Inevitably, in bike-controlled Boristown, someone rode a bicycle into my back. It wasn't terrible, it didn't hurt; was mostly, I guess, 'cause some teens couldn't reconcile the adolescent prerogative of  side by side cruising with the narrowness of the path along the Regent's Canal. Still, I was angry and, with the clean-cut East End youths now a few paces beyond me, I felt moved to blurt, before they were out of range, that I wished the offender had fallen into the river (sic).

Evolved American that I am, I'd forgotten that nice-looking kids in London are tough. So, as they kind of Hulked out and and turned threateningly toward me, I remained cautiously indignant even as I reconciled myself to the fact that I would soon be baptized. Still, I made a point of -- with pathos -- asking the primo dunker-to-be why he didn't ding his dinger or somehow alert me to his presence. At which point the -- still hostile -- diplomat of the group responded to the logic of my words by telling me to just shut up, to not say anything more.

Wise words from a male, East End Hillary Clinton. It took me 2 dangerous syllables to announce my assent, in a way that felt overly conciliatory. I regretted it immediately. I didn't want to look weak.

Unless that's what saved me from being hurled into the waterway. If that's the case, I did everything just right.