In my years as a considerably more serious (and anarchic) cyclist than I am these days, the idea of being caught breaching 30mph on a speed camera was greatly appealing. I never managed to achieve the feat. Are cyclists too narrow to detect, I wonder. Besides, it’s not like they would be able to catch us road tax dodgers. Today, however, I went one better, triggering an electronic speed camera WHILE RUNNING. Oh, I was heartened. There are few pleasant ways to run from Croydon to Streatham; this made the whole ordeal palatable. The run had not been much fun before then: seven-and-a-bit miles of warm, predominately pavement-pounding, squeaky right trainer effort, with a smidgen of trail (see the picture below), although I use that word tenuously. The West Highland Way or South Downs Way, this is not. But who needs splendid long-distance footpaths and open skies when there are moments of caught-by-camera glory in the urban jungle to experience? This was not one of those cameras that can lead to you being fined. I am not expecting a letter in the post. No, this was one of those warning signs that record drivers’ approaching speeds, before flashing a red number to supposedly embarrass the motorist into decelerating. I was near home and running slightly downhill when 11mph beamed onto the electronic screen, coupled with a smiley face. I looked around for a car or a cyclist, but there was nothing. It was me. The speed was perhaps a tad generous; I accelerated nonetheless.