The hit-and-run Lycra louts: How thuggish minority of cyclists are terrorising our roads with one elderly pensioner being hit twice in a month

'A law that will force cyclists to take a proper test and abide by the Highway Code is long overdue'

'My mother might have died last week'

Broken arm: Petronella Wyatt's mother Verushka has been hit twice by cyclists

On August 16, my mother was hit by a Lycra lout. She was crossing the road when a youth on a bicycle shot a red light, knocked her to the ground and left her with a broken arm.

Yesterday, a friend telephoned to ask about her health. 'She would be feeling better,' I replied, 'if she hadn't been hit by another bicycle the other evening.'

I could hear a convulsion in his voice. It sounded like stifled laughter. He could not repress a gurgling sound before he managed to compose himself to express sympathy and shock. 'Again? How awful!'

But it isn't amusing. My mother is elderly. She was shopping in London's Regent Street when she was hit by the first cyclist, who failed to stop. He didn't even look back.

Kindly passers-by dragged her seemingly inert body on to the pavement and called an ambulance.

The hospital said she was lucky to have survived. As it is, the bones in her right arm are so badly broken they will never heal properly.

Then three days ago, just as she was regaining some strength, she crossed a street near her home in North London to buy bread. Once again, a hit-and-run cyclist struck.

This time my mother nearly lost the sight in her left eye. And her broken arm sustained such serious damage that she may have to undergo a lengthy operation.

Look out: 'Male cyclophiles are becoming a blot on our highways'

If my mother had been hit twice by a car in a similar space of time, the general reaction would have been one of horror and outrage. The anti-car lobby has portrayed motorists as evil, greedy killers of the innocent and destroyers of the planet.

Cyclists, on the other hand, are heroes, particularly in the wake of our Olympic triumphs. Consider dashing Bradley Wiggins and glowing Victoria Pendleton.

And to many of us, there is something charming about bicycles. They conjure up images of Edwardians in tweed knickerbockers, and our own irrepressible and endearing Mayor of London, Boris Johnson.

But this halcyon haze enveloping cyclists hides a disturbing truth.

Concerned daughter: Petronella Wyatt wants a change in the law

The majority are safe – but not all. There are rogues: Lycra louts whose intentions are as low as the meanest hit-men. In 2008, I had my handbag stolen by a gang of youths on bikes.

This is not to deny the guilt of many motorists who drive irresponsibly, and the fact that every year innocent cyclists lose their lives as a result. But the police have established, in conjunction with the Transport Research Laboratory, that half of all collisions between bicycles and cars are the fault of the cyclist.

I have seen cyclists on the pavement and on the wrong side of the road. Others fail to signal, overtake on the inside and ignore traffic lights.

They either don't have lights or fail to use them. They ride in the gutters and weave in and out between cars. Some ride when fatigued or drunk, and many have failed to learn how to control their bicycles.

There are training courses for cyclists but only one in 100 enrols.

This is in sharp contrast to the position of the motorist, who, since 1935, has had to be over 17 and capable of passing a stringent test

In 1934, 7,343 people were killed on the roads despite there being only 2.4 million vehicles in circulation. Today there are more than 30 million vehicles in the UK, yet the number of fatalities in 2011 was 1,901.

Aside from the dangers, male cyclophiles are becoming a blot on our highways. They are weirdly obsessive about their mode of transport and fuss endlessly about their appearance. Bent over handlebars in their garish Lycra armour and insect-shaped-helmets, cyclists see themselves as Lancelots – but look more like Richard III with a chamber pot on his head.

People undergo a strange transformation when they take up cycling. Four years ago I bought a Pashley bike. To paraphrase My Fair Lady, 'Let a cycle in your life, and you invite eternal strife.'

As I wobbled along London's roads, nearly hitting every pedestrian and car in sight, I was petrified and hysterical, screaming every shrewish curse I knew

Reckless: 'A law that will force cyclists to take a proper test is long overdue'

After three days, disgusted with myself and unwilling to commit manslaughter, I rode on to the kerb – deliberately – and fell down. I then hailed a taxi and put my bike inside. I have never cycled since.

Urban England is not suited to bicycles. There are no wide boulevards to separate cars and cyclists as in Paris, Rome and Madrid.

A law that will force cyclists to take a proper test and abide by the Highway Code is long overdue. My mother might have died last week.