Fakenger on a fixed red Specialized at Chelsea Bridge... it's not just that you were riding slowly, nor that you were riding badly (although you were doing both): you were riding like a nob. Stopping randomly, weaving very slowly back and forth across the road, getting into stupid arguments with motorcyclists and generally obstructing everybody you could. Commenting purely on your speed was restraint on my part.
Interesting bet you made, that you'd beat me to Kings Road. Haven't seen you since; presumably, you're still trying to catch up to hand over. Why yes, I was wearing lycra and that may even make me a tart, but dressing like a fakenger hasn't actually improved your cycling at all, now, has it?