Two trips to the Tatsfield Bus Stop – the fast way

Fast way, slow way, what difference does it make? Normally, we take the slow way so we can chat, make small talk, without the hassle of too many cars. On the fast route the cars are fast too and sometimes they do get a little close. But it's often a case of 'needs must' and this weekend just past was the first time I'd cycled twice since I went down with that awful inner ear infection I've been going on about. For the last two weeks I've only managed Sundays and I don't know why that is; probably something to do with needing a lie-in after a week at work, who knows?

The famous Tatsfield Bus Stop

Riding up Church Way, reaching the top of the hill and then sailing along the Limpsfield Road towards the green, I felt relatively fine on both Saturday and Sunday. Andy and I were both on tight schedules, with 'stuff' on our agendas, so a shortish ride – the Tatsfield Bus Stop fit the bit nicely – seemed like the best bet, and rather than ride the slow way, we opted for the 269.

Saturday was considerably colder than Sunday, but there was no frost on car windscreens. I was right to wear the balaclava, but on Sunday the weather was much warmer so I put it in my pocket and never felt the need to put it on. While Saturday was coldest, Sunday was awash with fog, thick fog, especially up on Botley Hill. Cars disappeared into the murk so I decided it might be best – being as I had no rear light – to use the off-road path and risk the very real possibility of a puncture. I've had my Specialized Rockhopper for just over a year now and since I picked it up from Evans in Gatwick, I've somehow managed to avoid a puncture. It's bad enough tempting fate and discussing the subject, but to use the 269's off-road path was inviting trouble. Fortunately, I got away with it on the outward and inward journeys. Andy stuck to the road on the outward journey, but joined me on the way back. The nice thing about 'off-road' is not having to worry about traffic, it's liberating.

I do need a rear light. I want one that's easy to fix on the bike or one that's on the back of the helmut, and preferably one that is rechargeable as the chief cause behind me not riding with a rear light is just that: the batteries fail and I end up forgetting to buy some in the local store. Besides, batteries are pricey, which also puts me off. That said, it's now Wednesday and my intention to buy batteries or, indeed, a new light, have so far been put on the back burner.

On both rides we did what we always do, and I hardly need to remind you, but just in case you've forgotten, we munch biscuits, drink tea and chat 'about this and that' while watching the Lycra monkeys as they whizz past us talking about pensions and other boring subjects while wearing tight-fitting Lycra (which doesn't look good) and ridiculously bright 'booties'. We often discuss how there must be a moment when they're about to leave the house, togged out in their Lycra, when they pass a mirror, stop, and think 'ooh, I look good' before clumping out into the cold, wearing those weird clip-on shoes Lycra monkeys wear. As for our own sartorial elegance, we don't have any. I wear an old M&S jumper under an old M&S hoody and a pair of 'utility' trousers, you know the sort of thing: loads of pockets, and my ones can be unzipped at the knee to make shorts! Add to the picture matted, uncombed hair, an unshaven face and a look that says 'just go back to bed' and you pretty much have it covered.

We're getting close to Christmas and yet I haven't really remarked on the subject in recent posts. The Christmas trees are up on Warlingham's and Westerham's greens, some people have festive decorations in their front gardens and local shopkeepers are doing their bit too, but as yet I don't feel in the mood.

It's probably worth mentioning that I haven't allowed a drop of alcohol to pass my lips since 28 October, that's 39 days (not that I'm counting). Actually, I'm not counting. In fact, I rather like not drinking as it frees me up a little to do things that alcohol prohibits, meaning I can always drive if need be. I didn't stop drinking 'because I had to' like some people, I stopped purely because I figured it best not to drink while experiencing dizzy spells. One thing led to another and now it's been almost 40 days without alcohol and, as you might expect, I'm warming to the idea of spinning this out, seeing if I can go for 12 months, seeing if it's possible simply not to drink again. I'd certainly like to have a crack at not drinking for a whole year and can't see any obstacles in my way in terms of willpower or a 'need' to drink. I certainly don't need it, I've discovered. In fact, I'm quite happy to drink peppermint tea and no-alcohol beers.

"Go on, have a half, won't do you any harm?"

This week my pal Dave was up from the New Forest so we met for a drink and a curry and I really thought I'd weaken, but I didn't. A lot of this has to do with the dizzyness. It's left me with a strong desire to spend as little time lying down as possible. Mornings are still the worse; if I'm going to feel dizzy, it's at night and in the mornings and the thought of adding a hangover, or even a mild headache, to the proceedings, fills me with dread. I've also lost that 'peer group pressure' thing. And fortunately my real friends, like Dave, don't provide the hassles I associate with other 'friends'. With the latter, a typical discourse would be as follows:

"What you drinking?"
"Nothing, I thought I'd lay off for a while."
"Not drinking? You? Bloody hell, what's the matter?"
"Nothing, just thought I'd give it a rest."
"How about a half?"
"No, thanks, just a no-alcohol beer will do."
"Go on, have a half, won't do you any harm."
"It's not that, I just don't want to drink."
"Well how about something different, a whisky, gin?"
"No, really, I'll just have a no-alcohol beer."
"I can't believe this; I never thought I'd see the day, my old mate not drinking."
"It's not forever."
"You're getting old, that's what it is, the slippery slope."
"Age has nothing to do with it, I just want to lay off for a while."
"You're getting boring in your old age."
"Fuck off!"
"No, seriously, you're getting old."
"Aren't we all."
"Yes, but why give up drinking? Come on just a half."
"No seriously, I'll have a no-alcohol beer."
"Gaylord."

And it goes on. There's so much pressure on people to drink and if you don't you're considered abnormal or some kind of sexual deviant. People throw all the insults at you in an attempt to get you drinking. I've had situations in the past where people have ignored my pleas for a soft drink and simply ordered me a pint. There is definitely a social stigma attached to not drinking and half the battle people face with 'the demon drink' is not so much the giving up, but that pressure exerted by friends and family.

Christmas is always a bad time to give up drinking, but right now I just don't fancy it, mainly, it has to be said, because of the dizzy thing, but now, 39 days on, I'm warming to the challenge and intrigued by how those around me react. Not that I'm the party animal I used to be: I hardly venture out these days, preferring to be at home, watching Stranger Things on Netflix or Strictly It Takes Two with Zoe Ball and then settling in for a night of slobbery. Who wants to be trudging the mean streets late at night, getting home at some ungodly hour, feeling a little fuzzy-headed and waking up with a furry tongue? Not me. It's simply not much fun and I'm now asking myself: Was it ever any fun? Did I ever wake up in the morning feeling good about a hangover? No. Do I really want to spend my mornings, after a particularly heavy session, wondering who I might have offended the night before? No. You could say I've had it with alcohol and when I look back on my 'drinking career' I can't think of there being anything positive that has come out of it. I've either put myself in physical danger or I've upset somebody or I simply feel terrible (throbbing head, nausea, the usual symptoms) so what's the point? Put it this way, alcohol has never done me any favours, that's for sure.

In the kitchen, resting in a wicker basket, is a half bottle of red wine I purchased from the off-licence around the corner; it's been there for 39 days untouched. Right now I can't see any reason why I would open it so it will probably end up round at mum's on Boxing Day for others to enjoy. Me? I'll enjoy myself and when I leave I won't feel fretful, I won't have to worry about whether I'm 'over the limit' to drive home. What I would love, of course, is to be stopped by the police and asked, "Have you been drinking, sir?" To which I would definitely reply, "Yes, occifer, I have had a few." To which they might enquire what I have been drinking and hopefully I'll be able to string them along until eventually, if they ask me how many drinks I have consumed, I might say "easily three or four" before mentioning that I've had a couple of cups of tea, an orange juice and a glass or two of mineral water. "You can't touch me, suckers!"