Sunday 25 February 2018

To Westerham for breakfast then the 'Woodland Trek'

There's Siberian weather heading our way next week. They reckon minus 12 degrees and plenty of snow and let's be fair here, it is cold out there, cold as hell. I can't say I was looking forward to Saturday's ride, not initially at any rate. The only saving grace, I felt, was that breakfast at the Tudor Rose café was on the cards. When the weather's cold, I need to know that there's something hot at the other end of the tracks, so to speak. And what's better than a pot of tea and breakfast in an English caff? Nothing, right?

Inside the Tudor Rose, Westerham...
So I knew the ride was going to involve the balaclava and the scarf. I knew the ride meant layers of clothing and plenty of them and I knew that I wouldn't be carrying a heavy flask full of hot water – and that's a bonus, I can tell you. What I forgot was that it would be daylight when I left the house, another bonus as it takes the edge off the cold weather. Another plus point was that I couldn't see any frost on car windscreens. Furthermore there were blue skies and sunshine as I rode up Church Way towards the Limpsfield Road and then on towards the green.

Andy arrived as I turned up and we headed for Westerham, heads down. It wasn't that cold, but then I was prepared and the old balaclava did the trick. The ride was good and soon we arrived at the Tudor Rose, padlocked the bikes outside and headed in for a hot breakfast. Andy chose a sausage sandwich while I ordered good old fashioned beans on toast. We ordered a pot of tea and sat there for about half an hour chilling, eating our breakfasts and sipping tea poured from a traditonal tea pot into mis-matching cups and saucers.

The Tudor Rose is good and there are plenty of cakes, good cakes, but listen, it was miles too early for cake. It was soon time to head home, reluctantly I must add, but it was 0910hrs and we really needed to be on our way. Fuelled by baked beans and toast I had plenty of energy and it saw me through. The ride up the hill, normally really tedious, was fine and soon we reached Botley Hill and the 269, which we both powered along. It was a good run, roughly 50 minutes, probably a little less, from Westerham to Warlingham Green and then 15 minutes from the green to home.

The ride was good. Very good. It set me up for the rest of the day, which was pretty chilled out. The weather was cold, but the sun was out and the skies were blue and everybody's waiting for the Siberian weather later in the week. It's now Sunday. Andy didn't go out today, he had a late night, so I sat around, lacking motivation to go out in the cold alone. Later I phoned Bon. "It's probably too late, but I'm thinking Woodmansterne Green." But it was too late so we arranged to ride out next Saturday instead.

I figured a ride would be good, even a short ride, so I embarked upon the good old Woodland Trek and added a few more roads for good measure; I was out for 44 minutes, but it was a good ride and when I got back I can't remember what I did. Oh yes, I went to Ikea and bought some lampshades and a light bulb, but I'm annoyed with myself and something needs to be done: there's not point getting loads of exercise if I'm going to scoff my face with cake and other baked items, like Danish pastries and snacks like Tim Tams (think Penguin bars but somehow a little tastier). I need a blanket biscuit ban starting tomorrow (Monday). But I'm not going to bore you with that now, let's see how my week goes.

On the Woodland Trek, note blue skies...
It's almost six o'clock and it's still not properly dark, which is good. It's getting lighter by the day, which is also good. Trouble is it's getting colder too and the thought of heavy snow doesn't really appeal to me as it might mess up next week's rides. I have a view about snow: it always strikes twice. You get a downfall of snow, it thaws a little bit and then you get some more and then it lingers and everybody treads carefully on their way to the office. Nobody wants to fall arse over tit. Anyway, I'm sitting here in the dark with nothing but the halogen glow of the television and my laptop illuminating the gloom.

Sunday roast beckons and I'm going to make it! I love Sunday roasts. I love roast chicken, I love Yorkshire puddings, Paxo stuffing, roast potatoes, root vegetables and mustard and I love apple crumble with custard. What else can I say, but no more cakes and biscuits after tomorrow.

Sunday 18 February 2018

"Clearly, I will go sailing no more"

Some spare clothes are up for grabs and it's either me or the charity shop that gets them. A few nice pairs of jeans, a denim shirt, a hoody and a jumper.

"Not the jumper, it's old and has holes in it."

"But the jeans look fine," I said. "I'll try them on."

They fit perfectly. Great! I'm in shape and I'm looking good. "Let me try the denim shirt."

The shirt fits, the jeans look good, now what about that hoody?

"No, dad, you can't wear that."

"Why not? It looks good."

"No, you can't wear it."

I prance around in it, admiring how great it looks on me – or so I think. I'm proud of it and me.

"Dad, you can't wear it and you shouldn't be wearing double denim either."

"Double denim? Why not?"

"It's not right."

"But the hoody looks good..."

"No it doesn't."

I'm about to go out. I want to wear the hoody, but everybody thinks it's not a good idea. I start to feel a little self-conscious.

Later, on a walk into town...

"If we pass somebody that looks like you did in the hoody, I'll point them out.

In the supermarket...

"Over there."

"That's not it," I said. "He should be wearing a hoody."

And then another man...

"He's not even wearing a hoody," I say.

And then, of course, I get it. They think I'm too old to wear a hoody, that it simply doesn't look right on me. I'm past my hoody-wearing days. Suddenly, I felt old. I was, after all, 'dad'. And dads don't wear hoodies. But it was worse than that; I felt like Buzz Lightyear when he finally realises that he's a toy, a child's plaything, and he can't fly.

But no, it can't be true
I could fly if I wanted to
Like a bird in the sky
If I believe I can fly
Why I'd fly

Clearly, I will go sailing, no more*

* Randy Newman.





Sunday 11 February 2018

"Planet Earth is blue...and there's nothing I can do."

Saturday morning was cold, very cold. Car windscreens were iced up when I peered outside and I knew then that the balaclava was absolutely necessary and so were many layers of clothing: a teeshirt, a hoody, a heavy jumper, then the rust-coloured jacket and, of course, a scarf. The other day I'd tried to wear glasses with the balaclava, it didn't work; the glasses kept steaming up making it impossible to see.
Andy on the ride out of Tatsfield village, Sunday 11th February 2018
At 0700hrs I opened the front door and stepped outside into the cold. Amazingly, it was light enough not to put on lights and this really was amazing. It's getting lighter and lighter. Only a week ago I had to put on my lights until I reached the green, and not long before that I had to keep them until we reached the bus stop or Westerham. This is great news as it means we're on the home straight towards summer and things can only get better. Yes, we'll probably get the odd soaking now and then – that's a constant threat throughout the year – and yes, we might need lights in a thick fog, which can creep up on us at any time of the year; but by and large, the colder weather may still be with us, but it's getting warmer by the day, and brighter, and that's all that matters.

My Specialized Rockhopper on Warlingham Green, Saturday 10th February
Andy was delayed, not by much, but we ended up heading for the Tatsfield Bus Stop – the fast way – instead of our planned visit to the Tudor Rose for breakfast – fortunately, I'd made the tea. While cold, it was bright and there were clear skies and when we reached the bus stop we had plenty to chat about, namely hypocrisy and ideology, and I suddenly realised how much of Noam Chomsky's Who Rules the World? I had taken on board. Okay, look, you could read this book and argue that the author has one major premise: that the USA is not to be trusted, they are the warmongers, the troublemakers, what they say goes, they support the Israelis and literally let them get away with murder. Did you know that since 2014, asserts Chomsky, the Israelis have killed more than two Palestinian children per week. Did you know that, despite numerous agreements being reached in search of peace between the Israelis and Palestinians, the Israelis really haven't taken much notice of the tenets of any agreement drawn up, they constantly flout the UN and continue to this day to build illegal settlements on what is essentially Palestinian land. And guess what? The West simply turns a blind eye and has done for years. The Israelis have been getting away with murder for many many years and will continue to do so. Their aim is basically 'ethnic cleansing' and you'd be well advised not to listen too carefully to the propaganda put out by the West via the BBC and other news outlets.

A new World War One memorial at Tatsfield village
Now Chomsky might be wrong. Perhaps he is; perhaps the message from his book – that the real big bad wolf is the USA and everybody else is simply misunderstood – is simply wrong. And let's be honest here: I trust the Americans to come to my aid in times of trouble. If it wasn't for the Americans I'd be speaking German and driving a Volkswagen. That said, I wish I could speak German and there's nothing wrong with a Volkswagen.

One thing I can't stand, however, is blind faith. Blind faith in anything is troublesome. I know somebody who has blind faith in technology; he's always banging on about driverless cars as if they're the Holy Grail; they're not! Let's be honest here, driverless cars, when they become commonplace – if they become commonplace – are going to be run by big business, people like Branson, and furthermore it's another way that freedom is being taken away from the individual: no longer will we drive ourselves to our destination, we'll have to pay 'Virgin Cars' in order to get anywhere. Slowly, the world is becoming a Philip K Dick novel – big corporations running everything (think Elon Musk, a potential Bond villain if ever there was one).

A scruffy-looking yours truly on the 269 passing a frozen pond on Saturday's ride
Last year, at a conference in Brussels, I put this question to a panel of experts on the subject of technological change: "Doesn't the autonomous car take away the freedom of the individual? Presumably the car that arrives at my door will be owned by a third party, most likely a large corporation, and, therefore, the man in the street loses control, he is reliant on somebody else, 'the man', for his freedom. Won't this make the whole concept unappealing?"

It was a question that the panel debated for some time and while nobody really came out and agreed, my view is that the driverless car will curtail individual freedoms and should be avoided at all costs. Surely driverless trains first.

Jacob Rees-Mogg on the front cover of Private Eye's latest issue
And with 'blind faith' comes the hypocrisy of the idealogues. There's nothing worse than ideology. It leads to blind faith, oddly enough. We all believe that Russia is the big, bad wolf. Everything the Russians do is supposed to be wrong, they're influencing our elections (are they?), and they're up to no good on many levels (really?), but ultimately, even if they're not up to no good, the governments of the West want their people (you and me) to always believe that the Russians have no good intentions whatsoever. It's all rubbish. I know a few Russians. I spent some time in Moscow not that long ago and I found all the Russians I met there to be fantastic people. I walked from one side of the city to the other late at night and never encountered a single problem. But it's never the people who are fault, it's the governments behind them.

Lycra monkeys – you don't see many of them when the weather's cold...
Andy and I sat at the bus stop drinking tea, munching biscuits and discussing these very subjects and then, feeling suitably small and insignificant in the greater scheme of things, and insecure in the knowledge that 'the state' cares nothing for its general population, putting the welfare of large corporations way ahead of the man in the street, we pedalled off in the direction of home along the freezing cold B269, parting company on Warlingham Green and promising to be back for another ride on Sunday.

From noon on Saturday it rained non-stop and didn't really stop until the early hours of Sunday morning. When I woke up and peered outside the roads were dry and the car windscreens were clear, no sign of any ice. But when I found myself outside, wearing many layers and the balaclava and scarf, I realised that the clear bright skies and the crescent moon were a disguise – yes, even the weather wasn't to be trusted – perhaps the Russians had something to do with it. It was better than Saturday, but there was still a cold breeze and one we didn't notice on the outward ride to Tatsfield village (a change is as good as a rest).

Warlingham Green, 10 February 2018
The subject of today's conversation was rip-off Britain. I enjoyed a pub lunch on Saturday in darkest Sussex. Sandwiches cost £8.90. That's a lot of money for a sandwich, but it's par for the course. Everything is really expensive, everywhere, and unnecessarily so, and it goes right across the spectrum of anything we buy. Value for money simply doesn't exist anymore, even in 'the sales' where I'm always highly suspicious of the displayed prices. A pair of walking boots in Millets during a big sale? Something ridiculous like £87.00 and that's reduced from £115.00. Well, I don't believe that for one minute. I reckon that the stores put up the recommended retail price and the customer simply buys the product at the original, pre-sale price (or thereabouts). You can't trust a businessman – that's always worth remembering. All they want to do is make a profit and they don't care about anyone or anything that might stand in their way. People talk about privatising the NHS. That can only mean one thing: we will all be convinced by doctors to 'have things done' that doesn't need doing. It's already happening in the world of dentistry. I know somebody who was told that they needed a 'deep clean' and that it would cost them something like £300. That person went to see another dentist and was told they didn't need anything of the sort – she saved herself £300. But think of those who just accept what they're told.

The ride home was fine, but there was a strong head wind as we rode towards Botley Hill and a very cold breeze as we rode along the 269 towards the green, where we parted. All the way home I found myself wondering about Elon Musk and his Falcon Heavy rocket that lifted off from earth last week carrying one of Musk's Tesla sports cars. Can you really trust a businessman who is capable of launching a rocket into space? Apparently, the aforementioned Tesla is orbiting the planet playing David Bowie's Space Oddity on continuous loop and I found myself wondering, as I sang the lyrics to myself, whether or not I had synched up with the recording playing at that very moment on board the Tesla. I'll never know, of course. "Planet earth is blue and there's nothing I can do," I sang as I passed Warlingham Sainsbury's en route to the green.

Next week we WILL have breakfast at the Tudor Rose.

Sunday 4 February 2018

Slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Saturday was another wash-out. It was one of those days when it just didn't stop. There was a constant, drizzly rain from dawn until dusk and I did go outside twice with every intention of riding the bike, but it didn't happen. Why bother gettting cold and wet? Where's the fun? So I stayed at home and later drove to Westerham for lunch in the Tudor Rose. It was raining in Westerham too and I stood in the rain, answering a mechanised voice on my mobile phone as I paid for parking. It was one of those days when gazing through a rain-speckled windscreen at a Pay & Display machine seemed to sum things up rather nicely.

Andy and Matt at the Tatsfield Bus Stop...
The iphone said that Sunday would be better and it was: no rain. But it wasn't warm, just 2 degrees, balaclava weather. I rode along the quiet suburban streets, up Church Way to the Limpsfield Road and along a deserted Sanderstead High Street, not even any cars. I had a wide stretch of tarmac to myself. As I approached the green I saw Andy and he spied me too; there was no need to ride on to the green, we stopped momentarily and decided upon the slow way to the Tatsfield Bus Stop.

The slow way might sound appealing and in parts it is, but it's ruined by Beddlestead Lane and even Andy said so as we made our way towards the junction with Clarks Lane. The worst moment is when the energy of the downhill from the top of Hesiers Hill runs out, the pedals stiffen and the thought of a constant incline for the next 20 minutes or so hits home. Andy and I talked about evolution in between making way for the odd Lycra monkey and soon we found ourselves passing the the totem pole tree and the mobile phone mast. We rolled down Clarks Lane towards the bus stop and then unloaded the tea and biscuits.

As we sat there, chatting, a Lycra monkey and his pal turned up. He wore all the gear: the clippy cloppy shoes, the Lycra, the high-viz top, he rode a brand new Boardman bike... it was Phil! It had been a very long time since we'd seen Phil and it was rare to see him out in such cold weather. He was on his way to the Tudor Rose in Westerham for breakfast. After a brief chat he continued on his merry way and we enjoyed another cup of tea before heading for home.

The 269 was cold and I was glad for that balaclava but soon we found ourselves approaching the green where we parted company. I reached home at just gone 1000hrs and while I had intended to oil the chain, I forgot. Later another drive to Westerham for yet another jacket potato and chilli followed this time by a large slice of lemon cake (on Saturday I enjoyed Bakewell tart). A trip to mum's was on the agenda, but I had to say no to cake, and Sunday evening's planned apple pie and custard was also put on hold. I must have a sugar-free week at work or I'll be doing myself no good.

The Tudor Rose, incidentally, is under new management and seems to be doing very well. It was packed on Saturday at lunch time. The photograph on the left shows the display of cakes on offer – lemon cake, Bakewell tart, coffee and walnut, bread pudding, flapjacks, scones, rock cakes, lemon drizzle cake, the list is endless. They make and get through 45 cakes per week and I can vouch for their quality. It goes without saying that they're open for breakfast, so you can bet that Andy and I will be sitting there one morning in the not too distant future eating a hearty breakfast before our return ride up the tiresome Westerham Hill – a continual climb all the way to Botley Hill.

Andy braved the weather on Saturday. This shot from
Wapses roundabout in Caterham