A cycle ride with seven-year-old Pest n.1.

Dived into the tunnelled and burrowed reality of Milton Keynes' green belt, scarves and gloves and glittering laughs cutting through the crisp air.

Six miles down to Willen Lake. Six miles to come back.

Normal people with an average sense of direction manage a twelve-mile round trip.

Unfortunately, the part of my brain in charge of any geographic instinct is completely missing. So we visited Tongwell, Bradwell, the Giffard Park estate (complete with teenagers in baggy trousers and alco-pops), inhaled the fumes from the hearty traffic on the H3 and V9, cycled along the Grand Union Canal and almost collapsed in Stantonbury.

About twenty miles.

'I wish papa' were here!', he wailed behind me. 'He would know where we are!'

'Quiet! Pedal faster', I shouted.

Then I hit my knee against the bicycle's handle. Don't ask. I have long legs.

'Mamma! I can't feel my thighs!' More wailing.

'I wish I could say the same!' I replied, clutching my knee.

We still went to the gym afterwards. Rugby for my bundle of energy, and a body pump class for me. Exhaustion helps.