One such - the Stoke Newington based London Biennale artist, Birthe Jorgensen - made her very own contribution to TfL's traffic calming measures in Brooke Road, N16, with 'Wholesomely from Below', an 'abstract free-standing shape that subtly dichotomises a sense of motion and stasis, inner and outer, fragility and solidity, perfection and limitation' (her words - and perfectly reasonable ones). 

A mobile sculpture, in lay terms, of an anonymous, almost official looking roundness. The sudden appearance of what seemed to be a bulbous mini-roundabout at the junction of Brooke Road and Jenner Road, earlier this year, created a joyous hour of chaotic street theatre in the best sense of the word, as local motorists (aka people driving on autopilot) eyeballed an unidentified stationary object in the middle of an otherwise unexceptional street. And panicked.

For some, the message was clear: a new street feature, to be blindly obeyed and painstakingly avoided. To others, a clear infringement of all known motoring rights, in the form of an obstacle to their unimpeded progress. But how angry can you get with a rather beautiful almost orb? (Amazingly, the answer is  quite angry - but maybe there wasn't much else going on in their lives at the time.) Drivers pleaded for explanations, instructions, enlightenment. Puzzled cyclists paused. Cars took exceptional care. Pedestrians got the best bit: a little happening moment. 

It may not be art (although I'm sure it was, and my advisers are reliable in this regard) - but I liked it. And it was right on my doorstep.

Stoke Newington Biennale, anyone?

Part the Third: A Martyr 

I passed the test! Unbelievably, I am apparently fit enough (already? Doesn't that beg a question or two?) to join the gym. I'd rather hoped that advanced decrepitude and lethargy would have ruled me out. In fact, I was counting on it. So imagine my dismay on learning that, after my 'interview', and despite some issues over blood pressure (I had some, at least - I thought that was a result - and, anyway, I was nervous), I met the minimum requirements set down by the stern inquisitors at Sunstone. Just. They didn't bother to weigh me, possibly because their weighing equipment is too sensitively calibrated for fatties. So when the pounds drop off in the weeks and months ahead, as they surely will, I won't be able to get ludicrously over-excited and send the blood pressure soaring to fatal levels.

After a low-level interrogation on desired outcomes ('survival?', I offered, to a glacially indifferent gym professional), I was routemarched through a selection of machines that I had previously assumed only Jeremy Clarkson could enjoy. These things have dashboards, and control panels, and speed settings. They probably ought to require a special license. And they're terrifying. 

Without going into the painful particulars, I can only say that falling off a treadmill is not normally considered an option in a well-run gym - unless you're me. Laughing the 'incident' off certainly didn't work: stony-faced fitness junkies who were probably already into their second 1000 miles on the running machine that morning without breaking sweat - not a damp patch in sight, I swear - looked on pityingly as I tried to retrieve my locker keys and recover my dignity. Difficult when you're already an unbecoming shade of puce and have just remounted the wretched machine facing backwards. 'Ha Ha', I laughed, grimly but somehow disarmingly, I thought. The silence was deafening.

My inductress then fast - forwarded me through my stretching exercises, all with names that vanished into the mental ether as soon as I heard them (thumb screws? the rack? flagellation? - something along those lines). They were all, it seems, good for parts of my body that I'd never heard of, and certainly can't locate on a map, but it seems that after constant repetition of these contortions, parts of me I didn't know I had will become indescribably lovely and useful, and I should even be able to stand unaided. Something to aim for, I suppose.

The downside, however, is that they appear to involve some considerable degree of physical effort. My instructor assured me that once I'd mustered some physical strength (she could have mentioned attitude, if she'd been feeling brutal - and possibly aptitude), everything else would fall into place.

She mentioned targets - 25 of this, 40 of that - but these were revised downwards after my best efforts to do what she assured me was really very easy revealed that my performance-related targets had been set unfeasibly high. So, if I can manage about 3 stretches, and can start up the treadmill without blowing it up, I'm on my way. Progress is going to be a little slower than the Sunstone staff might wish. But I'll persevere. As long as their insurance coverage can deal with breakages.