I like to think that I've been lucky enough to witness some wonderful sights, on occasion; and equally, that on such occasions, I'm rarely lost for at least a fairly apposite phrase to encapsulate such splendour. But the woman I saw today, wearing a floral dress and a red cardigan tied around her waist as she rode her bicycle through Lancaster, reduced me to a state of enrapt inarticulacy. I tried to muster a smile as she flew past but so transfixed was I, my face must have betrayed nothing but awestruck avidity. It was all I could do to prevent myself being towed along in her wake like a piece of bobbing flotsam. I thought at the time it might not be appropriate for me to trail behind her, mouth agape, eyes agaze and mind set on her lustrous frame; but in retrospect, I wish I had been possessed of enough temerity to at least have spoken to her. Now, though, she has gone; and were it not for the fact that her image is burned so brightly in my memory, I would have said she was nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

Unless...

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