To the Tatsfield bus stop... for a sausage sandwich!

It was going to be Westerham, but we all had commitments. It was, however, a special day. Phil was christening his 'new' Kona Smoke. I'm not sure how much I've said in past posts, but in a nutshell, Phil's old bike – formerly his father's Raleigh – was getting a little too old. Phil has been considering a new bike for some time, but he wasn't in any hurry.

I had a brainwave. Why doesn't he buy Dave's old Kona Smoke? Here was a perfectly decent, hardly ever used bike that was slowly rotting away in a garage in Caterham in Surrey. The last time it was on the road was in pre-blog times (pre-2009) when Dave joined Andy and I on a ride to Westerham. Sadly, there is no photographic evidence.

Saturday 11 July
Let's face it, Dave isn't really the sporty type. So I sent him a text. "Ever thought about selling your bike?" He came back with a "Why not?" I'd already asked Phil whether he'd be interested in buying Dave's bike and he said he'd happily take a look at it. A few weeks passed and then we drove over to Dave's to check out the Smoke. Phil liked it, but admitted that he needed to raise the handlebars.

A deal was done, Phil rode it back from Caterham and this weekend was the first time Phil was riding the bike with Andy and I. We rode to the Tatsfield bus stop where Phil unveiled his famous sausage sandwiches and Andy produced some chocolate chip BelVita biscuits. I served the tea and we sat around chatting in the early morning sunshine.

Phil with his Kona Smoke (left) and Andy at the bus stop

Dawes Galaxy turned up, looking unnaturally sweaty. He stopped to chew the fat and, as Phil has already observed, he didn't get off of his bike but simply stood there in front of the bus stop straddling the frame of his immaculate-looking machine. He'd already riden to the Tatsfield churchyard to see if we were there, but we told him how our family commitments prevented us from going any further than the bus stop.

We might have made the churchyard had Phil's Kona Smoke not fallen victim to a front wheel puncture only yards from our start point. We stopped on a pleasant green joining Morley Road, Arkwright Road, Church Way and Ewhurst Avenue and I called Andy to say we were delayed. But it didn't take long to get back on the road again and soon we were riding along the 269 heading south towards Botley Hill and then veering east and riding around half a mile to the bus stop.

After chewing the fat with Dawes Galaxy, who this week mentioned his diabetic brother with only two toes who lived in Cornwall, we all bade farewell to one another and rode home. Andy branched off at the Ridge while Phil and I rode back towards Sanderstead. We parted at the top of Church Way and we won't be seeing Phil for a while as he's off on his summer holidays.

I'll need to motivate myself for next weekend as Andy and Phil won't be present next Saturday.

Sunday 12th July
It was raining this morning so I didn't go out, but in all honesty it wasn't so much raining but spitting. Had I been a little more dedicated to the cause perhaps I'd have gone out early and returned before the heavens opened, but I didn't; I lolled around making plans – or thinking about – a drive to the south coast. The weather was poor; it was dribbling with rain, it was cold, breezy and overcast and there's nothing bleaker than a seaside resort in bad weather – misty, deserted Pagham beach was suitably uninspiring and an equally deserted and miserable promenade at Felpham left me feeling down and meant that a walk was out of the question. After a cup of tea in the Lobster Pot, we drove home.

The Wimbledon men's final was still on when we returned and now it's dark outside, Joanna Lumley is on the Trans-Siberia Express and I'm in the conservatory writing this post, but not for long. It's just turned 10pm and it's time to call it a day.

And the burning question is...

I used to read the Guardian on Saturday regularly and there's no reason why I'm not doing so today, just that habits change and I pick one up whenever I can, like this weekend. Fortunately for me this week's newspaper contained the Do Something supplement (with a cover image of comedian Bill Bailey standing on a paddleboard).

The Do Something supplement exists to make its readers feel guilty; guilty because they are bored enough to skim through it, looking for something to do because otherwise they would be sitting in front of the television twiddling their thumbs and wishing they'd made more of the beautiful weather on offer outside. While Serena Williams was busy winning yet another Wimbledon Ladies' Tennis Championship, the Do Something readers looked out on to unmown lawns and simply wondered. That's it, they just wondered: What the hell can we do to relieve the boredom?

Life's a beach – Joshua Sivarajah and Nero. Photo: Daily Mail

And to be fair to the Do Something supplement, it's full of bright ideas for its well-heeled, left-leaning readership, such as making their own toothpaste. Who, I wonder, is THAT bored? Who has that much time on their hands? "I know, I'll make my own toothpaste!" As the supplement points out, toothpaste is a 'doddle to make'... but the bad news is, it tastes appalling. There's even a three-step 'how to' guide on how to make appalling-tasting toothpaste. Why bother? Get a job!

But something that always catches me off guard and infuriates me no end is when somebody makes a life-changing decision and leaves everybody else with the cliffhanger question – doesn't he (or she) have a job to go to?

Joshua Sivarajah claims that the first 34 years of his life were 'fairly conformist' – university followed by a variety of jobs, including his own sales business, but when his mum suggested they move to Jakarta – or rather that she was moving to Jakarta and would he like to join her – he said yes, he'd come, but then he started to realise how he was going to miss good old Blighty and, in a nutshell, he decided, as a kind of parting gesture, to take his dog and cycle around the UK. He set off for what was going to be a seven-week jaunt, but then realised that there was no hurry. "I just needed to appreciate what was around me," he said, going on to explain that what started out as a seven-week adventure, turned into something much bigger. "I've seen and done much more than expected," he said, adding that the west coast of Scotland was particularly thrilling.

But what all these adventure-loving people forget to mention – and I'd imagine it's the burning question on most readers' lips as they sit at home wondering what's stopping them from simply jumping on a push bike and heading off around the UK with a pet – is how the hell can they afford to do it? Sivarajah talks of his outgoings being roughly £300 per month (for him and Nero, his dog).

What I want to know is this: how is he funding the journey? Alright, £300 per month so if he's away for a year, say, that's £3,600. What about his rent or his mortgage back home, what about his job, who's going to pay the bills in his absence? What about emergencies? But these questions are never addressed and the Do Something supplement's readers are left feeling a little inadequate as they know that simply dropping everything and buggering off around the world on a bike is completely out of the question for them – as it is for most people.

As for Sivarajah, he's now broadening his horizons: "We're cycling across Europe – we've visited France, Spain and Portugal so far. I never want to stop." But surely, Sivarajah, you've got to stop sometime, if only to earn some money to buy a new pair of pants?

A story in the Daily Mail quotes Sivarajah as saying, "All I have to my name is Nero, a tent, cooking stove, some clothes and some trainers," but fails to explain how he intends to fund the trip bar a cryptic mention of how he has somehow managed to secure sponsorship for his phone and gadgets so that he can post updates on a series of blogs. Eh? What does that involve? Who did he approach and what was their answer to his question, "Can you sponsor my phone?" And what about that blog? Is it making him money, from paid subscribers – or advertisers – or is it like my blog: just there, but certainly not earning any money.

One of the best books I've ever read is Mike Carter's One Man & His Bike. It's a brilliant, well-written account of Carter's two-wheeled excursion around the UK coastline. But there's one problem that always annoys me. On the back cover is the following sentence: "What would happen if you were cycling to the office and just kept on pedalling past?" Well, ultimately, you'd lose your job, be evicted from your rented accommodation or you might find your house being repossessed.

Carter's publisher wanted to convince the reader that Carter had done just that: he was cycling to work and then thought, 'sod it! I'll keep cycling'. The reality was something completely different and all I want from publishers and the media in general is honesty. Tell it how it is!

But no. Publishers simply ignore the vital questions that people really want to hear – basically, how the hell can they afford to do that?