Coming home...

On my last night in Linz I took a stroll through the city in search of a decent restaurant. I walked up side roads in my quest and eventually stumbled upon Gottfried. It looked good, had an upmarket vibe to it and when I got inside and was handed the menu my suspicions were upheld. It was an upmarket establishment  with oddly depressing lighting that grated a little. It was also full but a table was found and I sat there looking at my fellow diners, some young, some old as I perused the menu. I wasn't going to pay 42 Euros for risotto and I didn't fancy a steak for 36 Euros so I settled for lemon chicken at 26 Euros. As I don't drink (it's been eight years now) I ordered a large bottle of mineral water and then awaited the arrival of the chicken. It was, in my opinion, awful. A small and thin piece of breast meat burnt around the edges and accompanied by mushy vegetables, mainly peppers, and, oddly, a sprinking of nuts. I noticed that somebody next to me had the same dish and I was tempted to lean over and say something disparaging about the meal, but decided not to. I declined dessert and left and then slowly walked back to my hotel. It was Halloween and there were plenty of people out and about dressed as witches or ghouls.

Breaking through the clouds heading for Vienna on Tuesday.

When I reached the hotel I couldn't be bothered to pack and eventually hit the sack. I didn't have to be up at the crack of dawn the next day, but I'm very much aware of how time simply runs away. I still had an early breakfast but this time, in addition to my healthy muesli, I ordered scrambled egg and a few sausages, two cups of tea and two small custard pastries (I love custard). And then the big debate, do I head for Vienna and the airport or hang around Linz for a while? In short, the latter, but I didn't really do a great deal of hanging around, no coffee shop for me; I packed up my stuff and then decided to walk to the station and not take a cab, it took around 20 minutes. 

Vienna railway station on the outward journey...nobody around.

It was a bank holiday and everything, even the coffee shops on the station concourse, were closed. I jumped on a train around 1000hrs, or just gone, and sat there looking out of the window in a state of preoccupation. On arrival in Vienna I took a train to the airport and after a little bit of faffing around doing the job of the airline staff (printing out a ticket for my suitcase, loading my suitcase on the conveyor) I headed for security, which was straightforward. Soon I was through and again time had run away. I had enough time to eat a snack lunch and then headed for the gate where I tried to charge my phone but none of the power points in one coffee shop worked so I had to move to the adjacent gate and use its power points. This meant that every five minutes I had to get up to make sure that my gate wasn't boarding. I was told that boarding wouldn't begin until half an hour before departure time and managed to charge my phone to 64% before I eventually did board. A woman sitting at the other gate agreed to watch my phone while I checked the situation at my gate, she was Dutch and on her way to Sarajevo but wouldn't be leaving until gone 10pm as she had missed her flight.We chatted briefly and then I unplugged my charged phone and queued up at my gate.

Lunch at Vienna airport on Tuesday

The flight was smooth, just like the outward journey, but it was dark so there was nothing to see. I started reading the National Geographic, which I'd purchased in one of the shops at the airport. The whole issue was dedicated to stress, something I have a lot of at this present time. I didn't order anything to eat or drink as I had a bottle of mineral water and that sufficed. The flight took around two hours and while we circled over Heathrow for some time, we eventually landed. I had the same seat as I had on the way out, seat 12F, an exit seat, and there was only one other person on my row  and he sat in the aisle, so we had an empty seat separating us. There was no turbulence, which was good, and towards the end of the flight we were all given a free chocolate, like on the way out a few days earlier. The difference was that the return journey's chocolate, wrapped like the one on the outward journey, was nutty. The chocolate on the outward journey was circular and didn't include nuts, I much preferred it, although the crew on the return journey were more generous and gave us two chocolates, not just the one. To be honest, when it comes to chocolates on planes you're better off flying Finnair as they offer Fazer chocolate, which is the very best in quality.

Everything was smooth running, passport control, baggage reclaim and then the Heathrow Express (I had bought a return ticket). I took the tube to Victoria and a short taxi ride from East Croydon. When I reached home I watched, yes, A Curious Life. It was much needed. I went to bed late and awoke this morning around 0700hrs, back to my normal breakfast and, thank God, no sausages.

The trip had been good and I'm glad I decided to go as I think I did myself a lot of favours, professionally speaking. I was in Linz to moderate a panel discussion and after a lot of preparation I think I managed to pull it off. I'm also glad to be home.

In Linz...

Well, first I had to fly to Vienna, which was fine. I was, as always, mildly apprehensive, but once through a thin band of cloud there were blue skies all the way and, fortunately, I had a window seat so I simply stared out for the entire flight, stopping briefly to eat a Twix and drink some tea and then finishing off (at last) the rather lightweight Satsuma Complex by Bob Mortimer, which had been bugging me for weeks. I didn't really like it because the lead character, Gary, was definitely him and the whole book was like listening to Mortimer being Mortimer and I'll admit that it started to grate on me. Him talking to a squirrel was a little irritating too as was everything about it, it was just low rent in my opinion and I found it hard to believe that it was 'an international bestseller'. I'd imagine people bought it on the strength of if being a book by Bob Mortimer and they probably guffawed and tittered at every Bob Mortimerism they stumbled across – there were many – and to be totally honest, I hated them, every single one of them. I'd been getting slowly fed up with Mortimer ever since I realised that his Gone Fishing programme with Paul Whitehouse was nothing but talking about serious illness and getting old, two of my least favourite subjects. Anyway, I turned the last page and placed the book back on the small tray-sized table whilst on my Austrian Airlines flight to Vienna and sighed a huge sigh of relief: now I can read something different, something decent, like Willy Vlautin's The Horse, a book I found in Waterstone's in Guildford a few weeks ago. Vlautin is far, far a better writer and within a few lines I was hooked. I've read all of Vlautin's output, starting with Northline back in 2010 or possibly a year earlier, I can't recall, and then I read everything he'd written and waited for the next one to come along. And now it has, The Horse, his second story about a horse, the first one being Lean On Pete. The Motel Life and Lean on Pete have both been made into movies.

Linz, around 1630hrs on Thursday 31st October 2024.

Whilst on the ground at London Heathrow's Terminal 2, the queues for security were long and it was all because people were ignoring the advice offered them: no liquids in luggage. But no matter how many times people were told, they simply weren't listening. One stupid stupid woman got all the way to the scanner and still thought she'd get away with two slender cans of some kind of shit, she just didn't get it, and I'd already seen another idiot try to hide a bottle of aftershave in one of his cases but he owned up as he reached the scanner. I was planning on shopping him as I simply can't stand stupid, ignorant people. I hate them and they're everywhere.

Down by the river in Linz, Thursday 31 October 2024.

When we landed I went straight to reclaim belt 8 and waited a few minutes for my suitcase and then I sailed through customs and decided that I ought to eat a decent meal, so I stopped at Wolfgang Puck's, I've never tried his restaurants before, and ordered a traditional Italian meat sauce and pasta dish along with a no-alcohol beer, it wasn't too pricey and I didn't bother with dessert or a starter or a coffee afterwards as I had a train to catch. It takes around two hours to reach Linz and the journey was chilled as I sat there reading The Horse and sipping on a mug of tea that had been offered. Mind you, I hate being offered something and then later I spy them preparing the receipt. You get nothing for nothing.

A steelworks on the outskirts of the city

I took a cab to my hotel, the Leonardo Boutique Hotel in the City Centre and I immediately realised that I'd stayed here before when it was called something else. It was okay, but as soon as I'd checked in and was given my keycard I sensed problems and I was right. The key card simply didn't work so I had to trampse all the way back down to the ground floor to get another one. Another thing that really annoys me about some hotels (including this one) was when I realised the lift wouldn't work unless I scanned my keycard. The door shut and the lift remained stationary until I remembered. Again, very annoying.

The room (when I eventually got there) was pleasant and roomy. There was, of course, a bathroom, the shower working perfectly (but no bath tub, not that I use bath tubs anymore); the bed was comfortable and I couldn't really have asked for more. What did annoy me was the glass door to the bathroom as that meant that I couldn't leave the light on in the bathroom (I like a bit of light when I sleep away from home). So I had to sleep in virtual darkness, which I got used to, but that was later on, first I needed some dinner and found a place called Glorious Bastards. How corny it was, like some contrived and falsely upbeat diner from the early eighties with a horribly quirky 'menu' and a load of so-called trendy types as waiting staff. I asked for a menu and he pointed to a piece of wood with a QR code. I had to scan it on my iphone and read the menu on the phone. One day I'm going to ditch my iphone for a Nokia 3310 and then they'll have to give me a proper menu. I found having to scan a QR code a bit of a cheek. I can't stand it when I have to do the job of the waiter or the airline or the supermarket, especially when the prices haven't come down to compensate, but I persevered and all was well. I ordered a chicken burger with chips and it wasn't long before it arrived. In fact, it was fairly pleasant and was washed down with a no-alcohol beer. I was, it has to be said, feeling a little bit depressed and stressed as I had a big presentation to be getting on with the following day in front of a crowd of 200 people. 

I walked home to the hotel (all of 10 minutes) and then had a shower and a shave and hit the sack. I awoke a couple of times during the night, but all was fine and soon it was time to get up, have breakfast and head off in a taxi to the outskirts of town to strut my stuff. The hotel breakfast was fine, it did the trick, but I didn't go over the top, no scrambled egg and white sausage for me, instead I have a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea (I think I had two) and then ordered a cab from reception.

The day was spent working and fretting a little bit (about my panel discussion, which in the end went very well) and chatting and being me in front of many people, but it all went swimmingly and soon it was time to get a cab home and await the event's gala dinner at 2000hrs, which proved to be a great success with some decent company and excellent food. I walked home as the restaurant was only 10 minutes (if that) from my hotel and then I hit the sack again, setting my alarm for 0600hrs as the conference I was attending started at 0800hrs (another longish day ahead). But soon it was all over and a waiting game of sorts ensued. Waiting, that is, to go home, which I will do tomorrow, but first I need to catch a train to Vienna so tomorrow will be a day of travelling.

View from room 412, Leonardo Boutique Hotel, City Centre.

When I reached my room, around 1600hrs, the room hadn't been tidied up by the maids and as I entered I told one of them I would be 10 minutes, then I quickly changed out of the suit I was wearing and headed out for a walk around town, where, I noticed, virtually every shop was a women's underwear retailer: Intimissimo, Triumph, 'Linzerie' (geddit?) and other brands I can't remember. I walked to the river and took a photograph and then dived into a pharmacy to buy some refreshing mouthwash, which set me back 19 Euros. That was a bit pricey, I thought, but I wanted it so I have it and I feel refreshed and ripped off at the same time. Or rather my mouth feels refreshed.

Later, I encountered some stupid people, this time in a coffee shop I'd been to before, the last time I was here, in 2023 or maybe 2022. I ordered English Breakfast but was given Earl Grey, I asked for milk and got an empty jug and I asked if there were power points to charge my phone and the woman behind the counter told me they didn't have any. Fat lot of good they were! I looked around, checked out a bike shop I remembered from my last trip here (it was closed) and then headed back to the hotel and here I am now wondering whether I even want to go out for dinner tonight and, if I do go, where I should go? Who knows? I'll think about it later. I must say that I prefer travelling with somebody rather than alone as it's much nicer dining with somebody rather than sitting there alone like Billy No Mates.

Room 412, Leonardo Boutique Hotel, Linz, 31st October 2024.

Right now I sit alone at my hotel room desk writing this blogpost. Everything is quiet and it's dark outside at 1745hrs. I will have dinner, when I don't know, but right now I can't be bothered to go out. 

There's a huge flat screen television in front of me over the desk, but I can't be bothered to watch it as most of the channels are dubbed over in German and the only English channels are the BBC, but it's not the normal Beeb, and also CNN, which I really can't stomach at the moment. I'm bored now and I'm too tired to do any work and besides, it's almost 1800hrs so I can officially down tools, which has been the case since 1600hrs. Tomorrow I can lie in, have a later breakfast, check out train times to Vienna and start packing up. I'd much prefer a train journey home, but unfortunately I've got to fly, but hey ho. At least I can have a leisurely breakfast.

Earlier, as I walked around Linz, I thought that a particular part of town was familiar to me; at the time I was in a cab en route to the Leonardo and I wracked my brain until I remembered that it wasn't Linz I was thinking about but Udine in Italy. I often wonder whether I haven't travelled anywhere and that I'm still back in the UK and that the scenery was changed by people unknown while I slept. A creepy thought.

Two rides and The Levellers too!

Despite saying (in the previous post) that I never get around to anything I say that I want to do, I did manage two rides this weekend, one a non-stop to Botley Hill and back via Beech Farm Road (around 14 miles) and then a ride to Tatsfield Village to meet Andy at Sheree's Tearooms. Saturday's ride saw spitting rain, but Sunday was great weather. On both days it was warm, which was great, and now I hear that some really good weather is coming our way - well, according to the Daily Star, which this morning is promising temperatures of 20 dec C! Bring it on is what I say.

Non-stop ride Saturday. Turning on to Ledgers Lane.

Not a bad weekend as it happens. Saw Bon and mum on Saturday and then on Sunday (after the ride and a prawn and mayo snack for lunch) a trip to Guildford, which was very pleasant.

Got back, made a fantastic Sunday roast chicken with roast potatoes and stuffing and then slobbed around watching television.

Looking out from Sheree's on Sunday morning.

My current obsession is a band called The Levellers, they're not new and were huge in the 90s, playing Glastonbury twice in 1992 and 1994. They have a documentary film titled A Curious Life which provides a profile of the band and their music and it's so positive in its outlook that I keep watching it over and over, it's also very funny. I like people who are always laughing and The Levellers and, it seems, everybody associated with them, are constantly smiling or laughing at the end of each sentence. The music is good too with One Way, their anthem, offering up something really positive and, above all, happy, which I love.

On a previous ride to Oxted.

There's also the excellent Jeremy Cunningham, the band's bassist, who is the key figure throughout the documentary. The Brighton-based band broke with the tradition of Brighton-based bands by not playing just in Brighton. Very soon they gained a major following around the UK and had the support of what used to be called the New Age Traveller movement. The Levellers are very political and their heroes were/are The Clash, particularly the late, great Joe Strummer.The Clash, of course, had plenty of political messages and The Levellers found them inspiring (and rightly so).

I'm one of those people who thrives on positivity and niceness (of which there's very little at this present time) - especially as the threat of another Trump presidency looms large. During the pandemic I found myself watching all three series of Detectorists over and over because it had a certain quality to it, not only in that it was well-written and well-acted but also because it had an air of hope and pleasantness about it. Likewise A Curious Life.

Curiously, the band never really hit it off with the music press of the time, which I find really odd as bands like The Levellers, in my humble opinion, are just the sort of band that I would have been championing had I been a journalist on the NME or Melody Maker, but then, as Jeremy Cunningham makes clear in the documentary, "we didn't need them and they didn't need us" which, while a shame in some respects, was about the size of it, but then The Levellers clearly didn't need them, they did perfectly well without them and are still going strong today; and where, pray, are the NME and Melody Maker?

I'm planning on buying a Levellers fire pit for the garden, styled around their famous 'rolling A' and also probably some merchandise too, like a beany hat and/or a tee-shirt, who knows? I might even go to one of their festivals if they're still going. The documentary, A Curious Life, was filmed in 2012, so 12 years ago, but I'm assuming all is well in Leveller Land and that they're all still going strong.

Jeremy Cunningham says he has low self-esteem and I have to say that I can't see why that should be, the guy's a genius, not only a good bass player but an artist and the man responsible for all the band's artwork. He's also an established artist in his own right and has exhibited at various galleries and that, to me, is the mark of a brilliant man. There's also an inherent kindness that makes him one of those people I'd have at my "dream dinner party". In short, he's great, and he's one of those people I'd love to meet just to chat about stuff.

The other great thing about the documentary is Cunningham's parents, clearly very proud of their son's achievements. They sing his praises from their house in Crawley, presumably Jeremy's childhood home, but I might be wrong, they might well have moved there after the kids moved out, I don't know. But the key thing to take away from A Curious Life is the laughter. All of The Levellers have laughter and happiness coursing through them, the laugh at the end of every sentence and I love that. Yes, the band had its problems with drugs and there's a particularly poignant moment when the spotlight turns on Jeremy's use of heroin, but fortunately the drink and drugs issues for each member of the band didn't happen simultaneously and Jeremy makes a point of saying he never missed a gig or anything because of a hangover or what have you; the man has class, dignity, creativity, niceness and everything good about humanity rolled into him. I would have liked to know more about how he took up the bass guitar, what inspired him to play the instrument and so on, but that's not a criticism of the documentary or the band, they're all fantastic.

A Curious Life can be found on Prime and I'm guessing that The Levellers' music is everywhere, in record stores and, of course, on Spotify.

The Levellers' Jeremy Cunningham.

I never get around to anything...

Last week I managed four short rides, which I was proud of, but this week, despite two days working from home, I didn't ride. In fact, today, Saturday, finds me considering a ride to mum's, literally, or possibly going out around 0800hrs to Oxted where I could get a haircut while I'm there. I need a haircut and I also need to visit the dentist, in fact the latter is urgent but I keep putting it off, which is what I'm like at the moment. I've noticed that I don't DO anything, despite saying that I must do this and I must do that, I simply don't DO a thing. There are so many promises in my head but none of them have been fulfilled. For years I've been promising myself a bass guitar so that I can learn something, ie learn to play a musical instrument. Somewhere back in the past I recall reading an article about stress busting, which claimed that playing a musical instrument can be a major way of de-stressing. But since then (and we're going back over 10 years) I simply haven't bothered, either because I haven't had the spare cash or because I find myself wondering 'Do I really want to play a musical instrument?' It's not as if I'm going to form a band and become some amazing musical sensation, I'm not, I'll just be one of those sad individuals who plays in their bedroom (or in my case, our so-called 'garden room'). Well, so what? Yes, I get that, so what? But I find myself talking down the idea and it's like so many things. Let's take the fireplace in our living room: another long-term idea that simply hasn't happened. We have the fireplace we inherited when we bought the house, which is basically a hole in the wall with nothing in it. Over the years we've added the odd electric stove (the height of naffness) but I've always wanted a real fire. But for various reasons it's never materialised and now, some 20+ years later it's still the same as it was when we moved in, a gaping hole in the wall that lets in the cold air. In fact, at this very moment we are reconsidering the whole thing, which means it could very well happen but I'm now asking myself, Do I really want a real fire? All that ash and preparations needed just to keep warm? In truth I don't and I'm finding that I have all these things that need doing but they simply don't get done because the reality is I don't need them or I simply can't be bothered or I go halfway towards doing something but then, for some reason, the process stops and I turn around a year later and start thinking about it again. This coming Christmas is easily the tenth or eleventh Christmas when I had planned to have a fire installed for the big day, but every years somebody remarks that nothing's been done about it. I'm supposed to be going there today to finalise options, 'there' being the fireplace shop, but today other things are on the cards which will most likely stop the process for another week.Another thing I keep saying I'm going to do is sign up for a swimming pool membership. That idea has been going on for well over a year and nothing has happened. I'll go to the pool, enquire about the different memberships but then do nothing about it, nothing at all. Holidays are the big one. "We must go on holiday next year," I'll assert after having not gone the year prior. Why haven't we gone? Because nobody booked in advance, which is what you're supposed to do, book in the new year for a holiday in the summer, but no, nothing. This year we faffed around, we got hold of brochures, even spoke to a travel agent but did we go anywhere? No, we ended up in the Cotswolds on what amounted to a 'short break' plus a week at home not being on holiday. And so it goes on and on and on. We think of stuff, say we must do X or Y or Z but we don't do anything. In short, we don't bite the bullet and I'll admit that it's starting to annoy me. But even the fact that it annoys me doesn't mean that anything gets done, nothing has been done about anything and I'm beginning to think that the reason is simple: I don't want to do any of things I keep saying I'm going to do, I don't need the things that I think I need with the only exception being a holiday. Right now, as the time approaches 0800hrs, I should be getting ready for a ride on the bike, I really ought to, but I'm not, I'm sitting here at 0757 wondering whether I should go later, but I know only too well that 'later' means somebody will say, 'take the car, then you'll be back and we can look at the fireplaces'... which is sensible in a sense, but it also means no ride today so UNLESS I get up now, right this minute and head out on the bike I won't be riding until tomorrow morning and then, as luck would have it, I'll probably discover that it's raining cats and dogs and that a ride is off the agenda for another week.What is wrong with me? It's a question I often ask, but a question I doubt will be answered because, like everything else, I simply never get round to anything. Ah! One more thing I'm losing, slowly but surely is writing this blog. I used to be as regular as clockwork, once a week, sometimes more, but the last time I "put pen to paper" was 12 October and that was ages ago. I used to hate arriving on somebody's blog page only to discover that they hadn't written anything for years and now, here I am, doing the same thing, give or take. And there's no use saying "just do it, just get out there, act, do something, don't just sit around" here I am doing just that. This morning I haven't even checked the weather, but I get the sneaky suspicion that rain will be on the agenda and that will put me off going. Look, I'd better go, I'm going to try to get out of the house within the next 30 minutes. I'll report back later on my progress.Actually, before I go, something else that has simply stopped is walking. I just don't walk anywhere anymore, preferring instead to sit in a cafe eating something unhealthy. I've noticed that everything in cafes these days involves cheese. There's a cafe in Sevenoaks (Sopranos) where virtually every dish involves cheese, and I've stopped going to my healthy cafe because the prices are extortionate and now I'm eating in a place called Poppins opposite McDonalds where, the last two times I was there, I 'enjoyed' a chicken with mayonnaise baguette and a couple of mugs of tea followed on both occasions with a toasted teacake. Anyway, things must change, I need to kick myself into gear and do stuff, although that's just it, things won't change, I won't kick myself into gear and everything will remain the same.

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.