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.

Last day in Pittsburgh...

On Thursday we headed for 'the strip' - or Smallman Street, which is virtually next door to Pittsburgh's David Lawrence Convention Centre, it's where the restaurant Eleven is located AND the Heinz museum, which my colleague Pete visited while I was having lunch in Market Square (see previous post).

The view from the Grand View Restaurant, Pittsburgh

This week I have walked many miles because being on foot is, arguably, the best way to get around IF, like me, your hotel is close (ish) to where your work is located. Every day for the past six days, I've walked over two miles a day just getting to and from the David Lawrence Convention Centre, but then, outside of that journey, I have made many others and all on foot; and as discussed in the previous post, excessive walking probably helped with my overall health bearing in mind the type of food and the quantities I was eating (mainly burger and fries). Oddly, I didn't have many desserts (thank God!). I've enjoyed a couple of cookies (and by that I mean I've had TWO cookies, one in Starbucks and another in Yinz, an independent coffee shop on Station Square) and I remember a rather dainty dessert at a dinner on Smallman Street on Tuesday night from where I considered walking back to my hotel but decided against it as I didn't really know much about Pittsburgh at night. But suffice it to say that walking was a major part of the last week and I'm talking about 20,000 steps daily.

I'm losing track of what lunch we had where and on what day. So the following is a little bit sketchy. At some stage we had an awful pizza on the strip (it was square and not what I considered to be a pizza, they're at least round!). At the same restaurant I ordered an even more disgusting no-alcohol beer, this might well have been in the late afternoon of Thursday. The previous day we'd been to Eleven for dinner where, as mentioned in the previous post, we ordered from the Tavern menu and I ordered, yes, you guessed it, another burger and chips (I left most of it). As I say, I'm losing track of what I ate and when. Thursday night I think we were on Smallman Street again where dinner was a fried chicken sandwich and a root beer for me; Pete had the same but with a can of Sprite. 

My last burger and chips in Pittsburgh's Grand View Restaurant

There's a great Starbucks on the strip. I was there late in the afternoon of Tuesday ahead of a planned business dinner, also on the strip. I ordered a cookie and an English Breakfast Tea and simply chilled out. I was there again with Pete possibly on Thursday afternoon and preceding the fried chicken dinner with the root beer. Pete and I set the world to rights, talked about music and generally chilled out.

On Friday we headed for Mount Washington and what was the Coal Hill Steakhouse. It's still there but it's no longer called the Coal Hill Steakhouse. I can't remember what it was called, I think it's now The Grand View Restaurant, something like that, but the management is the same and so is the food. And yes, I ordered another burger and chips, had a non-alcohol cocktail and finished with a cup of tea. I'd asked for English Breakfast but was given Earl Grey, which was awful, and I like Earl Grey! The view of Pittsburgh was great and just how I remembered it in 2019 and 2022, but the food wasn't that good.

On Friday we had to check out by 1100hrs, which we did. It took me a while to cram everything into my suitcase but I managed it and then we hit the road again and went to Mount Washington. The funicular railway linking ground level Pittsburgh with Mount Washington was closed and, as we were soon to find out, some passengers travelling on it the previous evening had to be rescued by the emergency services following a malfunction of some sort that left tourists stranded on the incline. 

As we approached the funicular railway with a view to using it and unaware of what had taken place the previous night, I turned to Pete and said 'I bet it's closed' and sure enough it was, because of the aforementioned incident. At that point a man with a television camera strutted across the road and asked if we'd like a chat. We said yes and then a reporter appeared and started an interview for the local television station. It broadcasted around 1800hrs giving both Pete and I the chance to see ourselves on TV before jumping into a cab and heading for the airport.

After a short cab ride we arrived at the airport, checked in our bags and then chilled out in a Joe the Juice after walking around the airport. At last, I thought, as I tucked in to something decent (a chicken and avocado sandwich accompanied by a ginger tea and a healthy juice drink, which was great.

The flight was on time and very smooth all the way. We landed in London earlier than scheduled and then we went our separate ways. There is a view that if you stay up until the night time of the country you have landed in, your jet lag will be allieviated somewhat. Well, it's almost 2200hrs and while I've been taking it easy, watching YouTube videos, and nodding off occasionally in the process, I haven't really been to sleep in the true sense of the word. In fact, I might watch a bit of YouTube again and will probably hit the sack around 2230 if not later. It's amazing how somehow I still have gas in the tank, but I know that when I hit the pillow I'll sleep well. Here's hoping.

Postscript...

In the end I stayed up until almost midnight, watching a documentary on iPlayer about Paul McCartney's lost Hofner bass guitar. I need to finish it, which I will later. I slept a total of 10 hours, not bad, and now here I am watching a YouTube video, well, half-watching it. Last night, or late in the afternoon yesterday I watched chilled stuff on YouTube like Nomad Sam and Rewilding Jude, the latter recently inspired me to get out into the garden and take down a dead tree. Basically the 'vlog' is all about a guy called Jude whose parents both died. He decided to move to a remote part of Scotland and live in a crofter's cottage with land for a reasonably-sized garden, he's done a lot with it, taken on chickens and growing his own vegetables, it's a great watch, or at least I think it is. Nomad Sam is all about Sam, who lives in a tent with his dog and travels around the country, staying in remote places for a few weeks/months and then moving on. He is now in the Scottish Highlands. They both chill me out and that was what I needed yesterday.

Avid readers of this blog will know that I have read Martin Downham's Remind Me to Smile, which I've probably mentioned before, it's a great read and yesterday, being in mind that he is Pete's dad, I met him, albeit briefly, at the airport. I just wish I'd been a little more awake, but I managed to tell him he had written a great book and shook his hand. Pete's mum was there too and I was offered a lift, but I didn't want to put them out and opted instead for the Heathrow Express.

Kept awake by goats...

As I lay awake in my yurt in the foothills of Turkmenistan's Kopet Dag mountains, dangerously close to the Iranian border and, therefore, within range of Trump’s and Netanyahu's missiles which might at any moment rain down upon me accidentally if the ceasefire doesn't hold, I can hear the gentle sound of bells tinkling quietly and likely coming from a herd of goats either passing through or simply milling around a few yards away. It's early evening, the sun has yet to go down and the noise, if you can call it that, has the desired soporific effect. At some stage I fall asleep and when I find myself awake an hour or two later, the bells are still there but now they are becoming irksome and I wish they would stop. I am lying on my back staring up at the conical roof of my albeit temporary home, but when I turn my head to the right and notice police siren blue lights I remember that I am only yards away from PNC Park, the Pittsburgh Pirates' stadium in, yes, you guessed it, Pittsburgh PA. I am lying in bed, room 412, of the Residence Inn by Marriott.

All week I have enjoyed the delicious sleepiness brought about by jet lag which has seen me in bed by nine o'clock every night, waking briefly, perhaps, in the early hours, but then eventually drifting off and regaining consciousness at a decent hour; but not tonight. The bells are non-existent and so are the goats and while Pittsburgh isn't London and the sound of traffic is not the issue as the streets of this city are empty, I know for a fact that as the flight-induced sleepiness of the past few days has gently lessened, the reason I am restless and awake has plenty to do with sugary drinks, greasy fries and oversized portions which I have been subjected to, a far cry from a delicate mushroom risotto or a dainty plate of Indian dahl and rice, my usual midweek cuisine.

Where the bells were coming from, I didn't know until I started an investigation which led me to the hotel room's bathroom; it might have been dripping water or something to do with the pipes, that I don't know, and if I'm honest I have gotten rather used to it: there's nothing better than a subtle distraction to send me off to the Land of Nod.

All week I have succumbed to everything the doctor says is bad: the fries, the fatty burgers, the sugary drinks, the oversized portions, and today was arguably the breaking point. As always, it starts with breakfast (on disposable plates, not exactly showing off the Marriott brand in a good light). Pork patties, scrambled egg, custardy pastries and a nod towards healthy eating, a banana.

At lunchtime in Pizzaiolo Primo on Market Square, a place where I thought I would be safe, the portion sizes were ridiculous. My lunch companion ordered the calamari as a starter and I'm kidding you not, he was presented with a plate piled at least 10 inches high. Klaus looked at the waitress flabbergasted as if she must be mad. My polpette arrived next and there were easily 10 meatballs when five would have sufficed, it was a starter for heaven's sake! I made matters worse by ordering a sugary soda (as they call fizzy drinks in the USA) and then another when, to be honest, the bottle of Pellegrino would have been enough, but I enjoyed the former a few nights ago and decided to relive the experience. When the main courses arrived, both were extra-large portions and once again, my friend came off worse. I can't remember exactly what we ordered, but both dishes were chicken-based and mine had an unpleasant vinegary after taste. We left roughly half of what was on our plates.

I have visited Pittsburgh half a dozen times over the past 10 years and what I can say is that, on a good day, it's a great place if you like walking. This week, I have notched up a daily tally of between 15,000 and 20,000 steps and I'm sure that, combined with the jet lag, those steps have been a contributory factor to my aforementioned delicious sleepiness.

The strain was beginning to show yesterday when I ordered, foolishly, a burger and chips from an upmarket Pittsburgh restaurant, Eleven. I should have known better having spent most lunchtimes in Bill's, a lairy sports bar inside the Westin Hotel, but then I did order from Eleven's Tavern menu, no doubt reserved exclusively for the proletariat. I can't even mention or think about Bill's without grimacing as every day I've had a burger and fries of some description. Every day! And bear in mind that back home I NEVER eat burgers and I avoid fries like the plague and as my week here has progressed I added insult to injury by consuming something else that I NEVER touch back in the UK: fizzy drinks! So now, as my week in Pittsburgh draws to a close (and don't get me wrong, I love Pittsburgh) I find myself in bed wishing I was in a yurt listening to the goats in the foothills of the Kopet Dag mountains as they gently induce much-needed sleep, but I'm brought down to earth with a bang when I realise there are no goats, I'm not in Turkmenistan and the reason I'm totally wired is the cappuccino, the two large English breakfast teas from Starbucks in the Strip region of the city and, dare I even mention it, a fried chicken sandwich and a sickly bottle of root beer made with cane sugar.

It's 1240hrs and I should be in bed, but, feeling wide awake, I decided to get up and pen this article in the hope that, by now, the effects of my food intake today might have subsided and that I could now head back to the Kopet Dag mountains and get some sleep.

 

In Pittsburgh...

View from my hotel window, the Pirates stadium, Pittsburgh

First, the flight. It was fine. No turbulence, nothing. Despite the captain saying something about the possible of 'weather' as we crossed the Atlantic, there was zilch, not even a great deal of cloud until, admittedly we were flying at almost 40,000 feet and when I looked down, way down, there was a blanket of white cloud like cotton wool balls tightly sewn together, but it wasn't in the slightest bit bothersome and remained that way until we were on the ground. What did the pilot mean when he said there might be the possibility of 'weather'? There's always weather, whether it's good or bad, there can never NOT be weather. The flight was long but bearable and the only thing that let down those on the flight deck was the hard landing which, it has to be said, wasn't exactly textbook.

40,000 feet from earth...

Having disembarked, immigration was as easy as pie, no huge queues, no connecting flights to miss and after around 35 minutes in a cab, we were checked in at the Residence Inn and safely ensconced in our rooms. It was around 2100hrs and neither myself nor my colleague Pete were interested in anything other than hitting the sack, which we did, in adjoining rooms, although we didn't know it until we discussed it later the following day that we were, in fact, 'neighbours'.

I slept reasonably well considering. I awoke at 0130hrs, but it was bright outside and I thought it was lunchtime. Foolish me! It was very early in the morning, and I'd had around four hours' sleep. I'm always told not to get out of bed and not to start writing. I've tried that before and the end result is I stay up until it's breakfast time, laptop on and writing for England, well, for myself actually, but it's not a good idea. By mid-morning I'm wasted, so on this occasion I did as I was told, lay there and eventually fell asleep, waking around 0630hrs and then waiting for breakfast.

The shower was proficient, it worked. It wasn't the most powerful, but it wasn't the weakest and, like the flight the day before, it did the trick; the only thing that really got my goat (as always) was the shampoo and shower gel being screwed to the wall. Clearly, the Residence Inn doesn't trust its guests, like so many hotels these days.

Mid-flight to Pittsburgh...

The room was huge: a double bed, a flatscreen television, fridge, mini hob, dishwasher, plates, bowls and so forth. I could have saved a fortune and entertained my colleagues in my room. Pete's room was the same; there was also a sofa, a desk, a smaller desk or console table, a table and chairs at which I could have sat after making my meal, there was a sink and a coffee maker and, of course, there was an oven or a grill, or something that had a door meaning I could have made something special if I was that way inclined. In short, I could have lived in the room long-term. 

Out of the window and directly across the road was the Pittsburgh Pirates stadium (the reason why I thought it was lunch time when I woke up).

As I lay in bed, however, prior to having my shower, I could hear somebody playing a jazzy number on a tuba somewhere nearby and then I remembered that it was the day of the Pittsburgh Marathon. The tuba playing was annoying and catchy, which meant that getting back to sleep wasn't going to be easy. I think I snatched around an extra 40 minutes and then I figured I'd hit the showers and head down for breakfast.

The breakfast offering wasn't that good. There were biscuits and gravy (never an option for an Englishman) but there was also scrambled eggs and pork patties (small burgers basically). I lumped two of them on my plate and later had toast with butter (the toaster being set to 'obliterate' meant blackened toast, but what the hell. A bowl of cereal with added seeds and other healthy 'stuff' completed the most important meal of the day. 

Then, a few minor hassles, linked inextricably to a lack of sleep: I left my key card in my room and my glasses in the breakfast room. Ridiculous. An additional key card meant I could get into my room and retrieve my key cards, which I had left on the desk and then the day began. We wandered around the city among the joggers and their supporters and soon found ourselves on Station Square, close to the Sheraton where, in 2019, I discovered that the hotel had taken my laptop and passport out of the safe and forgot to tell me. Click here for more on THAT story!

Our wander took us everywhere, including a brief stop at Tupelo Honey's for, in my case, a pot of English Breakfast tea, and then we headed off again to register for a conference on the other side of town. It was good to walk and there was no tiredness although now, as I write this, I am feeling a little jaded, but I know that if I climbed into bed I would fall asleep and wake up at some ridiculous hour, like 2130 or 2200hrs, feeling hungry and thirsty and having to sit it out throughout the long night ahead until it was morning and I could go downstairs for another fairly sub-standard breakfast. So, I'm not going to bed, not yet at any rate.

For lunch we stopped at the Westin Hotel and had a burger and fries, or at least I did. It was fine, but, by and large, it's what's available everywhere, and I don't fancy going out for more burgers and fries and some God-awful drink. The problem with not drinking is that beverages become boring: the best thing to have is a sparkling mineral water or a coffee, as most no-alcohol beers are rubbish and it's often impossible to endure more than one of them. I spoke to Paul and told him I wasn't bothered about going out; Pete was interested in going somewhere but not for the whole evening. I was thinking about the early start in the morning (we have to be at the conference by 0800hrs). The plan is to go out for a short while, possibly not eating anything or having something light, but who knows. My aim is to get back to the room early and get a good night's sleep so as to be fresh and ready for the early start, which continues all week. 

The flight was so good that I managed to read a lot of Geddy Lee's My Effin' Life, which is an excellent book. Knowing of Geddy's love for baseball and being across the road from the Pittsburgh Pirates' stadium made me wonder whether he'd be over there watching the game, not that I'd find him, but if I could I'd have asked him to sign the book. Perhaps one day.

As I write this, it's 1630hrs and a long way from dinner. I suppose I could set my alarm for an hour and get some shut eye, but it's best not to; they always say stay up until the night time, the bed time, of the country you're in. Fair enough, I'll do that, except that, as I mentioned above, I started to feel a little weary and certainly not in need of another American food experience. The trouble is, if you want anything you have to go out, there's no restaurant in the hotel, so Pete and I are meeting in the lobby at 1830hrs and we'll nip out for 'a brief one'. 

Being a litter bug and other stories...

This week I made a conscious decision to become a litter bug or perhaps it was just on a whim, I'm not sure. Not a full-time spreader of muck, you understand, but just when the fancy takes me, like it did last week. Leaving the railway station late and in my usual state of weariness, I walked through the barrier and retrieved my return ticket from the machine. Clasping it reluctantly in my hand (there were no rubbish bins) I started to get annoyed with the fact that I still had a dud ticket on my person and decided it would be a good idea to tear said ticket into tiny pieces and then, when (or if) the opportunity arose (I was guessing it would be in one of the alleyways en route to my house) I would throw the torn up pieces of paper into the air and, hopefully, would walk into a shower of 'confetti' of my own making, a kind of private homecoming ceremony of my own. It was hard not to throw the tiny pieces of old ticket into the air as I walked along the main streets, but I wasn't particularly wanting to deal with a conscientious member of the public who might hound me all the way home until I threatened him with violence. So, to avoid such a possibility, I'm not a violent man, I clasped my pieces of paper in my right hand and, as I reached the alley, I started looking behind me to see if anybody was following me. There was nobody around. The next obstacle was to ensure there was nobody coming towards me and that would mean waiting until the slight left turn of the alley where I would be afforded a view of the remaining pathway and, therefore, anybody who might be walking my way. When I reached the critical point and saw that nobody was there, I flung up my right hand and, as expected, the small bits of paper snowed down upon me. It was a great moment. The following morning I sought out the fallen pieces of paper and smiled as I passed them on the way to work, thinking: I might do that again later on today. Of course I did, except on that on the second occasion I thought I'd tear the pieces even smaller and then, when the coast was clear, off went my right hand and once again I was showered with my own confetti. I was going to say I was proud of my 'litter buggery' but it didn't sound like a phrase I should use so I went with simply being proud of myself for absolutely no reason at all. The following morning there lay the fallen remains of my tomfoolery and again I smiled to myself and continued on to the railway station.

If the truth be known, I'm getting a little fed up with the state of the country at present and it's making me a little bad tempered. I won't be voting in next week's local elections because I just don't think there's any party worth voting for. I don't particularly want to vote Reform, even if it seems as if everybody else will be, I'm certainly not voting Conservative after the way they've been behaving even if Kemi Badenoch has been exceptionally good at the dispatch box, telling Sir Keir what a complete nob he has turned out to be; and then there's the Green Party, headed up by the so-called 'tit whisperer', Zak Polanski. I'm not sure of the exact story, but it has been said that Polanski, who is not an MP, was in some way involved in the hypnosis of women with a view to making their breasts bigger. True? False? I don't know, but it's a rumour that has been 'doing the rounds'. There's plenty more reasons why not to like Polanski or his extreme left wing party and one is his insistence that if he gets into power he'll be handing over around £20,000 a year to illegal migrants. That's taxpayers money to ILLEGAL migrants (that's the phrase people keep forgetting, they're illegal!). But then they do say that crime pays. He's also planning on getting rid of the so-called Triple Lock on the state pension, what a bastard! So no, the Greens won't get my vote and that makes me wonder who I should vote for other than the Labour Party. It's not as if they've been behaving themselves is it? The most recent debacle being the appointment of Peter Mandelson to the post of US ambassador in Washington. Now, the thing here is this: I could have told him not to put Mandelson in that job, even I knew that the man was not to be trusted. He's been forced to resign from Government before and now his rather unsavoury links with convicted paedo Epstein have been revealed (along with photographs of Mandelson in his pants - even more unsavoury!) and he's been sent packing from his new post and is now facing police investigations, just like Andrew Mountbatten Windsor who has been stripped of his royal titles.

I think the galling thing about Windsor and Mandelson is that everybody knows they are both above the law and will not be going to jail anytime soon. Windsor is definitely protected by the establishment and I'm guessing that they won't prosecute 'Mandy' because that would mean they would have to prosecute Windsor who, I hasten to add, has not admitted to any wrongdoing. The media has to say that so I thought I would too, but the whole thing is very suspect and phrases like 'there's no smoke without fire' spring to mind. Prosecution ain't happening, let's leave it there...leaving the country in a strange place with its system of two-tier justice that is annoying the hell out of ordinary people. A lot of people want to know why Windsor paid Virginia Guiffre £12 million. There is, of course, no answer and I'm guessing that the Royal Family is hoping the whole thing will go away and then, one day, we'll hear that Windsor has left the country and is living somewhere in the Middle East from where he won't be expected to testify in the USA.

But there's much more. Shoplifting is rife and the supermarkets have taken to sacking their own staff rather than prosecute an actual shoplifter and if a security guard as much as tackles a shoplifter he will find himself unemployed, it's just not right. Are shoplifters also above the law? It looks as if they are, and I'm convinced that if I went to my local supermarket and tried to steal a can of baked beans I would be jailed for life. In the UK, if you are in the wrong, then you are protected. The aggressor gets off scot-free.

Throw in a liberal sprinkling of anti-semitism, add a large helping of Donald Trump and his ridiculous and ill-thought-through invasion of Iran, and you have the perfect storm. I don't know for sure, but I've heard that Trump is losing support at home and it can only get worse for him if oil prices at the pump continue to rise as they have been and other problems arise like shortages of critical drugs for conditions such as high blood pressure and diabetes. It's all out there, folks, and we need a whole bunch of decent politicians before we're going to get anywhere near a decent future for our young people. The big question is: where are they?

Lastly, everything these days is a performance and a lot of the performances are there to cover up the Epstein stories and, of course, the wrongdoing of politicians the world over. Note how there's been nothing about the Epstein files ever since Trump and Netanyahu invaded Iran. Notice also that Starmer has 'got off' too, his incompetence over Mandelson going unpunished... so far. It all makes me wonder what was discussed over dinner at the White House. Did it go something like, "Well, your Royal Trumpness, I think your invasion of Iran seems to have done the trick, nobody's talking about Andrew anymore." Who knows? But now Trump has to withdraw without losing face and quick.

This and that...

At the Lookout Cafe, Biggin Hill, Kent

Last week I rode 60 miles, two 21-milers and 18 miles during the week, not bad going, I thought. The two longer rides were both to Biggin Hill, which is a funny old place. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's certainly the home of 'white van man' and there are plenty of England flags on lamposts, but that's not really it, there's something else and whatever it is, it depresses me, it always has. Riding up Sunningvale Road was tough, easily the steepest hill I've climbed. On the first take, I lost momentum because the gears weren't lined up properly. In other words I was in the wrong gear and had to dismount and start again. At one point the chain came off on the first ride, but I was a little more prepared on the second ride and managed to get all the way to the top even if I was half dead when I got there. I cycled across the road to the Lookout Cafe, which was right on the airport, almost on the tarmac. Next door there was a flying school and no, I didn't even think about it. 

The Lookout cafe is ok but again, it lacks something, there's no atmosphere, but the place itself is good, there's a decent menu, you can order toasted crumpets, for example, there are plenty of cakes too, but I'd advise you not to have the 'farmhouse fruit cake', its far too greasy and left a greasy residue on my plate. I ordered it on the first trip out and left half of it, but on the second trip I bought a London cheesecake and I love London cheesecakes. When I was a kid I referred to London cheesecakes as 'whisker cakes' because of the shredded icing on top. They remind me of being a kid and they are really good cakes, but I was glad, after eating it, that I had a good 10 miles of riding to do. You need something to burn the calories after eating a 'whisker cake'.

On my first trip to the Lookout, it was packed and I couldn't figure out why the people were there: were they going to have flying lessons, were they flying off somewhere, were they airplane spotting or, like me, were they just there for the cake and the tea? Without asking them, there was no way of knowing. 

Light aircraft behind barbed wire at Biggin Hill, Kent...

On the second trip, I met Andy. It was his idea that we visit the Lookout and I'm glad we did as the ride to Biggin Hill, especially coming up Sunningvale Road, made the trip a proper work-out even if Sunningdale was the most punishing hill I'd ever climbed, even more of an ordeal than White Hill Lane on the way home from Redhill to my house. I think if I go back at the weekend, which I might, there's a strong chance I'll go up Stock Hill (or is it Stocks Hill?) as, for some reason it's psychologically better for me; I get this way sometimes, it's a bit the ride to Godstone when we go through the golf course, there's a bit I simply don't like and I can't put my finger on why, it just depresses me in some way. While Stocks Hill is fine, Sunningvale isn't and there's no rhyme nor reason for it.

I like a decent cafe, mainly because I like to sit there reading a book and sipping a mug of tea. The pastry or the cake is a bridge too far and I always feel disappointed in myself if I weaken, which I often do, especially if I find myself in Coughlans in Oxted, all those delicious-looking cakes staring at me, it's hard not to order one. But that's because I'm weak, I can't leave them alone however much I try and believe me I try, but not hard enough. I tend not to eat cake in Sheree's in Tatsfield, where a cup of tea will suffice, but everywhere else I'm tempted.

I try not to eat cake but last week I enjoyed a carrot cake in Busy Beans in Redhill. At least it's a carrot cake that has real carrots in it, I don't think carrot cakes elsewhere are like that; and yet, oddly, it's the thought of a cake with carrots in it that puts me off carrot cake. There's a big difference between cakes and pastries and normally, if I'm sitting in Caffe Nero in Oxted, I order the apricot croissant, sometimes an almond croissant, but in all honesty, the best place for the latter is Coco & Nut in Sanderstead, it's the filling, it's to die for. In Coughlans I often opt for the Bakewell tart and elsewhere anything goes unless I'm in Costa where I'm tempted to eat their rather processed version of the Bakewell tart. For me, the biggest sin is the millionaire's shortbread. Whenever I have one I regret it in the same way that I regret ordering tiramisu for dessert in a restaurant. Where eating is concerned I tend to regret a lot. The other day I found myself in the village of Graffham in West Sussex, I'd driven out of nearby Petworth and found a general store. In I went and found that they offered food. I ordered a sausage sandwich, another mistake and even more so when they fill the thing with half a dozen sausages sliced in half long ways. I munched my way through layers of sliced sausage, enjoying every bit of it but also regretting it. I've kind of given up on being frugal with food and this has been going on since the pandemic, although I'm getting better. We tend to eat well and by that I don't mean we stuff our faces. The food in our house is light and healthy and my breakfasts are always on the money: porridge with cacao powder and milled flaxseeds, a few grapes and a segmented orange. If I'm going to let myself down it's at lunch time. Normally, if I take sandwiches (egg, or egg and avocado or turkey slices off the bone with mustard pickle) I might wander over to Busy Beans and order a tea and a slice of their aforementioned carrot cake. In fact, of late, they've added a coffee and walnut cake, which is pleasant. 

This week I haven't been on the bike as much as last week. Sometimes I just don't feel motivated enough, it's weird. Last week I was up for it every night after work, Wednesday through Friday, and then the aforementioned Biggin Hill rides. I think it was the weather. There was spring sunshine and it put a spring in my step too. This week I did nothing. Tomorrow will be my first ride, probably Oxted or Westerham depending on how I'm feeling, or the non-stop ride, who knows? Not me. Not yet at any rate, it all depends on tomorrow.

Work has been a bit stressful of late, so I took a half day today and went into town, Battersea Power Station to be precise. I bought a pair of trainers and what a palaver it was too. Not today so much as I'd learned my lesson from the previous weekend, the weekend when my week totted up to 60 miles of riding. 

I hate buying clothes and shoes

I don't know about you, but I really don't like buying clothes, that's probably why I always end up walking out of the store with the wrong-sized trousers or shoes that should be bigger or smaller than what I bought. I always look a bit of a mess. Last week I drove to Bluewater to look for a decent pair of trainers. It all started three years ago when I purchased (from Clarks) a pair of ATL boots made with Gore Tex. They were great and, give or take, I wore them every day for around three years. Recently, I noticed that they were starting to wear through so I figured it was time to go looking for a new pair of shoes. What I really wanted was the same pair of ATLs that I was replacing, but Clarks no longer sold them and it was impossible to get them anywhere else. The key to the ATL's success was the soles, especially the upturned bit at the heel, but it was all academic, Clarks didn't sell them and nor did anybody else. So, I figured a decent pair of trainers would be the next best thing, something understated enough for use at work. But would a pair of trainers do the job? Would I be wearing them for the next three years, daily? I thought not, but I decided to take the gamble and give it a go; it was just a case of getting out there and buying the right pair. Fine, you might think. I know my size (size 44) so it should be a doddle. But no, it wasn't. For a start, when I tried on a size 44 it didn't fit. Why? That's my size! But no, I'd have to try on a half-size bigger. Fine, so I'm 10.5, not 10, when it comes to trainers. I found myself in a shop called Snow and Ice and, for the first time ever, I found the best salesperson... IN THE WORLD! She said she had my interests at heart. Yeah, right, but ultimately, I think she did. She scanned my feet and to my surprise I wasn't a size 10 (44), I was, according to the machine, a size 9! That simply can't be true. If I try on a size 44 and they're too small, I'm definitely not a size 9. In fact I know I'm not a 9 (43) because none of the shoes I have ever worn were size 9, my feet are too big for a size 9, end of. And now it looks as if I'm not a size 10 either, I'm a size 10.5, when it comes to trainers at any rate. My brain was frazzled by the end of the day, probably because of all that cycling, and I left Bluewater with nothing. All I knew was that if I wanted a pair of trainers I was a half-size up on my normal shoe size. I am now, a week later, the proud owner of a pair of Adidas trainers, they're black and they're Gore Tex but whether they last as long as those ATLs, well, I'm sceptical. But think about it for a minute. I have my feet scanned and they tell me I'm a size 9, not 10, which ain't true. I'll say no more. 

After one ride to Biggin Hill and a drive to and from Bluewater, not forgetting the wandering around trying to find a decent pair of trainers, I think I tired myself out if I'm honest with you; I felt so weary. The thing is, I can't do everything, I'm not Superman. I rode 60 miles on the bike, drove all the way to Bluewater shopping centre and then, when I got back I lifted sections of a rotten tree trunk into the back of the car and took them to the dump. I was knackered basically. This week my workload has been less and that makes me more likely to get out on the bike. The trick is to be motivated enough to go early and not to forget things and have to come back, that's always very annoying, but it happens to me a lot, mainly because I've always got loads of things on my mind. I often leave without my rucksack, which I need if I ride the Kona as it doesn't have a crossbar bag in which to carry a pump and puncture equipment. The problem, of course, is if I take the rucksack with pumps and puncture kit one week because I'm on the Kona, I then take the other bike out the following week and forget that I don't have a pump or puncture gear in the crossbar bag. Sometimes I go back for it; most days I do, but sometimes I don't realise until it's too late and I end up gambling. Yes, there's a good chance I won't get a puncture, but if I do and I'm miles away from home and nowhere near a railway station then I'll have to walk and believe me, it takes forever, pushing a bike 10 miles takes hours which in turn ruins/wastes the day. So I have to get my shit together or at least remember what's where and when: if the Kona's coming out to play I need to take the rucksack with all the gear in it; if it's not and I use the Rockhopper then I must ensure that the pump and other stuff is in the crossbar bag. I often put a beanie hat on and then forget to put on my crash helmut. Whenever this happens I return to get it unless I've gone too far before I realise and then I just carry on (it's rare that that happens).

It's nice going shopping during the week when there's nobody around, less people, no queuing for the toilet, the restaurants have vacant seats and so do the trains unless you leave it until rush hour. Because we were all too tired to cook I went out and bought a few things (pasta, a vegetable samosa and other stuff that would be needed during the week). I bought a tin of Nutella. I'm sure it's not that good for you but if I'm determined to take a sandwich to work (and save money) sometimes it's good to have something like Nutella hanging around as it's easy to spread and I'm good to go. The downside is that it's great and that means it's addictive and even now I'm thinking about a Nutella sandwich, but I think I can resist.

I'm obsessed with Pellegrino sparkling mineral water, I could drink it all day and all night. I normally have a glass first thing in the morning with my breakfast and then another when I get home from work. I've always liked sparkling water. I remember drinking a lot of Badoit back in the day and now that I don't drink alcohol, it's been over eight years, it's a drink I can enjoy both inside and outside the house. Incidentally, on the not drinking thing, I don't miss it, never have, not once, and I'll never ever go back to beer or wine or anything. It is a poison, remember, and poisons don't do anybody any good. I just don't need it anymore, that's the key thing. I gave up overnight back in October 2017 and I haven't touched a drop since. In that way I have great willpower, but when I think about it, I didn't need willpower, I just stopped and never went back. It's one of the best things I've ever done outside of marrying my wife and having a son and a daughter. I often wish I'd stopped earlier, I'd have probably been a better person, who knows? Was I such a bad person? No, I wasn't. A bit boisterous on occasion, made a fool of myself here and there, got a bit of reputation, but now it's all gone, the whole damn lot of it. No hangovers, not many late nights, and I suppose that makes me a more sensible person. 

It's almost 2100hrs, 9 o'clock in old money, and I'm going to be moving to the conservatory to read. I've got two books on the go at present: Charles Bukowski's Ham on Rye (what a brilliant book!) and Geddy Lee's My Effin Life, also an absolutely brilliant book. I'm really obsessed with Rush at the moment. I've been watching interviews on YouTube, I know all about them touring the UK next year (I'm guessing they'll be at Glastonbury and if they are, I'd be tempted to go). Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson are great people, I envy their friendship and I like the fact that they're not rock and roll casuaautiful Booklties. One of these days I'm planning a post dedicated to them. I really want to buy Geddy's  Big Beautiful Book of Bass, it's a coffee table book and I must get it soon. Geddy Lee is a collector, he collects bass guitars and baseballs and he is the lead vocalist and bassist for Rush and they're a great band, enriched by Geddy and Alex's friendship. I won't go on now, I want to write something a little more meaningful and that takes time. Right now I'm too tired and I need to be in the conservatory reading, it's a new routine. Normally I don't read that much at home, I leave it for train journeys, plane journeys and sitting in cafes (my favourite place to read and write). I'm going now, see you again soon I hope.

Another one-ride weekend...

Good Friday? Why is it so called? Well, it's good to be off on a Friday and that's a fact and it's even better when there's a bank holiday Monday after the weekend. So, if you're like me, certainly at the moment, you slob about doing nothing; and I'll admit, I've done nothing all morning despite the fact that I promised myself a walk. It's now, what, almost 1300hrs and I've been swanning about, not even that, I've been slobbing and I've just eaten a turkey roll with mustard. Very tasty. Sitting around, chilling, chatting, doing bugger all but with that constant fret that perhaps I should have done something, gone for that walk, taken the bike out, I don't know, in fact, now I come to think about it, I have a puncture that needs fixing and I need to get out there and fix it. But no, I didn't bother and when you consider it's a front wheel puncture (no way as difficult as a rear wheel puncture, then you'll wonder why the hell I didn't just get out there and do it. Unfortunately, I don't have an answer.

On Saturday morning I felt that I needed to get out there and fix the puncture. My original plan was to get out there early, around 0700hrs, but I had a late night and I woke up late and, well, I didn't do it until later in the morning. Andy had reminded me on Friday that we'd talked about meeting in Oxted, at 0830hrs and that he only had a window of half an hour before he had to go somewhere. I figured it wasn't going to work and at around midnight I texted him to say I'd probably go later in the day. Sadly, I didn't (in true slob fashion) but I was out there doing the puncture around 0900 and had I fixed it in time I might have gone out for a ride to Oxted. In fact, I wanted to ride to Oxted, I needed to be sitting in a coffee shop reading for half an hour ahead of a ride up Titsey Hill and that feeling of achievement I always get when I reach the top. But no, and there were things to do. A fortnight ago I pulled out a dead tree from the top of the garden. On Saturday morning it was still there and the thought of going out there and sawing it all into small logs was, to say the least, daunting. But guess what? I did go out there and I did chop it all into logs and now there are little piles of wood waiting to leave the premises. 

But how about discussing that puncture? Rather annoyingly it took a long time. The tyre immediately sprung off the wheel and the inner tube was tucked inside. I pulled it out, forced the valve through and off the wheel and then set about finding the puncture. It was fairly easy and I didn't need a bowl of water or anything of that sort. I fixed the problem and then set about getting the tyre back on the wheel, which seemed like an impossible task as it appeared to be far bigger than the wheel. Eventually I did it and then I set about what I hoped would be an easy task: putting the front wheel back on the bike. It normally is a piece of cake but for some reason it wasn't going to be easy; the problem was securing the wheel to the bike. As I turned the nuts and the quick-release lever I found that, when secure, the wheel itself would not spin freely. The quick-release lever acted as a kind of brake and the wheel would only be free-wheeling if it was barely securing the wheel to the bike. I messed around for a little while and then called Cycle King. I rode the bike with the wheel barely attached to the frame, a feather flick of the quick release lever would have detached the wheel from the bike. When I reached the shop, the guy fixed it within seconds, it was all to do with the brake pads, I don't know, I was just glad it was fixed. I then spent a huge amount of time chatting to the guy about bikes and it was great. Cycle King has an extremely wide range of bikes from low-end Ammaco and Salcano bicycles through to GTs and Raleighs and other brands. For the sort of riding , I do, any of the bikes in the store would do, be it with block brakes or hydraulics. I took a look at 'adventure' bikes, they have many other names and are basically dropped bar bicycles with nobbly tyres. I've never been comfortable with dropped bar bikes and I doubt I'll ever have one, but it's good to look at these machines. Salcano, incidentally, while known for their 'entry level' bikes, also go right to the top-of-the-scale. I was shown a decent mountain bike and yes, I would buy one, it was certainly a million times better than the bikes I own. There was also a new brand, HARO, that I hadn't seen before and that was very nice, a mountain bike, top of the range, not electric but still over £3,000.

I could have stayed there all day chatting about bikes, but I had to get back so I rode home on the fixed bike. 

It was too late to ride to Oxted so I decided to get my exercise in the garden, sawing wood. It took all day and it was hard work, but I did it and, as I said earlier, there are neat piles of wood and logs in the garden awaiting transport to the local dump.

And now it's Easter Sunday and no, I'm not riding today either. Why? Big event up town and I can't wait but the last thing I want is to be stuck in the sticks with a puncture and unable to get back in time. I'll be going tomorrow, most likely to Westerham. 

I'll sign off.

More meaningless words...

Last weekend, I broke the pattern of just one ride per week. That said, the week before I didn't ride anywhere. I might have said this before, but things conspire against me and I end up not riding and it's not just the weather, it's everything from chores around the house to not having charged my phone enough before heading out to having to do something or go somewhere. And worst of all things, my own underlying laziness that simply makes me eat something and sit around rather than hit the road. But then, let's not forget the weather, which hasn't been good; it's only been the last week, possibly the last fortnight, that the weather has improved.

I did feel ashamed, but I couldn't be bothered to fix the puncture

Last Saturday the plan had been to ride to Oxted, do my usual thing, like reading whatever novel I'm reading and drinking a cup of tea, and then heading home, but when I reached Limpsfield I noticed a wobble and yes, I had a puncture. The problem was that there were plans to do things and I didn't want to disappoint people so instead of doing what I should have done (fix the puncture and then ride home) I decided to be lazy instead and get the train home (£5.20). I felt awful because it was cheating and while I didn't exactly miss the uphill ride on Titsey Hill, there was a little bit of relief knowing that I wasn't going to do it. The only good thing was that I found a coffee shop (an independent) right by the entrance to the station and it looked like my kind of place. Perhaps I'll go back there on Saturday... but not until I fix last Saturday's puncture, it's on the front wheel, so far less hassle than the rear one and I should have done it but never got round to it.

One of the things stopping me riding has been the garden. The grass was in need of a cut, the first cut of the year, and it wasn't easy. I did the rear garden the week before last and the front lawn last week, but for the rear lawn I forfeited a ride and that was the weekend of no cycling. But! There's always a but. I got a lot of exercise not only mowing the lawn but taking out a dead tree which sits at the top of the garden as I write this. This coming weekend (today's Wednesday) I'll go out there and cut up the tree into logs and then I'll use those logs in a fire pit on the patio. I haven't bought it yet, but I plan to and then I'm going to sit outside in the early evening, burning a few logs and chilling as the night sets in. Or maybe not, it all depends on the weather and let's not forget that we're almost in April and that means 'April showers'.

While I took the train home last Saturday, I did manage two rides. Yes, the first ride was around nine miles on the outward journey to Oxted, on Sunday I rode to Tatsfield village to meet Andy, so I got out on both days and also mowed the front lawn (for the first time this year). One great piece of exercise, by the way, is lawn raking. I'll be doing some raking this coming weekend as the gardening doesn't stop until November. I normally stop in October but my neighbour said he always gives a last cut in November because it makes things easier when the cutting season comes around again.

I'm still not doing things and by that I'm saying that I keep meaning to do this and that but I never get around to it and I need to kick myself into gear. If I sit in a chair in front of the television I get cosy and sometimes I nod off and miss whatever I was intending to watch on the box. I've also got to stop eating marmalade. Yes, I'm back on it. I'm on my third, possibly even my fourth consecutive jar. I had planned to stop after the last jar, but a trip to a place called Graffham in West Sussex led me to a store that sold marmalade and I'm a sucker for traditional marmalade, you know the sort of thing, the gingham cloth covering the lid. I love it, but buying another jar set me on the road of having a couple of slices of toast and marmalade for breakfast every morning plus another couple of slices when I return from work. So, when my current jar expires, that's it unless I feel so demotivated that I feel tempted to buy another one. Comfort shopping, that's what it is.

This evening I read an article about the benefits of walking so I'm going to ramp up my walking. I used to walk a lot at work and recently I have started walking to Merstham from Redhill (it's around two miles). I might start walking 5km at lunch time and then the two-mile jaunt in the evening, every evening. And what about swimming? Well, I've not gotten round to that either and I need to and soon. Trust me, it's going to happen sooner or later. Sooner I hope. I think the key with exercise is to build it into your daily schedule. We'll see how things go.

What am I reading right now? Charles Bukowski. I started with Post Office and now I'm reading Ham on Rye I loved Post Office and I note that Bukowski wrote a book on writing, called On Writing. Will it be better that Stephen King's book of the same name? Who knows? One thing I will say is that I love books about writing written by writers. Consider This by Chuck Palaniuk is brilliant but there was one by Murakami that I really didn't like as he never really answered the big questions and I hated that. 

It's getting late, 22.23hrs to be precise and something else I mean to do is go to bed early. I messed up last night and possibly the night before too, but I've got to get into bed around 2230hrs, something I'm not going to do tonight by the looks of things, but then I can have a later start tomorrow as I'll be working from home, no commuting, so all should be well. I'm planning an early walk before work too as I want to get more steps in. 

Gotta go!

Non-stop ride, approximately 15 miles...

I'm trying to break a cycle of just one ride per week. The world keeps conspiring against me, which is annoying. I was out yesterday (Saturday 14th March). I rode to where? Nowhere! I rode towards and then past Botley Hill, then hung a right on to The Ridge and followed the road round into Woldingham and then down Slines Oak Road towards that steep bit of the same road that leads up to the 269. A 15-miler, not bad and, as I say, non-stop. I don't know, I was hoping to ride to Oxted but, in all honesty and while I know the whole thing is psychological (see last post) I just didn't fancy riding up Titsey Hill. Also, for some reason, I didn't want to be away from home for too long. There were things to do and I felt a little guilty about being out on the bike. I shouldn't feel that way and generally speaking I don't, but I felt I ought to get back and do things, boring things like taking old paint tins to the dump.Then a trip to Sevenoaks and, of course, that means going to Gail's and despite saying no more cakes, I had one of those tiny ones with pink icing. The tea in Gail's is excellent because it's made in one of those teapots with a built-in infuser, like the ones in Biscuit Love in Nashville. The pots in Gail's are small, though, and you just about get two cups. I checked out the bookshop and found two books I'd like to read, one being a book about the band Simple Minds. I was never into them at all, but the book seems interesting. Trouble was it was £25 and right now we can't afford to over spend so I left it behind and likewise a book about stoics and stoicism. I'm almost a stoic, but not quite. The reason I shrug my shoulders is because I simply can't be bothered, not because I don't care of whatever being a stoic means. It's about shrugging one's shoulders, but I don't really know and that's why I'd like to buy the book.

Those pink iced cakes in Gail's.

Sunday rolled around and I almost forgot it was Mother's Day, which means everything stops and things need to be arranged; instead of cycling I drove over to Sutton to see my mum, listening to Moving Pictures by Rush (a great album). Normally, having been in the home, I feel depressed when I leave and so I can't really listen to music. I don't know, I need to spend time realising how lucky I am and also how I need to tackle that list I keep talking about, I need to act basically (not acting, I'd make a terrible thespian) but acting in the sense that I need to tick things off my list, but first I have to write the bloody thing. I suppose I should be writing it now instead of doing this blog, but hey ho! Perhaps that what being a stoic is all about, saying 'hey ho' every now and then. 

"Damn! The local leisure centre has fallen into a sink hole! I won't be able to go swimming!"

"Hey ho!"

That's it, the ability to say 'hey ho!' rather than fret and get uptight. I don't know, I'll have to read that book and that's a fact. And the one about Simple Minds even if I've never been a fan. But I've got Geddy Lee's book to read and somebody left me a copy of The Drought by JG Ballard. I need more bookshelves and that's a fact. The Simple Minds book is called Our Secrets are the Same and it's written by Jim Kerr and Charlie Burchill with some help from Graeme Thomson. I will be reading it, of that you know. 

My pink iced cake!

It's Sunday night, almost 2100hrs and I've checked a load of unchecked lottery tickets. I haven't won anything, not even a tenner. I buy lottery tickets and then don't check them for at least three months and then, when I do, there's a bit of excitement in the air, perhaps I've been holding on to the winning ticket for all these weeks, but no, I wasn't and I never will. 

Have I ever mentioned my love of Pellegrino mineral water? No? I love it and I have one large glass left in the bottle, hold on while I go and fill my glass...well, perhaps not a full glass, but enough. I'm watching a YouTube video of this guy who's parents died and decided to buy a crofters cottage in a desolate part of Scotland. He has a cat and chickens and he's slowly doing things around the place, like taking down a car port, making a home for his rescue chickens and so on. It's great and so is the music that accompanies each video. I love videos of this nature, they're cosy and that's what I need at the moment, cosyness. I'm also still obsessed with the band Rush as they're going to be touring the UK in 2027. I'm guessing they'll be doing Glastonbury too. I'd love to go see them, I really would. Oh yes, and I still haven't bought my guitar.

One of two books I need to read!

The weather, incidentally, was wonderful yesterday. The sun was out and I felt nostalgic. I started to wish I had a flask of hot water and a couple of tea bags plus, perhaps, some Belvita biscuits. Had I been so equipped I would have headed for the Tatsfield Churchyard or somewhere else out in the open. Riding along The Ridge I spotted a fallen tree in the woods to my left and that would have been ideal as a stopping point. I might investigate buying another flask as I'm sure yesterday's weather will, at some stage soon, repeat itself.

Perhaps next week I'll manage a two-ride weekend, here's hoping. I'm also hoping that the weather next weekend will be as good as it was yesterday. If it is, I might well buy a flask and bask in the sunshine watching the world go by. But then again, I might end up in Caffe Nero or Starbucks or even Costa Coffee. Who knows?

Saturday morning ride to Oxted...

Cloud but not rain. I'd checked the iphone's weather app and there was zero per cent chance. It was Saturday 7th March and while there was a mild, fine spitting of rain that left me damp but not soaked I definitely went out and my intention was to ride to Oxted and come back up Titsey Hill. The ride is pretty standard: up Church Way and then the B269 to Botley Hill before heading down Titsey Hill and riding through the Oxted suburbs towards the High Street.

Heading towards Clarks Lane from Tatsfield village, 7/3/26.

Usually I find myself in Caffe Nero with a cup of tea and an apricot croissant, but it was crowded and sometimes I just don't fancy it. I moseyed down the High Street and while I considered Costa and Starbucks, I settled on Coughlan's where the cakes looked a little brighter even if the tea could, on occasion be a little suspect. But not today! The tea and the Bakewell tart were both fantastic.

I sat and read Remind Me to Smile by Martin Downham, a truly amazing, feelgood book about the author's early life mixed in with memories of the early career of Gary Numan. I'd like to think that Numan has read the book and that if he hasn't he really ought to get on Amazon and order a copy. It's a truly great book.

I swanned around Oxted for a short while and then headed for Titsey Hill wishing I'd cycled to Westerham instead but telling myself that the horror of Titsey Hill was all in the mind, it wasn't that bad, especially once you passed White Lane on the right. I was, of course, right, and when I reached Botley Hill a sense of relief washed over me as I realised I'd done it and all that was left was the 269 where, incidentally, there was a lot of fog, so much that I used the off-road track all the way to Beech Farm Road where I turned right and followed the road to Washpond Lane where I turned left and then right on to Ledgers Road before turning left on Church Lane and following the road round to the mini roundabout outside of Warlingham Sainsbury's. Not long to go now, I thought, and soon enough I reached home but not before I'd nipped in to Waitrose in Sanderstead to buy some food for lunch. I was running late because I'd left the house late, but it didn't matter as we were all confined to the house. We were having work done, a new bathroom no less, and that meant that somebody had to be around. 

After a brief snack I headed to the municipal dump with an old hose pipe and also a bag of clothes that I was planning to take to a nearby charity shop and once those jobs were done there was little to do other than slob around, watch a bit of TV and then have dinner before more television. I need to sort out this aspect of my life and perhaps read a little more when I'm home. Currently, I'm reading a lot on trains and in cafes.

On Sunday a drive over to Virginia Water to see pals and then a week at work, or rather three days in the office and then (as of tomorrow) two days working from home. 

I've been walking from Redhill to Merstham all week, it's roughly 2.10 miles and takes around 40 minutes and I intend to keep it up as the weather starts to improve. I've even thought about riding to work on one of my three days in the office, but not just yet, possibly after the clocks go forward in a couple of weeks.