Yes ladies and gentlemen, and others, that is the sound of me riding up to the Borisbike station by Moorgate tube, only to find it gone.
Yes, gone. In fact not just gone but gorn. Absent. Removed. Away. Weg. Gorn. The place has been scraped clean, like the pavement's been shaved in one of those ludicrous ads where our new seven-blade system gives you the smoothest shave yet, because it stretches as it smoothes as it slices - or whateverthehell. Gorn. Or perhaps it's more as if the Black Helicopters and their sinister operatives came in overnight and whisked away the whole kit and caboodle, leaving only the row of suspiciously-neat patches where the bike docks and console thingy had stood.
Nooooooooooooooo, I went, somewhat filmistically I hope. But then a nice chap stopped and directed me to the next one, just round the corner. So it's fine. Put the kettle on please Colin. Thank you.
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