Erlangen to Frankfurt Flughafen by train...

Friday, 16th October 2026: My time in Erlangen was short. I arrived around 1926hrs and went straight out to a restaurant to meet colleagues. I got to bed around 2300hrs having realised that I'd left my electric toothbrush at home. Rooky mistake. I went down to the front desk of the Novotel Hotel and they had not only a toothbrush but also some terrible-looking sachets of toothpaste. For me, toothpaste comes in a tube, not sachets. I should have gone over the road to the ESSO garage, a 24-hour facility I could see from my hotel room window, four floors up (room 431). Had I done so, I could have bought a decent tube of the stuff and a brand new toothbrush. Over the time I was in my hotel room I stared a lot at the garage, watching cars arrive and depart, but I didn't twig that I could simply walk over there and buy what I needed and more, the shop was full of everything. I could even have enjoyed breakfast over there courtesy of a few chairs and tables that turned the place into a restaurant of sorts. There were even books to read, although I'd guess they were all written in German.

Beef goulash and rice...lovely!

I never did a great deal in Erlangen mainly because I was alone, which was extremely boring. I did get out and about and found a great place that sold excellent hot food and pastries and had an eating area. It was licensed, it was a butchery, it was everything rolled into one. I ordered beef goulash and rice, a non-alcohol beer and an apple Danish and sat there, in my element, enjoying every bit of it before heading back to the hotel, to do what I don't know. I was just not in the mood for anything. On non-alcohol beer, I know I've said it before, but it's best not to bother, just order a mineral water and be done with it.

Later that day I had a decidedly average burger in the hotel bar. The chips were good and the burger was okay (and by that I mean the actual burger, the meat bit) but I left half of the bun, the tomato and the onion. Another alcohol-free beer (I'll never learn) was ordered when perhaps a cup of tea would have been more palatable, who knows? I only thought of tea because the hotel breakfast tea was very good, but it was all academic as I ordered another soapy non-alcohol beer.

There was nothing to do in the room and I couldn't be bothered to watch television or read a book. For some reason, the hotel lacked something. There was nowhere to sit down in comfort and enjoy reading, everything was slightly off-kilter for that sort of thing; there was not enough bustle and the lighting was wrong. There was little to do other than hit the sack, which I did. I managed to sleep until around 0400hrs when I awoke and did nothing but try to get back to sleep. I managed to nod off and the alarm woke me at around 0600hrs. It was then, as I stared out of the window at the ESSO garage that I realised I could buy a tube of toothpaste instead of the awful sachets from the front desk. I decided to go down there and get a tube of toothpaste and then take an early breakfast in the hotel restaurant, which was the usual self-service set-up and not bad at all, especially the tea. Scrambled egg, roasted potatoes and sausages followed by yoghurt with cranberries and chia seeds... and all was good. 

My train was delayed 48 minutes, time for tea!

Or was it? Not really. I sat alone slowly coming to the realisation that, in life, there is absolutely no point in busting a gut for anybody. You only get rewarded in this world if you're a cunt and there are many of them around, believe me. If you're a misogynist or untrustworthy in any way you'll go a long way, but if you go above and beyond in whatever it is you do, you'll likely be regarded as the enemy of the state and you won't be thanked for your efforts. I had a job once where, in addition to doing what I was paid to do, I developed event ideas, sold them to a sponsor or sponsors and then ran them from start to finish. I enjoyed it. I did pretty well thinking up competitions and awards and was making a considerable amount of money for the company concerned. When my publisher resigned he told me that I should ask for commission, which I did, but they said no. Fortunately, coming up with event ideas wasn't part of my job, it was something I did in addition to what I was paid to do. So I stopped and within a few weeks revenue took a tumble as nobody else in the business had any ideas and were incapable of persuading FMCG marketing directors to part with large sums of money. So they came back to me, tails between legs, and agreed a commission fee. I restarted thinking up and selling events and made a considerable amount of money. My advice, then, is simple: just do the job you're employed to do and nothing else. Don't be the hero, it won't be appreciated and, therefore, it is not worth doing. Come to think of it, why do favours for anybody unless it's a matter of life or death and even then be wary.

So what is important? Good question. Well, you're own well-being. Look after number one! Try to keep fit and eat well. The other, of course, is your family. I need to be fitter than I am, I need to eat less too but that's about it.

Nurnberger Markthalle...fantastic sausages!

The train from Nuremburg to Frankfurt was delayed by almost an hour, 48 minutes to be precise, so I bought a cup of English Breakfast Tea (actually, it was Assam) from a place on Nuremburg station having taken the RE19 local train from Erlangen to Nuremberg.

Nurnberger Markthalle was an amazing place, a kind of food court full of great things like sausages, huge ones, and if I hadn't enjoyed a decent breakfast at the hotel, I might have ordered one or two. In fact, I wish I had. After my tea and croissant (just a normal one) I went back to the platform. The ICE train rolled in around 10 minutes later. I hadn't reserved a seat and had to find one that was free, which was fairly easy, and then settled down for the journey. I had bought myself a bar of Ritter Sport milk chocolate and saved it specifically for this journey. I ordered tea from the buffet car and then enjoyed both the tea and the chocolate.

Ritter Sport and tea...wonderful!

The train chugged its way to Wurzburg and outside there were hazy grey skies. It was a little chilly, or it was in Nuremburg, so I'm assuming it's the same here too. The train moves on, next stop Aschaffenburg and on either side are deep and misty forests. I'm wondering whether there might be bears in Germany. The mist hangs low over woods and villages and it's almost festive, even if it's not yet halloween. Now there's a huge lake or river on the left hand side of the train. I remember it from the outward journey. 

I love the villages and the general vibe of Germany and I love how green everything is. The forests are deep and dark and the railway lines cut through the middle.

People are disembarking at Aschaffenberg, it's a big place, not some small village like those I've seen hugging the forests. The skies are now blue and there are scattered clouds, the earlier grey skies have gone away for now. It's 1123hrs as we pull out of the station, just half an hour before I need to be at the airport, but actually, it looks as if all will be okay despite the delay. We are due to arrive in Frankfurt at 1201hrs, exactly two hours before I am due to take off. I'm wondering if I'd get home quicker by train as this one arrives in Dusseldorf at 1313hrs and I'm sure I'd get a train to Brussels from there and then into St. Pancras International. I'd be bang in the centre of town, there would be no need to take the Heathrow Express, just a tube to Victoria and then home. But I can't do that as I have a return flight to London Heathrow booked. I'd prefer the train but it's not going to happen unless all flights out of Frankfurt have been cancelled.

On leaving Aschaffenberg we are soon in the suburbs, quite nice ones too, and once again I find myself saying that I could live here and it would be the truth. The sun is out, the roads are clear, the tarmac black in stark contrast to the white lines in the middle of the road, there are no pot holes or any kind of patchwork repairs, the roads are immaculate. Even blocks of flats and allotments look good here and of course the sunshine helps. Germany looks good in the winter too. There's about 30 minutes to go before I disembark, which is a shame as there's nothing better than a long train journey, and for my money this one ain't long enough.

Outside there are deserted streets and parked cars, there appears to be nobody about. The houses and apartments are clean and while occasionally there is graffiti, I can't understand it so it's not offensive to me.

I managed to get a window seat on the flight home, which was good.

I could have stayed on to Dusseldorf

As I write this we're going through Hanau, which appears to be light industrial and the train has slowed down. Building materials, industrial estates, blocks of flats but still empty streets and now a wide river. I spot a lone woman sitting at a bus stop and then fields and light woodland before flats appear again, and then we dive into the woods before more houses and flats appear, more industrial buildings and cars on the move. A huge factory appears and then disappears and then we're back again in a built-up area and we're about to arrive at Frankfurt Main (Sud). The train is slowing and in the distance I can a see a plane heading towards the airport.

Sometimes, especially on a sunny day, I find myself looking at open fields and imagining myself, perhaps willing myself, into them, as if I could dream myself out of the train and into the field. It's impossible but it's good to think about stuff like that, willing myself to be there and not here on the train, but if it was possible I'm sure I'd inconvenience myself in some way or other, watching the train and my luggage disappear without me as I sit helplessly on the damp grass wondering where I could get a taxi to the airport.

We arrived at Frankfurt Flughafen with time to spare...

We're due to arrive at the Flughafen at 1205hrs, that's in about 10 minutes, so I'd better start preparing myself for disembarkation. The train is pulling out of the station, slowly, and I spy a Lidl, which I think is more popular in Germany than it is in the UK. A voice on the intercom announces: "Our next stop is Frankfurt Airport".

In Erlangen, Germany...

The day started badly. I hit the sack later than my normal time of around 2200hrs, staying up until 1130hrs and feeling like I always feel when I have to fly somewhere the next day. Pre-occupied. I hadn't packed anything, that was the problem, and I knew I had it all to do in the morning even if I was only going away for two nights. There were other things bugging me too, but I won't go on about them as, while they are important, there's no point talking about everything, but let's say I was pre-occupied about many things and I get a strong feeling that I am fighting everybody and nobody appears to be on my side. I feel as if I am standing alone against the rest of the world; it's not a good feeling.

Waiting to fly at Heathrow...

After about five hours of sleep, probably less, but let's round it up, I noticed a phone was ringing at 0430hrs. In truth it woke me up. Who the fuck was it? My wife went to answer it because it was the landline and the phone was downstairs on the console table. The only person who calls us on the landline is the mother-in-law... but not on this occasion. I'm not a fan of phones ringing at the best of times, in fact I hate it with a vengeance especially at an ungodly hour . But things got weird. It was an old woman stating that she wasn't dead yet and when would we be going to see her. For a start, we didn't know her, although she lived close-by, but, for some uncanny reason, she knew my wife's name. It had to be a coincidence and, of course, it was. The telephone number she was after was very similar to our own, only one digit removed, and, as it turned out, her carer's name was the same as my wife's.

Anyway, she was old and probably suffering from some kind of dementia, but whatever the situation, she had woken me up two hours before the alarm sounding. There was to be no getting back to sleep and when I did eventually get up and the thought of packing entered my head, I found that I was losing my rag at virtually everything because I was tired and lacking in sleep. My suitcase was too big for a two-night journey but would have to do, I had pack everything in the dark, which made things worse, there was no bread in the house and barely time for a relaxing breakfast. In fact, there was no time for anything. I stormed out of the house, my head full of many different worries and grievances and all day I was unable to shake any of it. Everything was lingering, simmering, brewing. 

Approaching Frankfurt airport...

At 1823hrs I was sitting on a train to Nuremburg in Germany and I must say that I'm far from being happy about anything. The journey to this point, however, had been fairly smooth. The flight from Heathrow to Frankfurt was hassle-free and only lasted one hour from take-off to landing. Once on the ground I had a long queue for passport control, which always annoys me when I think of the small boars arriving uninvited on the south coast of the UK, but overall nothing had really phased me.

My original plan was to train it all the way from London via Brussels to Erlangen and I think that if I had done so and there had been no problems, I might have been at my destination earlier. When I reached Nuremburg I still had a 20-minute local train ride (the RE19) to Erlangen. I had been to Nuremburg before, back in 2016, a trip that took in Stuttgart, a trip to the Audi A8 factory and other interesting things that have been mentioned on this blog circa November 2016. Key in the word 'Stuttgart' and you will find it the post in question.

On the train to Nuremburg...

I flew out of Terminal Two (a very pleasant and quiet place where I would have liked to have spent more time). I spotted a Bill's restaurant but I felt they were going to take their time serving me so after sitting there for five or 10 minutes, I jumped up and headed for a Pret. After eating my breakfast I headed for Gate A17 and boarded a Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt. I was too preoccupied to read and spent the time staring out of the window looking at the scattered clouds below me.

It was 1837hrs and I was on the train. Everything outside the window was in silhouette and I just wanted my hotel room. The train was due to arrive at Nuremburg at 1830hrs so I'm guessing we're close. I had spent a lot of time in the train's restaurant car where I ordered goulash with pasta, which was fine but it had been microwaved and they clearly didn't stir it properly as some of the meat was cold, which was a little off-putting. I didn't bother to complain. In addition to the goulash I had a non-alcohol beer, two in fact.

When we reached Nuremburg and had disembarked I had to find the train to Erlangan. Somebody at the information kiosk said it was on platform four but I found nothing there and returned to tell her so, Then she looked again and apologised, she meant platform 15. 

Room 431, Novotel, Erlangen...

The journey from Nuremburg to Erlangen was short, roughly 20 minutes. There was a woman sitting opposite me with a ginger cat in some kind of carrier. I could see him and he could see me. The woman was on the phone to somebody and looked happy.

We arrived, I took a cab to the Novotel, which I later discovered was only a 15-minute walk away and after checking in I went out to meet some colleagues in a restaurant close by. After dinner I went back to the hotel and crashed, but I'd left my electric toothbrush at home and had to go back to the front desk to get a toothbrush and some toothpaste, which came in a little paper sachet. There was no charge. 

I never sleep that well in hotels and tend to wake up in the early hours of the morning. I'd get up, wander around the room for a bit, look out of the window at the Esso garage four floors below and then resign myself to getting back in bed until the alarm sounded at 0600hrs.

Goulash and rice in Erlangen...

Breakfast was good and I had a lot of it: sausages, courgettes, roasted potatoes, an excellent fried egg, yoghurt with added cranberries and chia seeds, two cups of English breakfast tea and a slice of some kind of fruit cake. I'd be back for more the next morning, I thought, as I went back to room 431. The great thing about this room was its closeness to the elevator. It was the first room of the corridor.

After the work was done I did manage to take a little wander into the town centre of Erlangen and that was where I found a restaurant that combined a butchers and bread and cake shop. I ordered an apple Danish that would be my dessert, but the main course simply had to be the goulash (pictured right). I'd seen it on a hot display counter and thought this is it! It most certainly was it! That's a non-alcohol beer you can see, a bit soapy but it fitted the occasion. 

After the goulash, I headed back to the hotel but later came out again find the railway station, which was 15 minutes on foot and roughly a mile away. Walking there and back, as I did, meant I'd walked my daily two miles, but I was still down on previous weeks, although I knew I'd be walking the station in the morning. Now, I should have taken a cab, perhaps, but actually, carrying rather than pulling the suitcase whilst holding a smaller case AND having a 'man bag' or a shoulder bag for things like keys and glasses, worked well and was no hindrance. Who needs cabs? Clearly not me and I try not to take them unless it's absolutely necessary, ie the town I'm in is dodgy. Erlangen is not dodgy, you can walk around late at night without having to worry about it, not like in the UK.

A casual chat about nothing in particular...

I haven't posted for a long time, arguably, actually, there's no need to argue, as it is the longest period I've gone between posts since this blog has begun. Somebody, I think it was Andy, said he only posts when he has something to say, which is fair enough and it would be fair to say that, in the past I posted multiple times per week so presumably I had a lot to say and I don't have anything to say now. Well, that's not strictly true, there is a lot to say. For a start, up until last Saturday I hadn't been riding for a fortnight. I decided to give it a rest for a while and take things easy although I have been walking a lot. In recent weeks I've been clocking up over 20 miles based largely on two-mile stints walking home from the station. It's good exercise and I've noticed that I'm walking faster than I usually walk as a result. I've also started walking a 4-mile route and all keeping close (ish) to the house, ie no more than 10 to 15 minutes away on foot. So, I'm feeling good about that and my aim is to keep it going through the bad weather (if we get any). It's now the 8th October and the weather, generally, has been very good, apart from yesterday which saw a bit of rain. That said, it wasn't raining when I reached the station and embarked upon my two-mile saunter.

Submitting short stories for publication...

Last Saturday I restarted my riding with a 15-mile non-stop ride, something I think I used to call the Slines Oak Slogger or the Botley Bastard as it involved a circular route that saw me ride up Slines Oak to Woldingham and then left past the golf course and left again down towards Botley Hill. It's a good run and I'm planning on doing it again this coming Saturday.

The nights are drawing in, more's the pity. I was really getting into the summer this year, the grass was singed brown but is now green again and I used to sit outside under the umbrella in the evenings reading whatever book I was reading back then, I think it was Don Carpenter's Hard Rain Falling, a good read although I found it really hard getting to grips with the hardened criminal lead character turning into a kind of 'new man' once his married life kicked in; it was all water births and middle class behaviour from somebody who was literally a lost case in the first half of the book. I'm now reading Welcome to you Life by Roland Orzabal of Tears For Fears fame, a great band offering great music but I feel the book could do without all the astrology chapters, which I'm finding hard going and have, in fact, decided to stop reading them altogether, preferring the chapters about the band and the music. The early chapters on his childhood were interesting. I've considered reading Clem Burke's book (he was the drummer in Blondie) but I'm not sure. I've read a lot of rock star autobiographies and some are good, some not so good, but I don't think I've ever read two in quick succession, so the next book I read will probably be fiction. I'm thinking of reading something by the American novelist Jim Thompson, but who knows what will take my fancy when I next visit the bookshop. I'm still yearning for Eric Ambler, wishing he'd written more novels like Journey into Fear and The Mask of Dmitrios, but I guess all good things come to an end. If anyone knows of any author who comes close, let me know, but not Graham Greene as I've read a lot of him already.

It's now almost 1900hrs and it's dark outside. Quite depressing really when it only seems like yesterday that the sun was out and all was well. Not any more! It's dark, it'll be Halloween soon and then Christmas and then the horror of January and February when the weather turns for the worse and I have to start wearing heavy clothing and scarves and hats. I mentioned walking earlier and I'm going to be taking it very seriously especially over the winter months. I have some waterproof trousers upstairs and my plan is to walk in all weathers, let's see how I get on. I might (and don't get me wrong, I say this constantly but never do anything) I might start swimming, but it's so boring even if it is the best exercise possible. I used to swim a lot and I really ought to kick myself into gear and do it, but, as I've said before on this blog, I seem to accumulate things to do but rarely actually do them.

Something else I've been doing is submitting short stories I've written for publication. I'm still waiting to hear back on a couple and I've got others to send off. In fact, I might do that tonight as today is day one of working from home so I'm not so tired as I haven't walked two miles from the station; that said, I have walked three miles today, at lunch time, so this week so far totals around nine miles, just under. 

Of late I've been hitting the sack early and getting a good nine hours' sleep, but I've lapsed a bit over the last couple of days. It's been the usual routine: hit the sack around 2130hrs, listen to NightTracks on Radio Three Unwind (a digital channel) fall asleep, wake up around 0430 but stay in bed, eventually fall back to sleep, waking around 0600hrs and then discovering I've had around nine hours' kip. Getting an early night is something I haven't done since the days when I first got married. I remember hitting the sack at 2100hrs back then and it was great, there's nothing better than getting a decent night's sleep.

I'm still mixing up my porridge every morning with cacao powder and two different types of flaxseed mix, one with nuts, the other with berries, not forgetting a few chia seeds, some shelled hemp seeds plus a sliced banana and some grapes. I need to get back into oranges again. The other day I got back into nectarines, which are a bit messy but so tasty. It's been my staple breakfast for some time now and won't be stopping any time soon. Something else I've gotten into is marmalade. I've always liked it and I was having two slices of bread and marmalade for breakfast every morning and two more on coming in from work. Well, for the last week or two, probably just a week, I've run out so I've stopped eating bread, which is probably a good thing, at least for a while, but I do love a slice or two of bread and marmalade. At work I have been eating sandwiches Monday through Wednesday and then going out for a cup of tea at Busy Beans, but as there's been no bread bought for me I've resorted to spending an absolute fortune in the aforementioned restaurant, eating their highly nutritious salad with a flatbread until, that is, I discovered they'd put their prices up. Very annoying. What cost me around 14 quid on Monday went up to over 15 on Tuesday so on Wednesday I went to Poppins instead and had a mushroom omelette with chips plus two cups of tea AND a few slices of bread and marmalade. I think that if Busy Beans is going to put up its prices for a cup of tea, which presumably it has, then it should at least improve the offering, get some larger cups, for example. Poppins' tea is something like 1.60 and the cup is larger than that offered in Busy Beans and while I can afford it, I do get a little annoyed especially if there's nothing to show for the price rise. What annoys me more, however, is going to Gail's for lunch. I do that a lot and it's always extortionate for what it is and then every time I say I'm not going there again, as sure as apples are apples I find myself back in there spending a lot of money.

Going back to books, I have thought about Jon Ronson's latest although I can't remember the title. He was author of The Psychopath Test, which was excellent, but I can't remember much about it, although it was good. Ronson is kind of like Louis Theroux but in book form.

I've just had dinner, pasta parcels full of something or other. I was planning on making a cottage pie, one of my specialities, but I found that the mince was frozen solid so perhaps tomorrow night. Last Friday I made one with brocolli and gravy and we had apple crumble and vanilla custard for dessert.

I'd better go, I'm in need of some sparkling mineral water.

This and that...

It's around 0300hrs and I'm lying on my back in bed, or rather on the bed. Suddenly, I'm awake and it'll take me awhile to get back to sleep. Outside I can hear the rain, that's probably what woke me up, but now I'm hoping I don't remember whatever it is that I've been fretting about otherwise I'll never get back to sleep, although it's odd how suddenly I awake, unaware that I did fall asleep, and it's something like 0630 and I should be getting up to go to work. A lot depends on what day it is: if it's a Thursday or a Friday then I can afford to lie in, but in all honesty, once I'm awake there's little point remaining in bed. I get up, go downstairs, make breakfast and then sit and watch mainstream television channels, normally GMTV between 0630 and 0700 and then possibly a bit of the hilarious Mike Graham Show on YouTube, although it's highly addictive and that's the last thing I need when work, in some shape or form, beckons.

Pricey cake from GAIL's.

I haven't written for a long time and there's no real excuse or reason why not, I just haven't. I have, by and large, kept the cycling up. Last weekend, for example, I rode to Oxted and back, 20 miles, stopped for a cup of tea at Caffe Nero, finished off Hard Rain Falling by Don Carpenter and now I'm reading another 'rock' book, this time Welcome to Your Life by Roland Orzabal of Tears for Fears fame. In fact, today, I walked around two miles or so to Filtr, a coffee shop (a bit pricey for what you get) and sat there reading. I even managed to walk back and miss the rain. Yes, despite a major heatwave which started at the end of May and continued up until a day or two ago, the rain looks as if it's coming back as we head towards autumn, although I don't particularly want to talk autumn and then, inevitably, Christmas and how many shopping days there are to go, that's just plain depressing.

So the cycling has continued. The weekend before last I'd started riding non-stop, doing what I think I once called the Slines Oak Slogger, a 15-mile 'slog' up Slines Oak Road and then through Woldingham and down towards Botley Hill before heading along the 269 to Warlingham and home. Not a bad idea doing a non-stop ride as there's no lolling around in coffee shops and, therefore, no expenditure on tea and cakes, although on the latter, I had been doing really well in not having them, I literally stopped for some time until, that is, yesterday when I found myself in GAIL's eating one of their tiny little oval-shaped cakes with pink icing (see photo above). GAIL's is too pricey for what it is, like most places, but I always feel ripped off in GAIL's because it's too expensive for a chain operation masquerading as an independent, pure and simple. In fact, we try not to go to GAIL's and were foolish to enter one in Kew Gardens yesterday when there was so much choice from the independent sector. Still, you live and learn I guess. Actually, a word on Kew Gardens. The last time I was there, I was standing outside of a music shop and next to me was Pete Townshend of the Who. The music shop has gone, much to my dismay.

The much maligned front wheel.

A key thing of late has been walking, lots of it. Take this week, for example, since Monday I have walked roughly 13 miles, last week it was even more, I think it was 18 miles. I have a local route but I also walk back from the station on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Today is Friday and I walked roughly seven miles. All I've got to do now is get the swimming started up again and I'll be quids in, so to speak.

Tomorrow I hope to be up and out of the house on the bike. It's crucial not to sit around in the morning as it gets later and later and I end up doing a non-stop ride rather than a longer Oxted ride with a cup of tea thrown in for good measure. I've got to force myself not to watch YouTube, which, I'll admit, is becoming a problem, it's addictive, and the trouble is I tend to watch a lot of people shouting the odds about the UK and how it's governed, which, while entertaining, can become tiresome in the extreme.

I wouldn't say I'm on top of the world at the moment, I'm not. Up until relatively recently I was getting a good night's sleep, but now not so much. I'm still letting things get to me, which is wrong and it needs to be addressed, but how I just don't know. I need a day or two in the capsule to get my sleep back in order, a dose of Radio 3's Night Tracks wouldn't go amiss, anything to reset the clock or get myself back to a default setting.

Upended bike on parched lawn.

The bikes have been fine, though. The Kona is used occasionally and the Specialized is still my main go-to bicycle. I did have a puncture problem the other day, one of those occasions when something goes wrong and I end up in the shop asking them to fix it for me. It started when I bought a new tyre, which was okay, but it's always a little bit of a hassle getting it on the wheel. I was doing this in the back garden during the heat, the lawn totally brown. Anyway, somehow I pinched the inner tube the tyre wouldn't inflate because it was punctured. I bought another one.  There were far too many 'leeches' on the original inner tube that's why I bought a new one in the first place, but then, I ruined the new one and had to buy another. There was another problem, however, and that involved the wheel itself. We're talking the front wheel, which is normally the easiest when compared with the rear wheel, which involves the chain. I don't know what happened. I had to make sure that the wheel spun freely, but it didn't and I had to mess around trying to get it right, which I couldn't. God knows what happened, but I ended up having to buy a new thread thingy, a quick release set to give it its technical name and the guy in the shop fixed it for me. Very annoying. I always feel defeated if I have to let somebody else fix it, but it's working well now so all is good; there's a new inner tube, a new tyre and a new quick release set. I have another one should there be a problem with the rear wheel.

As the weather has, to a degree broken, my summer habit of buying two large bottles of Highland Spring sparkling water is slowly stopping. I used to sit out in the garden sipping the chilled drink as I read until darkness fell and then I'd come in and watch TV. Well, now, instead of the usual two bottles I only buy one and I'm guessing it'll only be a matter of time before that little habit disappears altogether. I'll try not to let it die. There's nothing worse than chilled (or ultra cold) water when the heat has gone, but if I can keep it up I will as drinking water is good for you and I'm partial to sparkling mineral water. For some reason I've gone off of drinking Pellegrino.

Dr. Michael Mosley once said that it was good to drink a glass of water with every meal. Well, I have one in the morning and I'm still working on having one in the evening too.

Blind faith...

There's nothing worse than blind faith in anything, particularly 'ideology' but on a day-to-day level, technology, note how both words end with 'logy', never a good sign. I encounter the latter on a daily basis, normally when I've jumped off a train and found myself in a crowd of people edging ever closer to the automated ticket barriers. In the good old days there were ticket collectors, far better, and often I would encounter some real characters like the bloke on the barriers at Victoria station back in the late seventies, or possibly even the early eighties, I can't recall exactly. I was on my home after a hard day in the office and I asked him something like, "Is that the Carshalton train, platform 11?" His response was actually very funny, mainly because it was so unexpected. "I don't fucking know!" The humour was in the fact that he should have known, that was his job, to be helpful to 'customers', we were no longer passengers but customers, but that never rang true as there was no choice, we had to be on the train and British Rail was the only provider of the service. I used that phrase a lot, still do, but always in jest, and most people get it.

I have, of course, digressed. I was talking about blind faith and while I suppose you could say that I was putting all my faith in getting a proper answer from the man at the barrier and that, in a sense, I had blind faith in his ability to provide me with an answer, the real reason behind my sudden interest in 'blind faith' is that, last week, I was moving forward very slowly towards the barriers at Redhill station in Surrey and when I was just one person away from placing my ticket into the automated machine that would ultimately free me from the station, the man in front produced his smart phone and placed it on the clear glass protecting (I'm guessing) the scanner underneath it, but guess what? It wasn't working and the man in question was now holding everybody up with his blind faith in technology. In the end he had to give up and approach the one person supervising the situation who handed the man what looked like a normal ticket for him to place in the machine's aperture and gain his freedom. I just find people with blind faith in technology really irritating when it's plainly obvious that the analogue way of doing things works best. I hate going to restaurants where they have blind faith in technology for a reason: to save money on waiting staff. I was in Wagamama the other day just outside of Battersea Park Power Station (now a shopping mall) and the man who would ultimately lose his job to high tech was pointing out how I could order my meal and pay for it online by simply scanning the QR code on the table. I already knew that I wouldn't be doing that, but humoured him nonetheless with a smile and then ordered in the human way when prompted.

I remember once leaving the house unknowingly without my debit card and not realising until I needed it. I know how this situation arose: normally, if I break with routine, something will go wrong; in this case I'd either changed wallets or stopped putting my debit and credit cards in the wallet that carries my smart phone. Result? I've left the card in the house on the console table in the hall. For a short while my day was ruined. In fact, I thought at the time, I might as well have stayed in bed all day, but then I remembered that I had my debit card on my iphone, which ultimately saved the day. For a short while after that incident I too started using my phone to buy things until, very quickly, the novelty wore off and went back to using the real debit card, once I'd accustomed myself to having a wallet AND the wallet that now only contained my smart phone. The moral of the story? Never break with routine.

What's been happening, you may well ask, and I would have to say 'not much'. I've tried to keep up the cycling and I've started riding over to Sutton on a Sunday morning to see mum. On Saturdays I try to ride to Oxted. I've also been walking a fair bit. Last week I managed two walks home from Purley to where I live (around two miles) and the week prior (and possibly the week before that also) I was putting in seven miles a day if I walked to and from the station AND had a walk at lunch time. The extreme heat has put an end to the lunch time walks but the walk home from the station, largely in the shade, has been good as has the morning walk to the station in the relatively cool morning air. But let's make no mistake, it's been hot, very hot, 35 degrees hot and the nights have been long and uncomfortable. It's cooled a little bit. As I write this, it's almost 0600hrs on a Friday and the reason I'm here at such an ungodly hour is simple: I woke up around 0330hrs or 0400hrs, I can't remember exactly when, and found that as the light seeped into the room I was wide awake, so I jumped out of bed, made myself a cup of tea and some marmalade on toast and here I am in the living room, nobody else about.

The whole blind faith thing has been on my mind for a few days now, ever since I found myself in the queue at the barriers and was temporarily held up by the man who had put all his faith in his iphone. Actually, I remember another incident where blind faith in technology let me down. I was at a European airport, I think it was Helsinki, but it might have been anywhere in the world and it could have been further way, I can't remember. For some reason I had my boarding pass on my smart phone. Normally I have a paper boarding pass. I was at the gate with my smart phone ready to show the woman at the gate and guess what? My phone ran out of power. Typical, I thought, as she hastily produced a paper version for me.

My dad, God rest his soul, had blind faith in the government and this was probably because he spent his life in the civil service and at one point worked inside No.10. I never once heard him question the motives of the politicians he worked for or in any way show distrust of them and if he was alive today I'm sure that would still be the case.

I don't believe in blind faith in anything, least of all the government. There are, in fact, very few people you can really trust in this world and if you think otherwise then you're a fool.

To Oxted...

The heat continued but not as hot as a week ago. I took a ride to Oxted and when I left home it was around 14 degrees; in fact as I rode off I considered going back for a fleece, but it wasn't THAT cold, just a cool breeze, which you might expect at around 0730hrs. I was on the Rockhopper and it needed a good clean, but as we all know, it takes a while to get it together and actually CLEAN it. There's a power hose at the Esso garage and one day, yes, one day, I'll remember to stop by and get it done.

The outward ride was simplicity itself; it is a straight ride along the 269 to Botley Hill and then down Titsey, brakes covered. I reached Limpsfield Village hung a right and then a left and rode into town, turning right and riding up the high street. It was a beautiful day and it was good to be on the bike again. I'd been planning on leaving the house earlier than the usual 0800hrs, in an effort to get back to what I used to do: riding off at 0700hrs, but in the end I left around 0730hrs. I've even been thinking about buying myself a small flask and getting back to some of NVL's old haunts, like the Tatsfield Bus Stop and the Tatsfield Churchyard, to name but two. Today I didn't have a flask or biscuits, although, on the latter (and cakes and pastries) I am trying to give them up and, to be fair, I've been succeeding. I've stopped almond croissants and this and that, I simply order tea, English Breakfast with a dab of milk. It's amazing how much milk is wasted. I only need a dab of the stuff but the cafes always fill a small jug and half the milk then goes to waste. 

Couldn't find a Bobber so here's a tank instead!

I sat outside in the sunshine. By the time I had reached the Caffe Nero it was around 0850hrs, which was fine, I was in no hurry, had nowhere to go and it was going to be too hot to do anything. I'm reading Dark Luminosity (Memoirs of a Geezer) by Jah Wobble and I love it, so I sat there in the sunshine, doing a bit of people watching here and there but largely reading and sipping from a large mug of English Breakfast tea, not as large as my Sports Direct mug, but there you have it. There was no way I could indulge a second cup (although later in the day I would do just that). When my Nero tea had been finished I stopped reading and checked out (as I always do) the charity shop next door. I wasn't in there long because there was nothing I needed. I checked the books in case something decent had been left but there was nothing I fancied reading and, let's face it, Jah Wobble's book was all I needed.

Riding to Oxted is always blighted by the hill on the return ride and I started thinking about it as soon as I rode away from the Nero and headed down the high street. Actually, I started thinking about the hill on the outward journey and considered riding to the Velobarn instead, but when I reached the roundabout just past Botley Hill I decided to ride down Titsey Hill and into Oxted. I always forget that the uphill ride is not as bad I think it will be; once I cranked the bike down into the lowest gear and once I had passed the turning for White Lane the effort remained at a bearable level right the way to the top. I can't remember what I was fretting about as I rode up, but whatever it was it kept my mind off the hill and, as I say, it's not anywhere near as bad as I think it is going to be; soon I was at Botley Hill. I decided not to branch off on Beech Farm as the heat was beginning to rise and instead rode straight down towards Warlingham Sainsbury's and beyond, following the Limpsfield Road into Sanderstead High Street and then down Church way and home.

Sooner or later I'm going to buy that flask and start revisiting places like the churchyard and the bus stop again.

Later, in the heat of the afternoon when it was around 26 to 27 degrees, I drove to Westerham and the bells were ringing out from the church. A wedding was in full swing and by the time I reached the doors there were people togged out for a wedding flooding out of the church ahead of the bride and groom who eventually emerged themselves and were sprinkled with confetti by some of the guests. The bell ringing was fantastic and continued for some time after the bride and groom had left the church. I sat on the green in the sunshine uncertain as to what I was going to do. The heat was pleasant and eventually I decided to have an English Breakfast tea in the Tudor Rose. The temptation to eat cake was resisted and I simply sat outside  enjoying the sunshine and basically chilling, which, as always, was much needed.

There was a Triumph Bobber parked up on the green and for a while I admired it, parked there, because I love the design. To my right were two seats and on one of them there was a crash helmet. On the other sat a man with sunglasses and a white Ace Cafe tee-shirt.

"Is that your Bobber," I asked and he said it was and a conversation was initiated. I said that it was a good-looking machine and he agreed proudly. I didn't realise that it had a 1200cc engine, but it does and he told me how he used to have bikes when he was younger and used to be a bit of tearaway, riding fast and such like, he even rode the Isle of Man TT route and scared himself in places, but now, like everybody I suppose, he had mellowed somewhat and only takes the Bobber out when the weather's fine. I told him how I once yearned for a motorcycle but how I was put off when I visited my son's then school and met somebody I used to chat to outside. He was limping and I thought (wrongly) that he'd broken his leg skiiing, but no, his leg had been amputated after a motorcycle accident. From that day on I decided not to pursue the fantasy, which involved buying a Harley Davidson 883 Hugger with buckhorn bars, and I'm so glad about that as the last thing I want is to have a leg amputated. The Bobber is a nice bike and I did feel slightly envious considering the heat and the fact that he had a ride to Greenwich to look forward to. He paid £10,000 for the bike, which is a lot, I thought, but probably about right. I was mindful that I had the car in the car park and that the ticket expired at 1653hrs, but there was plenty of time, so much so that I ordered a second cup of tea (£2.70 per mug). It was good tea and just what the doctor ordered for a hot day like today.

It was soon time to go and I drove home, aircon on.

Summer heat and the return of the magic...

It's been unbearably hot. I've even seen a stag beetle, a sign of summer and schooldays if ever there was one. Except that summer kind of started early this year: in May, but now, in June, it's been extremely hot, up there in the mid-to-late thirties, there have been red warnings, we're all being advised not to travel unless it was absolutely necessary, making me wonder whether anybody travels just for the hell of it, to some random railway station, perhaps, for a quick coffee and then the return ride. No, most people are going somewhere to do something, nearly always work, but visiting relatives, friends, whatever, nobody travels for the hell of it.

A few days ago there was thunder and lightening and heat. I was lying on top of the bed when it started, early in the morning, it was still dark. The lightening flashed and the thunder crashed and I was reminded of people, or perhaps it was just one person, who told me that the longer the period between flash and crash the further away the storm was travelling, and sure enough, after a while, the storm blew over and was gone. Where it went I'll never know, perhaps over Sutton way where mum resides and I remembered how much she hated a storm when we were younger. I thought of her then, in the dead of night almost, the darkness still present, and wondered how she was coping.

As a child I always remember, on a stormy afternoon, back from school, looking at the front door and the crinkled glass window that gave little away as the late afternoon light faded. "The front door is jealous," I used to say to mum, having no idea what it could be jealous of or, indeed, whether a wooden door could even experience jealousy. It was a mad thought and still is. A jealous front door, it was up there in the scary stakes with the silhouette of the stairhead at night, when it turned into the Mug Dog, a cloaked dog-like figure that stood at the top of the stairs when we were supposed to be going to bed. Crazy, definitely. Childhood is strange, surreal almost and I never remember it being any other way; everything was in some way strange: the sea, the countryside, cows, flowerbeds, insects, agricultural machinery, nothing ever seemed real in the days when I didn't watch or listen to the news. It was a world of fairy tales and toy soldiers, hankerchief tents in the back garden, stories within stories and nothing anywhere near reality, not that I knew what reality was all about; in many ways I still don't although I'd say that's more wishful thinking than anything else.

The heat brings back memories of being young when every day of the school summer holidays was long and sun-baked. Long grass swirled in slow motion, trees swayed ominously at the edge of fields where sheep and cows stood motionless even as we passed them by in a train to the coast. If the cows were sitting down, said dad, then there might be rain; if they were standing up there would be sunshine. Invariably they stood up, rarely were they sitting down. Most of our summer holidays were bathed in sunshine and I recall early evening when the sun cooled and our toy soldiers were in their respective hotels (the bedside cabinets) and I was walking around barefoot in white trousers with a collared short-sleeved navy blue tee-shirt with a white anchor logo, looking out to sea, at low tide, long stretches of wet sand, the distant bark of dogs and my tingling, sun-burned body. Later I would sleep on top of the bed, my shirt sticking to my skin as I hoped the feeling would leave me by morning because my inflatable boat awaited me.

We all longed for a lightening storm by the sea but all we really saw was distant flashes on the horizon and not the waves whipped into a frenzy by the wind, nobody in peril on the sea, a hymn I still find frightening in some way. I would not wish to find myself or anybody else in peril on the sea. I would sleep with the windows open so I could hear the sea throughout the night. It was magical, and once you let the magic escape it rarely returns unless you find it, like I did, in a theme park in Holland, it hides in the most unlikely places. The Dream Flight. You either know it or you don't and I know. The magic is out there, in pockets, don't go looking for it because it will find you. I once found it, aged 12, on a milk round, in South Wallington of all places, and it's still there and I can find it today on my bike, the quiet, seemingly empty, large houses set back from the road, the hedgerows, the trees, swaying again, nobody around, and I can sail triumphantly through it and out the other side, reluctantly riding back into real world suburbia.

It's 2239 as I write this and it's still hot. 24 degrees and it won't dip lower than 20 degrees before morning and then it will rise into the thirties again. I'm sipping from a mug of tap water that never quite comes out of the tap cold in this sort of heat. I'm putting off going to bed because it's going to be unpleasant, at least until I fall asleep, which I will, eventually. I'm wearing shorts and a black teeshirt with 'Future Inside' written across the front. Future Inside! 

I was listening to an old prog rock album, Octopus, by Gentle Giant, a band I only remember from a track (not on Octopus) called Free Hand. The Astronome disco at the Croydon Greyhound used to blare it out before the bands came on stage and for some reason I remembered it, found it on Spotify and listened to it, then discovering another track, Remember Me with Kindness, which I found mesmerising and that led me to key into Google the question: What is regarded as the best Gentle Giant album ever. Octopus was the answer and Remember Me with Kindness was on it, so here I am, alone, in the dark, just the halogen glow of the computer screen and the 24 degree heat outside.

My wife often tells stories of her childhood growing up in India and how she and her family used to sleep on the roof in the extreme heat of summer and they would lie there looking at the moon and the stars. Once again, it's the return of the magic, just when you thought you'd lost it.

In Bologna...

When I got back to room 436 of the Fly On Hotel after dinner, I noticed a strange-looking insect with a rear end like a locust and a nasty-looking sting coming out of its arse. I can't say I was happy sharing a room with it so I went in search of a newspaper or something I could hit it with. A copy of the New Yorker would suffice, I thought, having bought it a few weeks ago and only reading one article on the plane coming over from London.

Arriving early at T5 Tuesday morning

The insect in question was in the bathroom and I wasn't sure whether it was going to join me in bed later so I hit it hard and sent it rolling into the sink. I turned on the tap and washed it down the plug hole, but rather worryingly it scuttled up and tried to get out of the sink so I whacked it hard again and this time, with the aid of more water, it disappeared and was never seen again. I left the room and later returned and when I looked at the sink I was under the illusion that it had filled with water and was about to overflow on the floor. I wondered whether the insect had mysteriously grown in size and somehow managed to reach out and turn on the tap. I felt paranoid enough to place a drinking glass over the plug hole. The sink was empty so what made me think the opposite started to freak me out. Perhaps, I wondered, it might have something to do with my recently acquired Coke habit; only a week ago I had a Coke Zero and somehow I'd acquired the taste for it. But no, surely not. The drinking glass, I thought, would stop the advance of the insect if it somehow reformed and edged its way back up the pipe.

When nature calls and your flight
awaits, this is the last thing you need!

Later, once in bed, I kept an eye on the area around the bathroom and started imagining the insect, now around six feet in length and with no legs, edging its way towards my bed, but nothing came and I fell asleep until my alarm woke me at 0600hrs. Another day in paradise, I sighed, thinking about the stressful day ahead of me and how I would be confined to the hotel for the rest of the day. In truth I felt fat. Very fat. I certainly needed the exercise and while I had vowed not to eat any cakes or biscuits, I had fallen foul of my decision, which was especially damning after having rubbished the reputation of an extremely fat man I know, somebody morbidly obese, who, I often wondered out loud, must have had many moments in the lead-up to his current and unbelievable size, when he peered in the mirror and thought 'perhaps I'd better knock off the cakes'. Well, let's say that I was thinking the very same thing as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, knowing there was more of the same ahead of me as another day of sitting down presented itself and I started to feel guilty about doing nothing. My cycling had been non-existent (virtually), one week on, another week off, and, I fretted, I really needed to do something about it and quick. I figured I was at the stage that my morbidly obese associate had been at some time ago and had ignored the warning signs. I mustn't do that, I must cease all bad things now. 

I was staying on the outskirts of Bologna in Italy, close to the airport, in a rather dated hotel that had a few issues but was perfectly okay. The shower worked, which made a change, the small bottles of shower gel were great, not too gloopy in a tomato ketchup sense and enough per bottle for two showers. There were towels and even face flannels, the beds were changed daily (unlike in some hotels that don't bother until you check out, citing environmental reasons, which is rubbish). The bed is comfortable, the black-out curtains work a treat and I'm generally very happy, even if the hotel is a little confusing.

The plane at Bologna airport...

The reception area is on the fourth floor as is my room, which follows an upward-sloping corridor from the front desk. By the time I get there and take a peek out of the window and over the balcony's edge I notice that I am high up, at least a few floors from ground level and I simply can't work it out and decide it's best not to bother trying. I started to wonder whether what seemed like a strange kind of reality was simply another illusion, like thinking the bathroom sink was full-to-overflowing with water or that a giant insect was heaving its way towards me as I slept. I started to wonder if I was going insane, but then they always say that if you think you're mad, you're probably not. 

On Tuesday, the day I flew to Bologna, I awoke to bad weather. Despite it being June, the skies were dark and heavy rain was falling. I had woken up at 0345hrs (never let other people book your flight) made breakfast and then reluctantly went upstairs for a shower and to complete my packing before lugging the heavy case downstairs and leaving it in the hall for when the taxi arrived. Sure enough, around 0430hrs, a bearded foreign gentlemen was sitting patiently in the driver's seat while I faffed around inside the house checking I hadn't forgotten anything.

The drive to the airport was hell on earth and at one point, looking out into the gloom as we raced along in the driving rain, I swear the driver was careering towards another car and only managed to miss him by pure luck. I was glad to get out and I'll be taking the train home.

The view from room 436, Fly On Hotel, Bologna...

When I reached Giraffe in Terminal Five after a painless run through 'security', I couldn't face a big breakfast (I'd already eaten two Weetabix and a banana plus some bread and marmalade and very tasty it was too) so instead I had a mug of tea and one of those healthy smoothies.

It was time to fly, from gate A21, but I needed to answer the call of nature. In both bathrooms all the cubicles were in use. Somebody suggested trying the one downstairs, which I did, and it was the same situation: loads of men taking early morning dumps and spending far too long doing so. I started to worry, the gate was closing at 0720, it was now 0710. Fortunately, a door opened and in I went. Then, afterwards, I strode purposefully towards the gate and was there in good time.

What a great restaurant!

The skies brightened and by the time we roared along the runway in the broad daylight, the grey skies had been replaced by a light bluey water colour painting that somehow turned to clouds. There was some turbulence initially, but not much. I had seat 8F, a window seat, and I spent the flight looking out of the window unable to concentrate on reading, apart from one article in the New Yorker magazine about Donald Trump.

We landed and then had to endure the new finger print and photo stations installed throughout Europe and causing many delays for travellers throughout the continent. It wasn't that bad to be fair, and once out the other side there was a short courtesy bus ride to the hotel. Check-in was easy and soon I was in my room and putting away my stuff, including my new Reiss suit that had been stuffed in my suitcase since the early hours but was soon on a hanger (one of only three!) in my wardrobe. The new suit was pricey, £400 pricey, but it was well worth it. I didn't fancy another M&S suit, which hang badly and make me look like a right arsarillo.

Room 436, Fly On hotel...

I didn't get to see a lot of Bologna as the hotel was far away from the city, but I managed to get to the 'downtown' on Thursday night for a dinner with a few industry friends, which proved very enjoyable. On Wednesday night myself and a few colleagues found a 'local' restaurant (football shirts on the walls, a snooker table, the smell of cigarette smoke) that offered basic food, nothing to write home about in my opinion, but it was okay if a little ordinary. All that said, it was an experience, not the sort of place you would visit out of choice, perhaps, and that was something in itself.

While the weather coming out of the UK had improved from the torrential rain of early Tuesday morning, it got better when we arrived in Bologna. Getting out of the plane reminded me of the days when I would go on holiday to Greece and that lovely moment when the heat hit me square between the eyes; the weather improved as the week progressed, and now it is time to head home. I need to pack my suitcase, take my passport out of the safe and head down for breakfast for the last time. In fact, on that score, the breakfast offering has been fine, I can't think of anything to moan about (for a change!).

Another shot of room 436...

Outside I can hear the birds tweeting and I know that behind the curtain is blinding daylight. It's almost time for breakfast, but first a shower. Actually, a word about the shower, bearing in mind that my bathroom at the Residence Inn by Marriott in Pittsburgh, USA, offered nothing but tepid water at best unless I'd left it on for five or 10 minutes. Here at the Fly On, it was a great rain shower that was easy to use and the water was just right. The hotel is a little dated, a bit rough around the edges, meaning there was a bidet in the room, something I have never ever used (I wouldn't know which way you're supposed to sit or crouch on them, there's no seat) but, like a true Englishmen dying for a pee I nearly (and I stress that word 'nearly') used the bidet instead of the toilet. Fortunately I noticed at the last moment, not that it would have been THAT disastrous as there was a plug, but thankfully I realised in the nick of time! It could, of course, have been much worse, but let's not go there.

It's now Friday morning, time to go home, well, time to have breakfast and then back to the room for the boring bit: packing. I hate checking out of hotels, but I really hate playing pants roulette, which is when I put all my pants back in the suitcase after wearing them and then mix them up with clean pairs. Then it's a game of chance. Am I putting on yesterday's pants or a new pair? Perhaps I ought to buy pants with the days of the week printed on the back and then, if I stick to wearing the right pants on the right day, problems won't exist, but I've never seen pants with the days of the week printed on them. Perhaps always remember to have a spare plastic bag handy for used clothes, yes, that's the answer. Or, of course, empty the suitcase of all clothes so that I know that anything I put BACK in the case is used. Yeah, there you go, two possible solutions.

Travel to and from Bologna was pretty much pain-free. While the taxi journey to T5 in the driving rain wasn't pleasant, both flights (outward and inward) were fine. On the way back I had a middle seat, which I don't like, but there was no choice, it was 'a full flight'. Flying home took one hour and 50 minutes and for at least half an hour of that time I finished reading Geddy Lee's My Effin' Life plus a bit of the appendix right at the back. It's great, arguably the best rock memoir I've read. I doubt if anything will beat it. 

Arriving back at T5 and having been ferried from the plane to the terminal building in a bus, passport control and baggage reclaim were simple. My colleague Pete and I took the Piccadilly line to Earls Court and Green Park respectively. I took changed on to the Victoria Line and then an overground train from Victoria to home. I was picked up at the station, thankfully.

Milling (and riding) around in the heat...

I rode to the Velobarn outside of Westerham and was surprised to find it open for business. On countless times prior to my visit on Saturday 23rd May it had been stubbornly closed, forcing me on those occasions to ride into Westerham town to either Esquires or Costa. In the old days I might have sat on the green with a flask of tea and a couple of biscuits, but since the pandemic I've been spending anything between a fiver and a little more for tea and something else, be it a millionaire's shortbread, a toasted tea cake or an almond croissant, that about covers the gamut of sweet treats I've over-indulged in for far too long and make no mistake, it continued this weekend. On this particular visit to the Velobarn I had a cup of tea and a stodgy almond croissant and while I needed the tea I didn't need the pastry, but I still had it, more fool me I guess.

The Velobarn! It's open!

I woke up this morning (Saturday 23rd May) at 0600hrs and an hour later it was 18 degrees. When I left the house at around 0830hrs, probably a few minutes later, it was 21 degrees and when I reached the Velobarn it was 23 degrees. I sat outside in the sunshine watching the Lycra Monkeys and then, rather than putting off the return ride any longer, I stood up, got my stuff together (wallet, phone, keys) and then rode out of the place, turning on to Pilgrims Lane and heading home.

They're selling Santa Cruz electric mountain bikes at the Velobarn for over £6,000. I found myself thinking that I could possibly buy a Harley Davidson 883 Hugger with buckhorn bars for less than that, or even a 1200 Sportster, but I wouldn't do that, not since I realised, some years ago, how dangerous it was. Who wants a leg amputated or worse? Not me. Perhaps that means I would be interested in a six grand pushbike that can reach speeds of 45mph, but who's to say I wouldn't need a leg amputated if I came off? Let's face it, being on two wheels and not four IS dangerous, you just have to be careful. And then there's the cheating angle. Is riding an electric bike cheating, like having a powered polystyrene float in a swimming pool? I don't really think so; I used to, but now I think an electric pushbike will take you further and because you still have to pedal, you're still getting the exercise. That said, I figure there are better things I could do with £6,000 if I had it to burn.

Later that day...

A few hours later and I'm now sitting in Ori, a cafe inside John Lewis, nursing a cup of tea and worrying about how time is slipping away and I'm doing nothing, despite having loads of things to do. I walked into HMV earlier and thought about vinyl records and old-fashioned record players. I remembered how, foolishly, some years ago, I had thrown all my vinyl away, well, I gave it away to a record dealer in Sutton and started buying CDs instead. Giving it away, throwing it away, it amounted to the same thing. I only have around six vinyl albums left and they're in the loft somewhere. I started looking at what was available on HMV's shelves and there were plenty of the sort of albums I used to own, although I'm guessing mine would have been more valuable than what was now on sale. But first, if I was to start again, building a vinyl collection, I'd have to buy a deck and a decent one would set me back a few hundred quid. Back in the day I used to have a decent hifi system: Mission speakers, a NAD amp, I can't remember the tape deck and, of course, a NAD CD player. Soon I amassed a reasonable amount of CDs. On vinyl, HMV is offering three albums for £66 and I found myself staring at an hourglass that somebody had turned over without me knowing...until now. How long, I wondered, would it take me to amass a decent-sized collection of vinyl again, do I really want to do that and how much would it cost me? Answer: a lot of money and a lot of time.

I have many things I need to do and I'm not even going to go on about any of them, all of which are on my 'things to do' list, which is getting longer and longer and longer and it's not being helped by the fact that the list in question is in my head and not on paper. I need to write it down and soon because otherwise I won't do anything, and the list keeps getting longer, by the day.

Damn! They found me!

Going back to the Velobarn, the reason I was sitting there was because I was halfway through my first bike ride in three weeks. I certainly needed the exercise and the weather was great. In fact, a heatwave was coming and temperatures were going to be in the 30s before the day was out. But right now I'm in Ori, in John Lewis, in Bluewater shopping centre and that means I have a longish drive home later on. Fortunately, it's light outside so I won't have the usual hassle of being dazzled by headlights and not really knowing what's coming up behind me.

And now I'm thinking about my to do list again and how I am still adding things to it, but I'm not ticking anything off and, as I said before, I'm always going on about this so I'll try my best to shut up about it. Swimming membership, a new lap top, a decent watch, a new suit, a nest of tables for the living room, proper bookshelves...all stuff, well, not all, but some things I can certainly do without. More important, perhaps, is a holiday, which is much needed, much like today's bike ride. I'm glad I got out because the temptation is always not to bother. There are times when I can't go, like if we have people coming over, but when I can I should get out and get the exercise under my belt. It's important. It's important to get more on my Strava than just a few walks around the block, but it can get a little obsessive too. I remember the days before technology got a grip of things when it was just a case of going out, although there was always the temptation to note things down, record stuff on paper. There was a time when I bought in to some kind of swimming challenge, I think it was something like you swim, say, half a mile or a mile and then you note it down somewhere in a booklet provided by the organiser and eventually you clock up the desired mileage of the challenge, there's no prize, no kudos, nothing, just the satisfaction that you've swam something like 100 miles or more in a year, I can't remember exactly.

Getting back from Bluewater is always a little fraught. On this occasion once we'd left the motorway behind we found ourselves on the A25 going through Brasted and close to my traditional cycling territory surrounding Westerham. Sadly, there was a car accident and the road had been closed off. We had to make a wide detour that went nowhere and ended up coming back to where we started, or almost, and then having to travel along Pilgrims Lane, fine on a bike but not in a car. There was a jam, lots of reversing and getting far too close to the hedges, and when we eventually emerged from the narrow lanes we weren't that far from where we had started. But we were still on the right side of crash site, ie it was now behind us and we could continue on our way home without hassle.

It was late when we got home so I decided to have fish & chips and mushy peas from a local takeaway. I bought enough chips for everyone. Later, I sat and watched a documentary on Iron Maiden's 666 tour on Ed Force One with leader singer Bruce Dickinson flying the band and crew all over the world. Great escapist television with a strong feelgood factor too. I watched other stuff but a lot of it was a little hit and miss after Maiden's epic. I stayed up until gone midnight and was awakened Sunday morning (24th May) by Radio Four and the 0600hrs news. Trump says a deal is almost there with Iran, but the Iranians say it's nowhere near. You can't believe Donald Trump and that's a fact.

Sunday 24th May: The Coffee Shed at Botley Hill

What was formerly the Sheep Shed was my destination for Sunday's morning ride. The weather was still scorching. When I got there it was 23 degrees and it was because of the heat that I rode there. Why? I didn't want any hills, Church Way was more than enough. Oxted, therefore, was totally out of the question, there was no way I was going to attempt Titsey Hill, not in the extreme heat. Likewise, the Velobarn was ruled out. I simply couldn't face the climb out of Westerham towards Botley Hill and also, where the latter was concerned, there was always a chance that it wouldn't be open (you just never know) and the thought of having to come back up the hill for nothing ruled it out completely. If the truth be known, had the Velobarn being closed I would have riden the bike into Westerham and visited Esquire's Coffee. But I didn't do any of this, I went instead to the Coffee Shed.

The Coffee Shed...tea and er, cake!

As always, I weaken at the sight of a cake, especially a small millionaire's shortbread of cup cake proportions, actually, smaller than a cup cake, and that was the attraction. It turned out to be pretty gooey and I started to regret it. There was no way it was going to do me any favours, but I'd ordered and paid for it so I had to move forward and eat it, which I did. I remembered a Harley Street dentist I met on the luxurious Scotsman train telling me that as long as you drink hot or warm tea within 15 minutes of your culinary misdemeanour (ie, eating a sweet and gooey cake) you'll be alright. Really? I'm not so sure about that. So I washed my mouth out with leaf tea, felt a little better about things and got on with my life. And why not? Not that drinking the tea did anything about the calories consumed. As I've said before, I need to get my act together, but I never do.

The hot sun persisted. And then, a great moment. There was me fretting about everything under the sun, especially how much exercise I'm not getting, when a group of Lycra Monkeys appeared, hailing from the Penge Cycling Club, the PCC. As they humped their carbon fibre-framed steeds on to a provided cycle rack I overheard one of the party talk about his 'hibernation', which he had just come out of, prompting another member of the group to add that this ride, the one I was witnessing, was his first in three months. What? First ride in three months! You can't be serious! Needless to say I felt a lot better.

Comparing the Penge Cycling Club's bikes with my own I realised that mine needed a good clean, and I know just where to get it. There's a jet cleaner on the forecourt of an ESSO garage in Warlingham and while I don't think I'll be going there this weekend, it's definitely on the cards for the immediate future, which probably means the next couple of weeks. I also need a haircut having had a couple of crap ones in short succession (and they weren't cheap).

As the sun continued to beat down on the exposed car park of the Botley Hill Farmhouse I decided it was time to head home. The original plan was to ride through Woldingham but then I remembered the hill at the very end of Slines Oak Road so I opted to ride back along the 269, retracing my steps, and then hang a right on to Beech Farm Road and wind my way around the country lanes that will bring me out at Warlingham Sainsbury's. The Lycra Monkeys are leaving too, but not before a group photo. I was tempted to offer my services so that they could all be in the shot, but by the time I had thought of it, it was too late, the shot had been taken and they moved to the side of the pub where, I heard somebody say, the scenery was better. Presumably she meant it was a little more scenic than the car park.

"Have you got the drone?" somebody asked.