My new bike, Willabelle, is actively participating in my cholesterol reduction regime. I've decided that she, rather than the car, should accompany me for small errands. Our first outing was two days ago, and it was too embarrassing to relate. Oh well, if you insist...

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I had a short shopping list so I thought I'd go to to our closest shop, just half a mile away. So I put on my new helmet (thanks, kids! A great birthday present!), my yellow ankle bands, and my 'A vélo mesdames' jacket, extra large because that was all they had left, and off I went looking like a dhow with an oversized sail. But when I got there I found it closed because it was lunch time. So off I went, about another mile, to a square where there are two huge supermarkets. Great, there was even a special bike parking place. No bikes parked there though - in fact I hadn't met anyone on a bike so far.

Now this was a case for the serious lock (a solid Fort Knox U thing) because the bike shop man said the teeny inbuilt lock was just for 'a quick stop at your local bakery' and this trip didn't fit into that category. But how on earth was I to dislodge the lock from its support? I hunted all over it and could not find a keyhole anywhere. Where had it gone? I'd known something like this would happen, so I'd got the bike salesman to show me several times how it worked, and tried it myself under his guidance, but my short-term memory is awful, and it had started to drizzle, and I sat on the floor to have a better look, and passers-by stopped to stare, and I felt silly. So I got up, mounted again, and nonchalantly rode home.

Today I decided this sort of humiliation would not happen again. I needed to get a new battery for my phone, because mine was beyond charging - you may remember my 'Moby Click' story about a favourite old Nokia - well, Moby Click eventually passed away, and was replaced by an ancient but ultra-fancy Sony-Ericsson cast off of my husband's. Anyway, its battery had done its time, so Willabelle and I would go the two miles to a little square full of shops where I'd seen a phone shop. Before we left, in the Willabelle's cellar, I practised again and again, and got the bike-locking technique so sorted and smooth that I felt like a real pro. I donned my helmet, ankle-bands and jacket, And off we went. Now I thought Belgium was meant to be flat! But this particular place was up and down hills all the way. A real cholesterol-crunch ride. We got there safely, and I managed to attach Willabelle to a lamp-post right in front of the shop fairly gracefully, without attracting too much attention.

But now what? It suddenly hit me that I hadn't a clue about biking etiquette OFF the bike. On my 'A vélo mesdames' lessons I'd learnt all about riding across traffic lights, crossing lanes and tramlines, and doing tunnels and roundabouts, but nothing about what was cool once you're off. Should I remove my helmet, jacket and legbands before going into the shop? Where would I put them? In my backpack? I looked around desperately to see if i could observe other bikers, but all I found were three bikes without riders. And anyway, Belgians don't wear helmets on bikes, so that wouldn't help. What if I got this wrong? Could I face the shame? Perhaps I should phone my kids in Edinburgh or London to ask for their advice ... no, I couldn't, the phone battery, remember?

Eventually I decided on a compromise: keep jacket and ankle bands on, and tuck helmet under arm. Look confident. Pretend I've been doing this all my life.

The salesman and two customers didn't look purturbed as I went in, so it couldn't have been that bad.

'A battery for this Sony Ericsson, please?'

'Are you sure, madame? Those batteries cost forty-five euros. I can sell you a nice simple Nokia for thirty-nine...'

And he showed me ... a reincarnation of Moby Click! Which came home home with Willabelle and me.