For a few years when we lived in and around Yorkshire we had two cars. It began more or less by accident, with an inherited Montego, and ended entirely so, with a shunt in the middle of Leeds from a young man in a hurry and his girlfriend’s father’s uninsured Rover. While our car was being repaired we realised that we could manage without it, asked the garage to sell it, and used part of the proceeds to buy a trio of Trek hybrid bikes for us and our eldest son and a Burleigh trailer for the little ones. M would cycle the twenty miles to York station to catch his train to work and I would occasionally, in exceptionally fine weather, take the boys to nursery in their trailer, by an idyllic path that skirted fields and went through the middle of a almost certainly enchanted wood.