Farewell to Greg Moore, aka 'Gravelo'

It is with great sadness that I have to announce the passing of Gravelo, aka Greg Moore from Boone, Iowa. We never met except for online back in the days when Blogger had a "Next Blog" facility which enable users to find random blogs. At least that's how I think we linked up. It might not have been that way at all, but I remember when the facility existed that by pressing "next blog" it would often take me to a related site, ie a cycling site, and I can only assume that that was how we 'met'. That said, it could have been Greg himself stumbling across NoVisibleLycra. Who knows? Either way we linked up and I must say that Greg was a fantastic writer and he possessed some interesting bikes.

Greg Moore, aka Gravelo

I've always like Greg and his general attitude towards life. He was married, he had kids and he seemed like a really nice guy. I always hoped that one of my business trips to the USA would take me close to where he was based so that I could drop by and say hello, possibly even go on a ride with him, that would have been great, but it was never to be.

At some stage, Greg seemingly stopped his blog, https://gravelo.blogspot.com/to focus on running and I think he was running 5k per day, he really got into it and for a long while I thought he'd given up riding his bikes, but no, he hadn't, and Gravelo.blogspot continued, his last post being on 17 February 2024, he died four months later on 29 June 2024 and I only found out after writing a comment on the 17 February post, The Year of the Hat in which he talked, albeit briefly, about his brain cancer. He was forced to wear a crash helmet after an operation to protect the site and scar of brain surgery. In a previous post dated 6 December 2023 and entitled A first, of Sorts, For Me, he spoke of the crash: 

"I reached a terminal (nearly) speed of 31.7mph on the hill, brakes were not hooking up, tried to scrub speed with my foot to no avail, and ended up slamming into the back side of a ditch, neck and shoulders first, at 30 plus mph. My watch data shows a period of about 4½ minutes of ZERO movement right at the point where the speed track stops."

He died peacefully, surrounded by his family, but his memory will live on I'm sure. I will certainly remember him and can only say it was a shame we never met. I used to love receiving a message from Greg on the blog. Occasionally I look back on past posts and occasionally stumble upon comments from Greg, which were always most welcomed. It would also have been nice if Greg came to the UK and joined Andy and I on one of our rides, which he seemed to love reading about.

One of Greg's amazing bikes, this one always intrigued me

When my sister died in early December 2023, Greg kindly posted two comments, on 6 and 7 December:

Matthew, it is heartening to know that you are attempting to remain upbeat. My 3 siblings are living still and there is one that we all worry about, but still she persists in life. Wonderful healing machine, the bicycle. Stay true and stay well. Best Wishes, your friend, Greg "Gravelo" Moore (6 December 2023)

Hi Matthew, I'm sorry to learn of your sister's passing but glad to know that cycling will help to deliver you from the grief. The bicycle is a wonderful vehicle. Have a lovely Christmas and stay awesome in the new year! Your friend, Greg "Gravelo" Moore, USA! (7 December 2023)

I hope he'll rest in peace, I'm sure he will and I send my fond regards to his family.

Postscript: I almost forgot Greg's other passion, running. He set up a blog called 5ktherapy.blogspot.com and decided, I think, to run 5k every day. The last post was on 3 May 2019. Here is that last post in full:

"Long" route tonight, still only 3.1 miles but it's an out and back so it feels long. Funny how the brain can perceive things that way. It's like having a "long day"at work, even though the time you spent there was the same amount as any other day. It just feels long sometimes. I'm sure that as your lives become busier in the coming years that the times apart from you will seem like forever for Mom and I, even though it may only be for a few months at a time. Like now. It feels like an eternity sometimes...

Last week's ride (to Westerham)...

Last week, that is the weekend of 21st and 22nd September, I rode to Westerham following the usual route and when I got there I parked up outside of Costa with a view to enjoying a large English Breakfast tea sitting outside in the sunshine. Having parked up, a man sitting outside advised me to lock up the bike as somebody had their bike stolen last week. He blamed local kids and pointed towards the church indicating where he thought the kids were coming from, not the church, of course, but the houses beyond the church. He might be wrong, he might be right, who am I to suggest either way? So I padlocked the bike outside Costa and went inside...only to discover a huge queue of people ordering, no doubt, complicated drinks. "Can I have two soya latte's with coconut powder sprinkled on top, plus two flat whites with semi-skimmed milk, a cappuccino, made with soya milk and sprinkled with chocolate..." so I left and wandered down to a place I hadn't visited for some time, the Tudor Rose tea rooms. While tempted by the cakes, especially an iced cherry Bakewell tart, I resisted and just ordered a pot of tea. I sat by the window looking out at my bike through the leaded panes and just chilled, knowing, however, that soon I'd have to be on my way, back to Sanderstead some 11 or so miles uphill, but no matter, that's what it's all about, I cycle somewhere and I have to cycle back. 

Tea in the Tudor Rose, Westerham

Talking of the ride back, I rode past the antique shop and then past the Velobarn (which has never appealed) and along Pilgrims Lane. I managed to get home in an hour, not bad going and then, after doing a bit of shovelling in the back garden, levelling out the detritus left by the fir tree we took out on 16 September, I crashed on the sofa. But then I realised there was no margarine or butter or whatever you call it and promptly got up, jumped in the car and drove to the supermarket to buy some. I really needed a shower after the ride and I noticed how sweaty I was once in the car. I rolled down the windows not wanting to leave the car stinking of sweat and resolved to roll them up again later on, but then I crashed again on the sofa and completely forgot. During the night there was heavy rain and the car was full of rainwater, there were even two puddles of water on the floors in the back and all the seats were wet through. Not nice. We managed to get the water out of the back and did our best to dry things out, but there was an unbearable smell of rancid carpets left behind. Annoying as we were driving to the Cotswolds. We had to place towels and plastic bags and God knows what else on all the seats to protect us from the damp but there was no protection against the stench of rancid carpets. Fortunately, we soon got used to it and all was well and now, a week later, after giving the car a good airing and taking it for one of those hand car washes, all is well with the car too. I, however, am kicking myself for letting such a thing happen. I should have rolled the windows up after getting back from the store, but I didn't and then, having made myself comfortable on the sofa I fell asleep and that was that. Very, very annoying and I hate myself for allowing such a state of affairs to have happened. But happen it did and that's all I can say about it. Fortunately, all is now well and I have resolved never to do such a thing again.

That bloke in the white shirt advised me to lock up the bike

Two great rides...to Westerham and Oxted

I've been meaning to ride to Westerham for some time and now I've done it. I had, however, intended to leave the house at 0700hrs, like in the good old days, but didn't get on the road until around 0830hrs. The weather was good. In fact, I was definitely over-dressed with a fleece and a high-viz top I'd bought for a bargain in one of those 'outdoor' shops in Redhill, £23 reduced from £60! Not a bad deal.

Bike with puncture, Costa Westerham

I followed the route of old, up the 269, turning left just past Botley Hill and heading down Clarks Lane, except that instead of simply following the road around and into Westerham I turned left on to Pilgrim's Lane and headed for the Velo Barn. I'll admit that it was on my mind to go there instead but there were so many people arriving from various cycling clubs that I pushed on into the town... and discovered that I had a puncture, the first one in simply ages. Fortunately, it was a front wheel puncture and not a rear wheel affair. The bike limped into Westerham and I parked up outside of Costa and went inside to order a large English Breakfast tea. I took it outside and sat next to the bike. The tyre had completely flattened and it was just a matter of time before I set about fixing it. The weather was amazing, bright sunshine and I spent an inordinate amount of time simply sipping tea and people watching until the moment arrived: I stood up, wheeled the bike to a spot where I had room to turn it upside and begin the boring job of fixing it.

God knows why but I discovered that I didn't have any tyre levers and felt even more deflated than my front tyre. I thought long and hard. Should I go into the Costa and ask for a teaspoon? Should I wander around the stalls of a summer fayre that had been erected on the green and ask somebody for something that might do the job, or...do I ask a fellow cyclist. I chose the latter option and was handed a tyre lever. The guy in question was going in for a coffee, he'd cycled from West Wickham and had been down in Sevenoaks. We chewed the fat about the various hills nearby, like Titsey Hill and White Lane and I think he was fairly impressed by the fact that I was able to do them both with relative ease.

Outside of Caffe Nero in Oxted on Sunday morning...

I fixed the puncture, handed back the tyre lever and headed for home via the antiques shop en route. In side I spotted two amazing-looking picnic sets from the 1950s, like something out of Enid Blyton, and a vintage hose reel, a little rusty, perhaps, but then rusty stuff is all the rage in gardens these days. I wandered deeper into the shop and spotted a 1930s policeman's bicycle, reduced from £450 to just £250. Quite a bargain. I even spotted a Tracey Island toy. 

The tree in all its glory...

The ride back was par for the course and on Sunday I rode to Oxted, going down White Lane instead of Titsey Hill. I stopped at Caffe Nero and ordered a pain aux raisin and a cappuccino and again sat outside people watching until it was time to go. My route home avoided riding up Titsey Hill which I simply wasn't in the mood for; instead I road along Pilgrim's Lane to Rectory Lane and then rode up the hill. In all honesty, the exertion was the same and I should have simply rode up the hill like I normally do. I sped down the 269, along the Limpsfield Road and home and then went out and bought a mower. 

I write this on Monday 16th September. I'm taking the week off, but today is a sad day as our tree in the back garden is coming down. We don't particularly want it to be felled but it's going to be. I really don't like taking out trees. In fact, I've never done it before but our tree is getting out of control and it can't really be trimmed. There are plenty of problems all to do with lack of sunlight, not so much in other people's gardens (or ours) but the tree is sapping the energy of everything in its vicinity; and while it's not a big deal in our garden either, the tree has expanded sideways, it's making the grass mossy and is simply has to go. It's sad.

It's now 1033hrs and all the greenery is off of the tree, the actual greenery was only a few inches in depth meaning that had we trimmed it, the tree would be brown and, we're told, would never green-up again, so it had to come down. Right now it looks like a huge magic mushroom leaning slightly to the right from where we can see it from the house. There's three guys doing the job and I have to say that I wouldn't mind being a tree surgeon. In fact, when I was a kid I used to want to be a tree surgeon. Why, I don't know, but there used to be a company called Pennell ('the tree people') and they must have been fairly active around where I lived in Carshalton, hence my desire to be a tree surgeon. It's actually quite a cool job, you spend all your time in the fresh air, up a tree with a chain saw, I love it! And it's quite cool to be able to say, if asked, that you're a tree surgeon. You could possibly start off just saying you're a surgeon and then adding the tree bit later, but hey, I love the idea of being a tree surgeon, I'd hate to be a medical surgeon.

The tree at 1047hrs on 16th September.

Any way, it's had to come down, more's the pity, but that's the way of the world, it's not down yet, but that'll be the next part of the job. They're having coffees and Jaffa Cakes at this present time, but work will resume shortly. It's 1041 and work has restarted.

It won't be long before all trace of the tree is gone; it's been part of the house for many years and we've really enjoyed it's company. We've watched it grow and we loved it and we still do but there comes a time when things have to be done and that's about all I can say. I'm now looking at rhododendrens and possibly even another tree, one that won't grown so high, but let's see. 

Yesterday I bought a new mower, it arrives on Thursday and the grass will need a jolly good cut after that, then we'll start looking at how we can improve the space vacated by the tree.

I wasn't expecting the garden to look very good after the tree came down and I was expecting to be exposed to all the neighbours in the next street, but no, thanks to other shrubs and bushes behind the tree we took down, it looked okay. In fact, it looked great. The garden was sunnier than before and there were no big shadows cast across the lawn that were there before. So, in reality, while we all thought it was going to be a mistake, it wasn't, and we're definitely going to make the area look better with a few new shrubs and bushes, but, as I say, all is fine and, when all is said and done, the tree should have come down a long time ago. Look, I hate taking trees out and I'm hoping I can put one back in now that I've actually had one removed. I'll leave it there for now, actually, I'll simply leave it there, it's done, it's dusted, the tree won't be coming back and on one level, yes, it's sad, but on another level we can fix the grass, the neighbour's happy and we're happy.

Sonic Life by Thurston Moore...

For some time now I've been immersing myself in 'rock' autobiographies. I don't know why other than I simply like reading about 'rock' stars and how it all happened for them. My latest book was Sonic Life by Thurston Moore. I instinctively knew, when I spotted it in the bookshop, that it would be an interesting read, I just knew it, and I was right. As I write these words I've literally just finished it and, as always, the last chapter of any book, well, actually, of most good books, like this one is, it's emotionally charged. An earlier 'closing chapter' in Book Six of what was, quite simply, a magnum opus, focused on 9/11, a seismic moment in the history of New York (and, indeed, the wider world). 

I was saddened to read of Thurston's friend Harold passing away, he who travelled regularly from Bethel in Connecticut to NYC with Thurston to listen to the bands of the punk explosion in the USA. Right at the end of the book, in the final chapter, there's mention of Sonic-Youth's last album, The Eternal, a great album, especially, in my opinion, the track Walkin Blue which, for me (and I'm sure many people) has a strange, lingering, evocative quality (because let's remember that music, certainly for me, generates pictures and sensations in my head, things that aren't necessarily real but are rooted in some kind of reality that never really surfaces, it's hard to describe, but, well, let me try). I say 'try', perhaps the best thing is to direct you to a post on another blog of mine which, in my head, relates to Walkin Blue. I don't know what is, but if you read the post in question (click here to read it) you might understand what I mean. If, or rather whenever I listen to the track, I think of the scenario dreamed up at the beginning of the aforementioned post. There's no rhyme nor reason for this, it just is, for me, the reality of listening to the track.

Anyway, I digress (or do I?). Sonic Life is a great book, full of so many stories, so many references to bands like Dinosaur Jr and Television and Mudhoney and Nirvana and Hole and Bikini Kill and loads of other bands all of whom more than hold their place in rock history, or perhaps more alternative rock history. I was glad to note that the name, Sonic-Youth is related to Fred 'Sonic' Smith from MC5, a band that had a lot to do with the early success of The Stooges. Smith was married to Patti Smith and MC5 (the Motor City Five, from the Motor City, Detroit) were a great band. I still have Back in the USA, a great album, nothing complex, just great rock 'n' roll music. 

Thurston Moore is great too, for his determination, his enthusiasm, his dedication (along with the rest of his band) to experiment with sound and push the boundaries of popular music, and the way he immerses himself in the scene, making Sonic-Youth more than just another band, but a creative force of some magnitude. I remember reading Consider This by Chuck Palahnuik, a manual for want of a better word, about writing in which he talks of 'the bravery of the writer'. He refers, of course, to a writer being 'brave' about what he submits for publication and, obviously, the need to stand by whatever it is, albeit a sensitive subject or something that others might regard as a step too far. Well, I think there's also the bravery of the musician and this is amply exemplified by the output of Sonic-Youth in the sense that they tried things that were sometimes not as well-received as they might have thought they would be, but this, of course, is what it's all about, trying stuff, doing things that are away from the mainstream and in Sonic-Youth's case, tuning their guitars differently, experimenting with their instruments and with sound and simply being different but not in a contrived manner, that would never have worked.

It goes without saying that there are, as Johnny Nash once warbled, 'more questions than answers' leading me to think that it would be great to spend some time with Moore and try and find out 'moore' (if you'll excuse the pun) about 'stuff'. For me, I'd like to learn more about how he taught himself to play the guitar as most rock docs and autobiographies tend not to mention anything about this, preferring, I guess, to assume that the readers take it for granted their heroes can play.

As a result of reading Sonic-Life I've found myself on YouTube looking for Thurston Moore interviews (and finding many). One was not so much an interview with Moore, but Moore interviewing Iggy Pop at his home in Miami, where, of course, Moore himself hails from originally. It was a great interview and for me it introduced an amazing Iggy and the Stooges track, Gardenia, from the album Post Pop Depression. A great track, it has to be said, and one I often play. I like listening for bass lines and Gardenia has a good one. The book also introduced me (and yes, I know, I should have been aquainted with them years ago): I'm talking about Dinosaur Jr and, of course, J Mascis, who is referenced a lot in Moore's book and who, incidentally, shares a birthday with me (10 December) although he's eight years my junior. If we were both dinosaurs, I guess he'd be Dinosaur Jr, yes, alright, another silly pun.

I think one of the great strengths of Sonic Life is Thurston Moore's knowledge of the alternative music and arts scene in the USA within which he and his band were a major force. He was close with Kurt Cobain of Nirvana, they toured together. Early on in the book, he found himself on a plane with The Fall and I can't remember now whether Sonic-Youth got off in Iceland, I think they did, or whether The Fall got off or whether they both got off, but the amazing thing about that is I remember that flight being referenced in The Big Midweek, Life inside The Fall by the latter's bassist, Steve Hanley (another book worth reading if you haven't already).

Something else I didn't know was that the Ramones were so-called after the fact that Sir Paul McCartney used to check in to hotels as Paul Ramon in the hope that the hotels in question wouldn't be swamped by hysterical fans.

So, if ever you spot a copy of Sonic Life by Thurston Moore in your local bookshop, buy it because it's a great read if, like me, you're in to rock star autobiographies. I doubt whether Moore would like to be described as a 'rock star'(another question I'd ask him if I bumped into him on my travels); it's not out of the question either, largely because he now resides in Stoke Newington in London. Currently, I appear to be running into famous bassists. I literally bumped into Bill Wyman as I walked into Gail's on the King's Road in London and then, having passed through security at St. Pancras International recently, Paul Simonon of The Clash. Who's next, I often wonder.

Moore doesn't skate over anything, he goes in-depth, providing plenty of information on every aspect of Sonic-Youth's development from beginning to end, start to finish. If you want a book jam-packed with information about the band, the band members and the band's contemporaries, not forgetting their encounters with the likes of Neil Young and Iggy Pop and others, then this is the book for you. I'll stop now as I'll risk sounding sycophantic and boring (which I hope I'm not).

Late ride to Carshalton...

It was what used to be known as the 'urban ride to mum's' and it was great because the weather was good. I say it was great (and it was) but the ride itself is one that varies as there are many permutations and on this occasion I think the route was completely different from previous incantations. Perhaps 'completely different' is misleading as there were little bits that were the same: I did ride along Foxley Lane in Purley, but instead of riding towards Woodmansterne Green (like Andy and I used to when we went to see my brother Jon) I filtered off earlier on to a road called, I think, Green Lane and should have wound my way further around these lovely quiet roads at the top end of Wallington before coming out (briefly) on the main road leading down to the top of Wallington High Street. I think it's Woodcote Road as I remember when I was a kid I used to do a milk round with "Dynamic Norman" a film buff milkman. In fact, I turned left and found myself virtually on the round and the memories came flooding back, the hot weekends of childhood summers as I found myself at the top of Boundary Road heading north and eventually branching left and riding up and along Stanley Park Road, turning right into Crichton Avenue (or Crichton Road, I can't remember) and finding myself in Carshalton Beeches, passing the Village Bakery before turning right, riding past the railway station, down the hill and then left and first right down to the gas station before another left and right and then along Westmead Road to mum's.

The ride back was similar although I found myself travelling a little too far up Boundary Road to where it joins Briar Avenue (where mum and dad once considered buying a house) and then taking a long single-track road through the smallholdings which eventually brought me out on Woodmansterne Lane where I turned left and headed towards Foxley Lane again, retracing the steps of my outward ride.

Mileage-wise it was longer than Andy and I used to think. We always put the ride to Woodmansterne Green as a 12-miler and I always thought the same for Carshalton and a ride to mum's, but no, it was just over 15 miles in total.

"Working from home"

While I am sure there are a lot of genuine people who actually do "work from home" I know for a fact that there are many more who simply take the time off and that's why I'm a little concerned about Sir Keir Starmer saying he agrees with "working from home" because it will boost productivity. Really?

Why am I so sceptical about "working from home" and why have I put the phrase in inverted commas? Quite simple really, I've heard many stories about people who blatantly make it clear that when they are supposed to be "working from home" they're not doing anything of the sort.

"I think I'll mow the lawn..."

I was recently told of one person who adamantly refuses to actually work when he's "working from home" - anything but! He's either down the pub or in the gym or even shopping in a supermarket in plain sight of other work colleagues (those who choose to work in the office) and one of whom has seen the accused pushing a trolley full of groceries through the store at around 1030hrs, a time when it's impossible to claim you're on an early lunch. This person is happy to let slip to anybody unimportant that he doesn't work on a Friday (one of the days he's supposed to be "working from home"), meaning he's doing a four-day week and getting paid for five! Another unrelated tale tells of somebody who once exclaimed on a Wednesday afternoon (the day before leaving the office for her two days of "working from home") that it was "Netflix Day tomorrow!"

The person who prefers the pub or the gym or the supermarket to "working from home" regularly tries to convince a work colleague to be just like him and go to the pub up the road instead to watch the football or just drink until unconscious and then regret it the following day. The attitude appears to be that nobody really works from home, they're all skiving, so come and join the party!

Others have urged work colleagues to "have a nice weekend!" as they leave the office on a Wednesday afternoon so the view that "working from home" boosts productivity is a lame duck in my opinion. I don't believe a word of it. Mind you, Starmer let Jimmy Saville off the hook, let's not forget that.

I worked from home during the pandemic and I'll admit that I got a lot of work done – I consider myself to be one of the good guys – but once it was possible to go back to the office, back I went, mainly because I couldn't be bothered to unhook my computer every Wednesday evening from the plug sockets in the office and cart it all the way home in a plastic bag. Also, I believe in separating work from home life. I don't like to see my desk when I'm sitting in the living room at home trying to relax. 

The great thing about working in the office, as opposed to being at home, is that you're in a work environment and, let's face it, there's the journey home, which acts as a kind of buffer, a transition period if you will, between being at work and being home. I relax in a station waiting room reading my book until a connecting train takes me home and then, when I get there, I can truly say "I'm home!" I don't have to catch sight of the desk I'd been working from while trying to enjoy a movie or whatever is on the television.

To Oxted....

I hadn't been to Oxted for a while as the hill coming out is always a little daunting but 100% achievable. I've been doing shorter rides, some non-stop, others a little closer to home, like ending up at the Sheep Shed and enjoying a cup of English breakfast tea and an almond croissant.Today I left the house without really thinking about where I was going. I might well have done another non-stop ride via St. Leonard's church and Washpond Lane, a kind of twist on the conventional Weeble involving Beech Farm Road and Botley Hill and it is there, of course, that I have discovered the Sheep Shed, a perfect venue for a hot day.

The Sheep Shed, Botley Hill

The weather has stepped up a little lately with plenty of hot sunny days and weekends, which is great as there's been a lot of rain too, all very depressing. So I'm riding the 269 wondering what to do and I'm thinking I'll just turn at the roundabout at Botley Hill and come straight back, 14 miles, that's good enough, I thought, but Oxted was nagging at me and as I reached the roundabout I thought fuck it and pedalled down Titsey, picking up speed at the bottom and soaring into Oxted whilst considering the coffee shop in Limpsfield (Coffee at Kiwi House). It was, therefore, a last minute decision to turn right and not follow the road round into Limpsfield village. Instead I headed along Granville and into Oxted High Street, the perfect place to be on a sunny Saturday morning.

There's plenty of choice: Starbucks, Costa, Coughlan's, and, of course, Caffe Nero at the top on the left and, as always, I opted for the latter. There's something very pleasant about spending around 30 minutes sitting outside Caffe Nero on a sunny Saturday morning, people watching, and that's just what I did before checking out the charity shop and then riding home.

All the way to the hill I kept thinking of ways out of it. I considered turning right on Pilgrim's Lane and then taking a left a long way down the road and coming back as if I'd been to Westerham. I thought about White Lane, but realised, obviously, that that would be even more difficult and soon the hill was upon me and, as always, I took it in my stride.

I decided later not to turn right on Beech Farm Road as I have been doing of late (to increase the mileage, but mainly to avoid the dangerous bit of the 269 (the last bit before reaching Warlingham). Instead I just pressed ahead and all was well. I took me roughly one hour from Oxted to home

To Tatsfield Village...

 My last couple of rides have been more exhilarating than the many which have gone before; I don't know what it is, I feel lighter, I stand up on the pedals and swing the bike from side-to-side on the inclines, more so than I have been doing of late. I figure it might have something to do with losing a bit of weight or being on a slight downward spiral with my weight that has made me lighter and, therefore, more energetic and inclined, perhaps, to ride faster. Today was a great example of this new thing: earlier this morning I'd received a text from Andy asking me to get there on time as he had until 0930 before he had to ride to Sidcup in South East London to see his mum. These days, Andy rides everywhere, no journey is too far. I found myself thinking how he must be saving a fair bit of money through not driving or taking buses and trains. I should at least be riding three times a week, but I'm not, I'm back to riding twice a week, which needs to be upped, by at least one ride.

Library image of the village pond in Tatsfield...

But getting back to today's ride. I left the house around 0755hrs and reached Tatsfield Village by 0850, Sheree's wasn't even open and Andy nowhere to be seen. For me this was great: I'd beaten Andy to Sheree's and I was feeling good. The truth of the matter is that I've been laying off the bread, just two slices per day, no more. In the past I could easily consume six to eight, possibly even 10 slices per day with honey in the morning and possibly Marmite (or more honey or even marmalade) in the evenings. So I'm feeling good about myself and I'm reluctant to bring out the scales just in case I haven't lost any weight. That realisation would be disappointing, demoralising and depressing, the three Ds.

At Sheree's we sat outside in the early heat of the day, Andy with his soya latte and vegan almond croissant, me with nothing but a pot of tea and a small Biscoff-like biscuit. We talked about Andy's trip next year to Stonehenge and the Isle of Wight and again I found myself thinking how he sure gets around on two wheels. Nothing phases him. I started thinking of my own holidays and how, going back into the distant past, I used to go on two-week vacations and it would only cost around £1,800 quid, plus a bit of spending money. These days nobody goes away for a fortnight anymore and I found myself wondering why that would be, but not for long. These days it's just a week and it costs around three to four grand! Unless you go to an Air BnB villa but the costs still mount him, the good old days have well and truly left the building. Andy says you have to take into consideration inflation and he's right. I'll admit I never did consider it although of course it's part of the problem. I have trouble parting with such a huge sum of money for what ultimately becomes a few snaps on my iphone that eventually get deleted and then the memory fades and I'm left with nothing but a debt. Admittedly (as I've said many times) most people save for their holidays, put down a small deposit at the beginning of the year and that way the horror of parting with so much money is spread over a number of months. But not me. I suddenly go on holiday on a whim and have to pay the full tariff, no discounts. I start to feel miffed about this and sometimes forget about a holiday altogether although, having not had a vacation since 2019 when I went to the USA (not really a holiday it has to be said) I am now in dire need of one. I often look at passing fields from a train or even neatly manicured lawns as I pass them by on the bike and imagine myself on a deckchair just relaxing, reading, listening to the radio, anything but what I seem to be doing all the time: thinking about work or fretting about something or other. I need some downtime, especially at the moment with everything else that's being going on with mum (see previous posts).

Anyway, enough of that. I'm looking at taking a week off, very soon. Places like Spain and Greece have been bandied around and it looks as if finally we'll get away and I'll be able to sit by a pool somewhere chilling out. I'm planning on leaving the iphone at home to avoid the temptation of looking at my email, I want to be totally cut adrift from it all for one week, just soaking up a few rays, eating decent food (I always eat decent food) and just doing bugger all without spotting an unread WhatsApp message.

Whenever I watch a holiday ad on the TV it always seems alien to me, not something I do, a world inhabited by other people with little to do. 

It's been a very hot day today. The ride was early enough in the morning not to be unpleasant and when I reached home I chilled in the garden, drinking tea and just relaxing before a trip to a place called Ightham Mote where a cappuccino and a cookie was most welcomed followed by a tour of the house, which, even if I'm not the sort of person to enjoy trips around National Trust properties, was of great interest, being in a place that's been around since 1330AD and probably earlier. To be honest, though, I much prefer the cafes, the almond croissants, the carrot cake, the coffee and walnut cake, the Cornish pasties and so on, those and perhaps a walk around the grounds where I don't have to listen to some guide telling me about the life of one Frederik Von Hausen, a fictional character I invented who sums up the sort of people that used to own these impressive pieces of architecture that are dotted around the United Kingdom.

I'm now sitting indoors blogging. I'm kind of glad I'm doing this as I haven't been writing a great deal of late and I need to get back into it.

I didn't realise that Andy has a tattoo, which is mildly embarrassing as I started dissing people with tattoos only to discover that Andy had recently had one done in memory of his wife Marcia. I felt a bit of fool it has to be said. Some years ago now Andy and I used to have a joke about dissing the pope only to discover that he was standing right behind us. It was kind of like that, but Andy having a tattoo is a one-off, he's not planning a sleeve or any unsightly tattoos on his calves or chest, which is good to know. Basically, Andy's not the sort of person to have a tattoo, that's why I felt safe dissing people who do, but I was wrong and I'm sure he forgives me.

This and that...

Met Andy on Saturday at Sheree's Tea Room in Tatsfield. We chatted about many things, but the best part of the conversation was when we talked about Andy's school trip to, well, everywhere by the sounds of it. He took a boat across the Bay of Biscay in a storm and in the same boat went to the Azores, although Andy couldn't remember much about the Azores, a place I'd like to visit. I wonder if you can go on holiday to the Azores? Probably. On the same trip, Andy went to Morocco and, well, sounds like it was a great trip if you ask me.

Andy and I had been chatting about travelling by train through Europe to Spain and that's how we got on to the Bay of Biscay and Andy's school trip. I had been planning on a business trip to Barcelona and during my research discovered that there was only £200 between flying there and taking the train. Unfortunately, the trip had to be cancelled (or rather postponed) but it'll be back on the agenda in September and my plan is to take the train. Andy's already made the journey.

Andy-related stuff has kept me going this weekend. I'd admit I'd forgotten he was going to tackle the Dunwich Dynamo, a 120-mile free ride from Hackney in London to Dunwich on the Suffolk coast - at night time. The ride goes through the night and Andy tells me he finished around 0400hrs, adding that it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Miraculously, he rode on from Dunwich for 30 miles, presumably to where he was planning to spend the night, but what a guy! Well done, Andy. I can't wait to read about it on your blog.

My ride to Tatsfield had been fine, a little bit of fine rain (or was it moisture from the early morning fog?) but generally the ride was great. As always, Andy was there before me but I'm guessing just before me as his coffee had yet to be delivered to the table. I ordered a tea. Andy said that Sheree had forgotten to order his vegan pastry - shame on her! - but all seemed well. Andy said Sheree's Tearooms was sanctuary and I know just what he means. In many ways it's a strange place, full of crazy teapots and gift items, like scented candles and soft toys, but it's great place for a much-welcomed pot of tea after a bike ride, albeit a short one of around eight miles.

Ken, one of Sheree's regulars, was there wearing, it has to be said, a great shirt. He's in his eighties but he's still looking good. The place was very different on a Saturday. We're normally there on a Sunday when things are fairly peaceful, but on Saturday there are lots of people around buying their shopping, plenty of chit chat and general bustle, which livened the place up a little bit. I ordered a second pot of tea and another latte for Andy and we sat there chatting before heading off - Andy preparing for the Dunwich Dynamo and me just going home to prepare for visits to see mum in hospital. There's nothing wrong with her, but she's being kept in to build up her strength and deal with frailty issues. 

... and now it's almost a week later. I've been at work all week (nothing new there!) but today I was in London for a lunch with a colleague from Germany. Olivo in Eccleston Street was good, but this was a business meeting and it went well. We discussed next year's conference (the one I organise every year). The conference in question takes a lot of work and I've started early trying to pull together a programme. It's going to mean some trips to get everybody on side (not that anybody isn't onside). But enough of work talk. I left the restaurant around 3pm and there was no point going back to work.I can't remember what time I reached home, something like 5pm or 5.30pm. I went to Coco & Nut for a cup of tea and some banana bread and then walked home. Right now I'm watching the French Olympics opening ceremony, it's quite impressive and there are some very arty bits in between the parade of athletes on boats on the Seine.

I was going to see mum in hospital, but I'll be there tomorrow and people have been up to see her today. She's doing alright according to reports on WhatsApp.

The weather has been good today, but generally not brilliant. It's easily been the worst summer for some time.

I'm currently reading Sonic Life by Thurston Moore, better make that I'm still reading Sonic Life, it's a big book but a good book, lots of interesting insights about the band and the US no wave scene in New York in the seventies and eighties. When I finish it, I'm planning on doing another A-Z challenge, reading a book for every letter of the alphabet from A through to Z. It's a good exercise as it introduces me to new novelists; not new in the sense that they've just written whatever it is I'm going to read, but new in the sense of new to me. One of the rules is that I'm not allowed to read any author I have read before - and believe me that leaves me with plenty of choice! For my letter A I'm thinking about Eric Ambler, but nothing is set in stone yet. I'm not allowed to listen to anybody's recommendation and it has to be a totally random exercise. That said, I do have a book that I'm allowed to use as reference, the Rough Guide to Cult Fiction.

Anyway, I'm off to read Andy's blog about his mammoth ride, that of the Dunwich Dynamo. Andy will be back at Sheree's on Sunday so I'll be looking forward to seeing him.

The joys of cycling!

Cycling merrily along British roads, I turned left on to the Limpsfield Road, quite safely, when a white van man slowed alongside me.

Van man: "What do you think you're doing, you silly cunt!"

Me: "Go fuck yourself!"

Van man: "Fuck off yourself!"

Me: "Yer bald-headed cunt! Brexit wanker! Piss off!"

And at that point he rolled up his window and drove off in a huff.