London's rush hour skies are grey. On and off there's damping drizzle. But with bowlers firmly in place and neatly furled umbrellas slung across the handlebars this posse of city gentlemen is making sure in their own sedate way of getting to their office son time. They have bowled down the Strand. They are keeping pace with the traffic and they are not out of breath. They have swept freely past the nine thirty muddle of late trains and crumpled, angry commuters at Charing Cross main line station. Now under the watchful eyes of a London policeman they are nicely rounding in correct two abreast formation the Nelson Column in Trafalgar Square. At the end of their ride they will go to their desks pink-faced with the satisfaction of putting a spoke in the lagging wheels of the railway motormen. 17th November 1964