To Westerham!

Having returned late from Vienna on Friday night I decided to abort the Saturday ride. Andy rode to Godstone Green alone while I lazed around at home. On Sunday I was up around 0600hrs and an hour later I was out and heading for Warlingham Green.

Westerham around 0800hrs, Sunday 4th September 2016

"Westerham?"

Why not? So off we went. We made it in 30 minutes from the green, not bad going, and sat down at the wooden table to enjoy our tea and biscuits while we chatted about a programme Andy had watched on the Discovery Channel. A guy with a beard cycled around the UK coastline from Devon to Scarborough on a bike made out of bamboo and then he jogged from Scarborough to Brighton before swimming in the sea back towards Devon, making a complete circle of the country. But there were issues with the bike. He'd decided to ship over a bike made of bamboo in Asia with a view to being right on and saving the planet, but Andy figured it was a silly idea. For a start the bike had some kind of malfunction: the wheels were out of alignment, but he still rode it all the way around the country, clockwise, to Scarborough. Andy said he'd have been saving the planet more if he'd not had the bike shipped halfway across the world and burning all those fossil fuels in the process. He had a point. Why didn't he go to Evan's Cycles, get himself a top-of-the-range hybrid, like my Specialized Crosstrail Sport Disc, and ride that instead?

I wanted to watch the programme and hoped upon hope that it was on terrestrial TV, but it wasn't, it was on the Discovery Channel, Andy later texted me.

A big fat bloke dressed in Lycra arrived in a huge black van from which he took a racing bike and joined a group of cyclists congregating outside the Westerham Cyclery. "Some people eat more than they exercise," I said, munching a Belvita biscuit.

The weather was good, although we thought we might get rained on, but we didn't. On the return ride we noticed that the hay bales had gone, the ones we used in the post about summer leaving the building. Summer really is fading fast, we're now in September and while it's still tee-shirts and no gloves weather, the rain and the wind and the sleet and the snow will soon be heading our way. When we reached the 269 there was a blustery wind blowing, but it didn't stop us racing the length of the road before slowing as we hit the Limpsfield Road and suburbia. Alright, a slight exaggeration: we just overtook each other occasionally, nothing fancy, but it was good fun and now that I've got a lighter bike, it feels good.

We're on for a ride next week, both days hopefully, and we parted company on that note. I rode further down the Limpsfield Road, down Church Way and home.

I don't like 'temporary'...

"Let's talk about our favourite things," she said as we walked along the street. It was a pleasant afternoon, late in the day, and on the verge of creeping twilight.
"Yes, okay," said I, sauntering along the path, wearing the same clothes I'd worn earlier in the day when I rode to Westerham with Andy. I can be quite slobby at the weekends.
"I like it when it's winter time and we're watching one of those American movies that seem to go on all afternoon," she said.
"With some cake, don't forget."
"Yes, definitely with some cake, and it's raining. Remember that day when we walked to the supermarket in the rain when we didn't have a car?"
I did remember. It's an uphill walk on the way out and a downhill stroll on the return journey and it happens now and then, like when it snows and the car's stuck on the drive or when, for some reason, we don't have a car because it's in for repairs.
"I like flying too, especially the take-off," she said.
"I like settling in to a long haul flight," I said. "The meal's arrived, I've got one of those small bottles of red wine and there's about five or six hours to go."

Image: LaurenoLauren

"Clean sheets. I like getting into bed when there's clean sheets," she said, and I remembered my childhood.
"When I was a kid I used to like Monday nights – or maybe it was Sunday – when mum had washed all the bedclothes and it was the summer and we used to go to bed when it was light and the bedclothes were fresh-smelling," I said.
We turned right on to Morley and headed towards The Ridgeway and then a left on Arkwright.
"What about things we don't like?"
"Why be negative?"
"Because it's fun. I don't like British movies," she said.
"I know what you mean, but there are exceptions, although I can't think of any right now," said I.
"Chris Nighy, I don't like him," she said.
"You can't just not like somebody. You have to have a reason," I said.
"You said you don't like Jodie Foster," she said.
"Let's walk that way," I suggested, pointing in the direction of Arkwright, but not the stretch we'd just walked along; the other bit that leads down to the main road.
"I don't like Jodie Foster, but it's because I've never really liked her movies," I explained.
There was a girl in a small car sitting the wrong way around in the driver's seat.
"Wow! Now that's a nice house," said I. There was a woman inside and the house was new, possibly a new-build or a total refurb job. We passed by.
"I didn't like it," she said.
"What do you mean? It was great," I replied.
We turned into Willoughby.
"I know what I really don't like: temporary."
"Temporary?"
"Yes, you know. Like my room having no carpet, it's temporary."
"But that was your choice, you decided to take it up."
"I know, but it's still temporary."
"Yes, but you made it temporary," I said.
We headed towards Ewhurst and walked up towards Morley.
"I know what you mean about temporary. I can't stand it when somebody buys, say, a new car and then they say, 'It's okay, but I'll probably sell it next year', I find that too unsettling."
"That's what I mean," she said.
And it's true, I don't like it when people say things like that because it makes things unstable and not forever, temporary, just like she said.
"Renting, that's temporary," she said.
"Everything's temporary. Life's temporary. Where's granddad Gerald gone, for example?"
"What about gardening? That's temporary; you mow the lawn but it grows back."
"That's not temporary, that's a whole different argument, that's all about the futility of gardening. Take our house, we've been there 18 years and I mow the lawn every fortnight and yes, the grass grows back, but the garden's still the same garden, it's not temporary," I explained.
We turned on to Morley.
"Let's walk to West Hill," she suggested.
"Okay," I said and soon we were home again and it was just gone 6pm and already dark outside. The winter was coming.