To Woodmansterne Green – for a jolly good soaking!

Andy texted me. He was tired and was taking the weekend off. He picked the right one. It rained most of Saturday and when I woke up on Sunday, I thought I was safe. Yes, there was a puddle on next door's conservatory roof (I say 'conservatory', it's more of an extension) but the puddle wasn't moving, there was no sign of any stair rods ruffling the calm, so I thought I'd take a chance. A trip to mum's was on the cards. Well, alright, there's a couple of boxes of chocolates round there and mum doesn't want to put on any weight. Cue yours truly, the human dustbin. Alright, I'd already been there on Friday, mum's 89th, and had more than my fair share, but you can never get enough of chocolates, can you? Especially if they're Belgian. To be fair, there was a choice of rides: go to mum's or simply ride to Woodmansterne Green. We opted for the latter.

Woodmansterne Green...

I had my usual breakfast: multi-seed porridge with grapes, blueberries and banana and a mug of decaffeinated tea and then I got dressed, made the tea and headed out to the garage. Outside it was wet, the leaves were on the ground, some wet like soggy cornflakes and others clung to the branches of the trees. The sky was a deep grey and it looked threatening, but there was no rain. The iphone said cloudy, but no rain, so I headed off, taking Barnfield to the junction with West Hill, heading up and then down the hill and stopping at at the bottom where I turned right on to the 269 and rode about 200 yards before turning left, following the road past Purley Oaks railway station and weaving around until I found the Purley Downs Road. I headed in the direction of Purley but crossed the A23 and rode towards Pampisford Road as the rain started, but nothing heavy. In fact, it was fairly warm, around 6-7 deg C, so it kind of didn't really matter. I'm glad I was out and not stewing at home, put it that way. Normally in these conditions I send an abort text, but there's good reason for that: the reason is simple, it's because I don't want to risk being caught out in the rain. That said, it was fine and I made my way along Pampisford and then on to Foxley Lane where they're knocking down a lot of the large houses that have been there for years to make way for flats, huge blocks of them in various stages of development.

I rode past the garden centre where there was a huge inflatable Father Christmas towering over the mini roundabout and pushed on towards the lavender fields where I turned right and powered – yes, powered – along the road that leads to Woodmansterne Green. When I got there I found Bon sheltered under the gateway to the church, a place where he, Andy and yours truly sheltered way back in 2010. It wasn't raining on my arrival so I beckoned him on to the green where we set up camp under a huge oak tree. We chatted about this and that, mainly Brexit, and then parted company around 0900hrs. That was when it started to rain again. I headed back towards the fields and the cold air hit my face. By the time I reached the bottom, the rain was in full swing. So much for cleaning the bike last weekend, it would soon be muddy again, I thought, as I went off-road and the rain started to pour down. Somewhere just before reaching the mini roundabout overlooked by the huge inflatable Father Christmas, I rejoined the road and soon found myself on Foxley Lane again, looking at the various construction sites: luxury homes, retirement homes, they were all here (or about to be).

Back on Pampisford Road and the rain still fell hard. I was soaked through. Fortunately I was wearing a Peter Storm padded anorak, which kept me relatively warm. It was only from the waist down that I was wet. My jeans were soaked through, but it wasn't really that cold so I wasn't in expletive territory. I remember once cycling along the A23 heading for Purley from Coulsdon and it was not only raining but cold. I think I swore all the way home just to maintain some kind of sanity. Today, it wasn't like that. I just plugged away, knowing there was nothing else for it other than to get home and take off my wet clothes. Soon I was on the Purley Downs Road again, hanging a left into Norman Road, passing Purley Oaks railway station, taking a right turn on to the 269 and then braving the south face of West Hill, which, as always, I managed with ease.

At just before 1000hrs I was back home, the bike was in the garage and I was keying the front door. Soon I was in the warmth of the house, shoes off, Peter Storm anorak off and wet jeans off too. I found a clean (and dry) pair and then made a Marmite sandwich while I watched the Andrew Marr Show. Tony Blair was on and he was making a lot of sense. He wants a second referendum and for good reason: he believes that the deal on the table, known as 'Chequers,' isn't a good deal because it doesn't satisfy those who voted to leave the European Union or, for that matter, the likes of the remainers. Blair says there should be one more referendum so that people can make the right decision based on the facts (and not the lies that led up to the last referendum). He said that if the leavers get their way a second time, he will accept the vote and get on with it. But there are all sorts of reasons for not having a second referendum, the main one being that we're going away from 'democracy' and that could prove fatal for the nation. It's certainly going to be an interesting few days, but one thing's for sure, Parliament won't be saying yes to Theresa May's agreement, which has, incidentally, been passed by the European Commission today – it's a done deal in other words, and May believes it's the best for the country. But many think it's nothing of the sort and will vote accordingly in what is being called 'the meaninful vote'.

Pre-ride ramblings...

There are two early morning worries in my life: one is opening the living room door and finding a wild animal standing there; another is discovering a Brazilian wandering spider when I open a packet of bananas. So far, the wild animal worry is the only one to become reality – I once found a pigeon in the living room. He must have fallen down the chimney. Nothing worse than a pigeon with Father Christmas pretensions. Fortunately, then, no exotic arachnids.

It's 5 degrees outside and a cold spell is promised, but not today. Next week the weather gets nasty apparently, so I'd better dig out the balaclava and the warm jumper. Right now it's warm in the house and I'm listening to Morning Phase by Beck, arguably one of two of the most laid back albums around, the other being Sea Change, also by Beck. Perfect for 0600hrs.

In my dream, I was out there.

Dreams. I've had a few strange ones of late, but sadly they leave only a dim memory of what happened, so dim that there is but a residue, nothing more, when I regain consciousness, today at 0535hrs. I remember bits: waiting, with a work colleague, Martin, for a woman who had come to meet us, somebody we both dealt with in the course of our jobs, but I had not met her before. We were in some kind of venue, possibly a pub, but who could tell? We looked out on the road, we came out of wherever we were and spotted her walking a few yards behind another work colleague, who, for some reason was vaping, spewing clouds of badly scented smoke everywhere. The next thing we knew, the woman was a man and we were interviewing him for a job, which was probably his for the taking, but we had to deal with a few formalities. There was more, but I can't remember any of it, not yet at any rate, perhaps when I'm on the bike and heading for the green, something will jog my memory.

During the week I had a strange dream whilst on the precipice of nodding off, and then waking as a result. I was alone in the sea, roaring foamy waves coming at me, fast, furious waves rolling towards me, one after the other, never a break from the fury, and land nowhere in sight. I turned round and behind me was exactly the same. Frightening. Probably something to do with watching a video of Kate Silverton swimming back to shore from an inflatable boat off the choppy coast of Cornwall.

It turns out that I had two punctures last week, not just one, so I didn't go for a ride on Saturday, more's the pity. I could have forced myself out into the garage around 0600hrs to fix it, but no, too much of a rush first thing in the morning, so I aborted and later discovered I had two punctures. I originally fixed the bike last weekend, around 4pm on Saturday, but by the morning it had deflated and all week it's been that way in the garage, waiting to be fixed, but after a day at work, who wants to go into the garage and fix a puncture, not at this time of year, stuck out there in the dark wishing I was inside. So I fixed it yesterday and discovered that the puncture I'd fixed last week wasn't the problem, I had two to fix, which I did, and hopefully all is well out there. I'm hoping to God that the tyre hasn't deflated as that will mean another 'abort' text to Andy.

Morning Phase continues, the track Blue Moon – they're all good. I first heard Beck's Sea Change in Barista Parlour in Nashville and that led me to discover Morning Phase; they're both similar albums: laid back, smooth, calming, evocative of something, but I know not what, possibly simply great music to listen to around nightfall when the shops are still open, it's getting dark outside and I'm in a coffee shop, possibly one of the last customers of the day, drinking tea and munching on a pastry while reading a book, possibly waiting for a train, who knows? But Beck is playing Something Unforgiven and all is good in a strange but expectant way.

It's almost time to make the tea and prepare to head outside to the garage, but Beck is making things very comfortable here in the living room, although my tea has gone cold as Wave comes out of the speakers, it's worth hanging around for, just for a minute or two, get into the mood of the song, its dramatic strings and haunting, echoey vocal. As I listen I'm reminded of that terrifying dream of the waves and how isolated I felt out there in the rolling surf. I'd better make the tea.

The puncture was still fixed when I checked the bike, having made the tea, packed the rucksack and opened the garage door. It was solid. I rode to the green where, last night, Warlingham's Christmas lights had been officially switched on. The ground was muddier than usual because of the fairground attractions and the many people enjoying the delights of the small fair.

We headed for the Tatsfield Bus Stop, the long way, and chatted about the First World War and how, these days, low respect for the political classes and the establishment generally would probably mean no take-up for a 'call to arms'. Well, I wouldn't fight if Bojo or Gove or Raab or Cameron or Mark Francois suggested I should, especially when I consider the after-care given to wounded soldiers. We hear so much about ex-soldiers on the streets, homeless, and mental health issues. No, thanks.

The weather was good, a little cold on the way out, but bright sunshine and blue skies as we packed up and headed home. I stopped at a garage close to the green and jet-cleaned the bike. Andy and I had parted company at The Ridge and instead of using the off-road path – I didn't want another puncture – I used the road, but in all honesty, I'd rather have a punctured rear tyre than a punctured lung.

What a calamity!

In the same way that it was obvious from the word go that we'd go into Iraq, and that Donald Trump would be President of the USA, AND that we'd vote out of Europe, it's pretty damned obvious that we're heading towards crashing out of the European Union without a deal. My theory, or formula, is that all you have to do is look at whatever the worst case scenario might be (on anything) and that's what will happen: Iraq, Trump, Brexit...you name it.

Theresa May's Brexit deal is being rejected by Parliament – or it certainly looks that way – and now, right now, Ministers are resigning from her cabinet. I suppose the big question is: who cares? Who cares whether these sub-standard politicians resign from the government or not? Esther McVey? Dominic Raab? Michael Gove? I can't understand Raab's resignation; he took over from David Davis as Brexit Secretary, negotiated the deal with Barnier and then resigned because he wasn't happy with his own negotiation. Gove, Raab, McVey, they're not exactly heavyweights, are they? I mean, a lot of them, Gove included, have already been disgraced in some way or other. Think Liam Fox. I can't remember the exact details, but a couple of years ago he was embroiled in some form of sleazy activity, he kept taking some bloke with him wherever he went and at the time he was defence secretary. How come he's now in the cabinet? Similarly Gove. Look at the way he stabbed Bojo in the back in a sorry attempt at becoming the leader of the party (and, therefore, the Prime Minister). And let's not talk about Bojo, we all know what a complete buffoon he is, and who really cares if he was stabbed in the back by Gove?

I voted to remain in the European Union mainly because I think it's better for the country to remain part of Europe – our biggest market and right on our doorstep – but thanks to another idiot (David Cameron) we were given an 'in-out' referendum which basically didn't take into consideration the complexity of the situation. Cameron easily goes down as the worst British Prime Minister in history; he will be remembered for selling his country (our country) down the river for the sake of his own party, purely because he was worried about UKIP taking away votes from the Conservatives.

Now we're in a very dodgy position: if, as is likely, May's deal will be rejected by Parliament, we're left with few options: no deal (now highly likely); a general election (enter Jeremy Corbyn) or a second referendum (meaning, I'd imagine, plenty of civil unrest). That last option sounds like fun, it'll be like 2011 all over again, perhaps worse! I don't know about you, but another general election? And as for 'no deal', well, who knows what would happen.

The problem with a general election is simple: Jeremy Corbyn. Who wants an extreme left winger running the country, getting rid of our nuclear deterrent, increasing taxes and so forth? That said, if we did have general election and one of the parties campaigned on remaining in the EU it would eliminate that problem of 'going against the wishes of the people' – but the only party likely to run a campaign like that is the Liberal Democrats, not that there's anything wrong with the Lib Dems, at least they have a decent politician at the helm, Vince Cable.

In a way, the prospects are quite exciting: rioting, motorways turning into lorry parks, an extreme left wing government in power, an aggressive general election, bring it on!

My view is that a general election is probably the best way forward, as much as I don't particularly want one, but it would be even funnier if one of the parties ran on a remain ticket and won. Although, to be honest, I think we need a deal. A no deal Brexit would be catastrophic.

Anyway, what can I do? Nothing. I'll just have to wait and see what transpires.

No cycling this weekend...

Monday 12 November: Last week, when I noticed I had a rear wheel puncture, the plan was to fix it, but what with one thing or another – mainly the thought that I didn't want to be in the garage, in the cold, after a day at work – it gradually dawned on me that I wouldn't be fixing that puncture and that I'd have to abort Saturday's ride. That's exactly what happened, and in many ways it's a shame because the weather was fine. I eventually fixed it around 4pm and to be honest, as I sit here, listening to Beck (something I haven't done for a while) I get a sneaky suspicion that it's still going to be a problem. Why? Because while I pumped it up to be rock hard, when I checked it on Sunday it appeared softer, meaning I either didn't do it properly or there's another puncture I hadn't picked up. Naturally, I blame the off-road track on the 269, which I've been using a fair bit, but let's be realistic, it could have been anything.

Sunday was characterised by one thing: rain. Through the night on, I think, Friday/Saturday, it really hammered down; and then on Saturday/Sunday, the same: roaring rain. When I woke at around 0600hrs it was still pelting down. I looked out of the window on to next door's conservatory roof and I could see stair rods creating a small puddle of their own making. Perhaps prematurely I rattled off another abort text and then jumped back into bed. Naturally, later, the weather looked fine and I started to wish I'd not aborted, but that feeling was short-lived as there were sporadic showers throughout the day, leaving roads and pavements with a damp sheen.

It's now Monday morning, 12 November, and I think I'll sneak out and check the bike later. My hunch is it'll be softer than yesterday. This won't necessarily jeopardise next week's ride, because it might be a slow puncture that, perhaps, I can deal with at the Bus Stop – or wherever we go. Suddenly, however, I noticed that my bike's 'honeymoon' period was over: it's looking a bit bedraggled. For a start the chainguard needs replacing and then I need to buy some touch-up paint and give it a decent clean. Once those jobs are done I'll be happy again. I can't afford to leave it as then things nose-dive into a situation where there's always something wrong with the bike. This week, I'll check out Evan's Cycles, see what they have to offer. I know I can get the paint on eBay, so perhaps that's the best bet. As for the chain guard, I'll have to see what's out there; I get the feeling that they're pretty standard, but again, we'll see.

Postscript, 14 November 2018: I still have a puncture.

To Westerham for breakfast, the slow way to the bus stop...and a puncture!

Tuesday 6th November: The weekend's weather was good, which is good news in November. We met at the Green and decided to head to Westerham and the Tudor Rose for breakfast. It was a repeat of last weekend's ride, except that I didn't have any decorating to do when I got back. We even had the same food order: sausage sandwich, scrambled egg on toast with mushrooms and a pot of tea. The restaurant was sparsely populated. I've noticed a regular customer and the rest of us were cyclists, although we were the only ones without Lycra.

Tudor Rose Tearooms in Westerham, Kent, Saturday

The ride down had been good, nothing to report, but good nonetheless. Although, having said that, I was forced to make a detour – down Briton Hill Road and up Sanderstead hill (the 269) – due to some sort of altercation at the top of Church Way. Two blokes plus one bystander were involved. There was a parked people carrier and two people, one I'm assuming was the driver, all wearing track suits, pushing each other around and I figured that I didn't want to get involved in any trouble at such an ungodly hour, so I diverted and had the pain of the hill to deal with before reaching the roundabout.

The delay was miniscule, but it was a little annoying.

We rode along the 269 to Botley Hill and then took a left at the roundabout along Clarks Lane, sailing down the hill and into the northern Kent market town, both pleased that we'd riden to Westerham two weeks in succession.

On Sunday, I felt a little tired, but I got up, had breakfast and then headed for the green again. This time we opted for the Tatsfield Bus Stop – the slow way. Always tiresome, but eventually we got there thanks to a positive mental attitude, a phrase Andy had used to drum up some enthusiasm in me; quite honestly I was thinking of a short run to the cottage via Botley Hill, but in all honesty, I'm glad we did it and, as always, it wasn't that bad.

We sat at the bus stop watching bad drivers wheel-spinning on the right turn out of Approach Road and then, having flicked our teabags on to the patch of grass in front of us, we jumped on the bikes and headed for home. Andy parted at The Ridge and I rode the off-road path to Warlingham. Perhaps I should have stuck with the road. Why? Because later in the day I found myself in the garage. I must have gone out there to bring in the step ladder (there was a small hole in the ceiling that needed filling and painting over). I had to move the bike and when I put it down I noticed a dull thud rather than the usual bouncy one associated with a fully inflated tyre. I couldn't believe me eyes. Only Saturday I'd been bragging to Andy that it's been two years and no punctures. Never tempt fate, that's all I can say.

Inside the Tudor Rose Tearooms – perfect!

* The date at the top of this post is wrong. I penned this report early in the morning on Tuesday 6th November.