I shoved my bare feet into a pair of Vans, carried my new bike out to the garden path, unfolded it and hurried Ian to get the Brompton he'd got that September. It was absolutely freezing outside, but we didn't even stop to put coats on - in our excitement, we didn't care.

Both in our PJs, we cycled around the housing estate. We were that ‘his and hers Brompton couple'. We stopped and chatted with some of our neighbours, who laughed at the spectacle of two grown-ass adults bezzing around the estate. It had been so long since I'd felt that kind of fun and excitement, and, oh my, the feeling of being back on a bike - I was loving it.

Anything that could possibly bring me joy - including being on a bike - had been pushed out of my mind by the exhaustion and stress of the preceding month. But those moments on that Christmas morning were another cycling touchstone for me, one I can always turn to in tough times.

When this new edition is published, I'll have had Paisley (you'll find out that I love naming my bikes) for two years. I now laugh about almost putting the kibosh on her existence whenever Ian reminds me of my flippant comment in the run-up to the festive season. I'm so glad he didn't listen to me.

In the last two years, Mamma V has turned a corner with her health since the op, and Paisley has given me a new lease of life. Being on two wheels (any of them!) doesn't feel like pressure anymore—it's a pleasure, just like it used to be. I can turn to cycling when I need to clear my mind instead of running as fast as I can in the opposite direction.

The joyrides Paisley and I have been on, including cycling to publishing meetings or cycling to parts of the UK for the Back in the Frame book tour, have been huge milestones. And I can spread the joy I wanted to capture in this book!

Whenever I can, I grab Ian, and we cycle to the local shops via the longest route possible to extend the fun. We spend whole days out, riding from cafe to cafe to seek out the best coffee, sandwiches, and cakes in the city (#PedallingForPastry is becoming a thing).

Something about cycling had become really complicated—and that's the last thing it should be. The magic is the pure joy of jumping on a bike and riding as far as you can go—even if it's to the end of the street and back. December 2018 convinced me I would jack this whole bike thing in. I was out. But Ian's surprise present gave me a new lease of life, and a whole new chapter in my cycling journey opened up.

And cycling can do the same for you. Life doesn't always go according to plan, and you know what? It tends to work out better than you think it does when events take you down an unexpected path.

Follow it.