Sunday 25 April 2010 – to Godstone Green (and back)

Despite the weather forecasters saying that today would be a right pain in the arse for London Marathon runners, it's turned out to be ideal running weather. Unlike yesterday's hot sunshine, this morning was overcast as Andy and I met up at Warlingham Green. Just prior to our meeting I'd been stopped by the police, not for committing any crime, but because I was riding past a crime scene. A house on the Limpsfield Road had been the subject of an arson attack, a policeman told me. The road had been closed but I was still able to pass even if I did have to give my name and address. Not a problem. The copper said it was a crime scene, hence the name-taking, and that there'd been an arson attack. This could mean people were killed, but who knows?

This photograph of Godstone gives you some idea of
the grey and overcast morning we were having. Andy
was planning on a barbecue this evening – not anymore!

Anyway, onwards, forever onwards and soon Andy and I were chatting on Warlingham Green working out where to cycle to today; we decided that it had to be Godstone Green and off we went, the usual route down Slines Oak Road and then through the urban hell that is Woldingham. Down Gangers Hill like yesterday, we soon found ourselves near the church in Godstone where we took a right turn down a dirt track on the other side of Bay Pond, ending up in quiet suburban streets and then the Green itself.

It started to rain so we made our way across the green to some shelter near a lonely and deserted children's playground and stood there sipping tea and munching on our cereal bars watching the rain.

The main topic of conversation today was that men don't like asking for directions and that it has to be something to do with the admission of defeat, ie that asking means you've lost the game. We might eventually be cajoled into asking for directions but, to be honest, as whoever tells us what we're supposed to want to hear, we are not listening, we don't want to be told, we'll find our own way.

Wife/girlfriend: "Well, what did he say?"
Bloke: "Er, yeah, it's this way. I was right all along."

And then, of course, luck either plays its part or you end up having to ask somebody else while accusing the first directions giver of being a fraudster.

Bloke: "He gave us the wrong directions deliberately, I reckon."
Wife/girlfriend: "Hmmmm..."

We let the rain ease off before donning our helmets and heading back home, this time along the original footpath running alongside Bar Pond and then left when we reached the church. The climb out of Godstone back to where Northdown Road joins The Ridge, is pretty severe, but we got there and parted company at the top of Slines Oak Road.

Rain dribbles down from a drain, what a pain, muddy
country lanes, old men with canes, the mentally insane, with
nothing to gain but varicose veins for a life in chains.

By this stage I really needed more tea and something to eat. I started thinking about the Village Café on Warlingham Green, which was open on Sunday mornings, and how I could nip in there and order scrambled egg on toast with tea. Lovely. But as it drew nearer I decided not to bother as the prospect of a bowl of porridge, two slices of toast and marmalade and a mug of tea, for nothing, at home, was a far better option.


On the way home I passed the crime scene again. The road was no longer closed but the area surrounding the house had been cordoned off and there were photographers taking shots of the burnt out house. The Fire Brigade were still there too but all I could think about was my breakfast and whether or not I should drop into Waitrose and buy some oranges.