Andy locked out of his garage and Jon turns up – in his car!

For whatever reason, I awoke this morning at 0400hrs and eventually decided to get out of bed, make a cup of tea and some bread and marmalade and check out the emails and stuff. No, I didn't look at anything dodgy, just the emails and work-related stuff and then it was time to head off to Warlingham Green.

Woodmansterne Green taken in November 2009 I think.

 I dropped Andy a text explaining how I was running about five minutes late and then, as I pedalled along Church Way there was a message from Andy. Ding! "You're on your own, I can't get into my garage." Or words to that effect. I dabbled with the idea a. of going home. b of going alone to Botley Hill or the Tatsfield Bus Stop or c. calling Jon and heading over to Woodmansterne Green – for the first time this year. I opted for the latter and agreed to meet Jon around 8am.

Andy: locked out of his garage, he aborted.

Jon: ignore that bike, today he drove to Woodmansterne!

All the way there I took it easy and when I reached the Green and sat down on Jean Merrington's memorial bench, I awaited Jon's arrival. Out came the tea and, as I sat there, I noticed Jon over at the newsagent's  clasping the Saturday edition of the Times. Where, I wondered, was his bike? He'd been trying to reach me on my mobile, unaware that it had run out of power (so I couldn't take any photographs as I didn't have the camera with me).

He'd come by car! What a cheek! First Andy can't get into his garage and then Jon turns up on four wheels. His excuse? He had a slow puncture – that had gone flat – and his pump had broken.

I didn't matter. We strolled around chatting about this and that and then I cycled home while he drove. Still, I got the exercise, although my bike is need of repair: no rear brake, a rusty chain, the gears are buggered, so all-in-all it's a bit dangerous, but I can handle it. Of course, when I reached West Hill I walked up, miles to too steep at the Sanderstead Road end to climb with wonky gears.

Home at 0945, I mowed the lawn, ate lunch in the garden under an umbrella – it was positively balmy, to coin an Andy Smith phrase, drank a bottle of Alhambra, a Spanish beer, and then kicked a football around, vacuumed out the inside of the car and went to see mum and dad.

Dad's still got his awful moustache. I might have mentioned it before: it's green, or some kind of funny colour. As I said to Jon this morning, it looks like an old woman's minge. Horrible! Dad's not on-line, so he won't read this, otherwise I'd say, "Dad! Shave it off!"