To Tatsfield Bus Stop and Godstone Green

The weather was perfect on Saturday and slightly cooler on Sunday, although both days were fine for cycling. On Saturday we rode to the Tatsfield Bus Stop the slow way and because of heavy fog around Botley Hill, we rode back the slow way too, riding up Hesiers Hill. On Sunday we decided to ride to Godstone Green, not my favourite destination because of the hill on the return ride and that little bit of off-road through the golf course on the outward journey.

A burnt-out truck at the bottom of Hesiers Hill on Saturday morning

I was feeling despondent and depressed all weekend, mainly because I had to keep asking myself what is the point? Everything seemed so futile and pointless and my general state of mind was confirmed as being right, when I thought about the undeserving rich, those fat bastards (all weekend I've been using a much stronger word beginning with C and rhyming with hunt) who seem to have everything, but don't necessarily do anything more for it than those who don't enjoy the spoils of greebling to the boss and eating too much.

There are lots of these people around and they're always fat and beyond the help of exercise. Put simply, they're awful individuals who, quite frankly, I want to avoid like the plague they are; but it's not that easy.

I was watching a documentary the other day entitled Skint Britain. It was set in Hartlepool in the North East of the UK and it was all about people on Universal Credit, a new idea from our Government of Fat Bastards. Basically, these people are on their backs, they have nothing, but the Government's Universal Credit system means that they have to wait a whole month before receiving their benefits and for some of them it's disastrous. They resort to shoplifting and attacking local drug dealers to survive and despite all of this, the Government thinks it's a good system.

Andy's Blast almost at the top of Gangers Hill. I was still pedalling up...

In the corporate world (and in the Government), there are loads of complete idiots in positions of seniority because they're either good at one thing – greebling – or they just happen to be in the right place at the right time. Nobody likes these people in the workplace and you can bet your arse that they've trodden on a few people as they made their way to the top. Some of them shouldn't even be in work, they should have been put out to grass many years ago as their companies set about changing their business models; but no, they're still there earning a pointlessly large salary while their staff get by on a pittance. We all know people like this: two or three holidays a year, eating out all the time (and getting bigger and bigger in the process); half a dozen cars in the driveway – and it probably goes without saying that they vote Conservative. If Jeremy Corbyn ever makes it into Downing Street, he'll tax them into the Stone Age, which would be funny, but until then we've all got to live with the fat bastards.

The worst thing about these people is that they get richer on the work of other less well-paid individuals, the ones with the ideas, who earn virtually nothing and are always on the breadline, worrying about whether they can buy a book or go out for a curry or have lunch in a caff instead of relying upon sweaty egg sandwiches every day. They also have to wait and see what 'the boss' throws their way in the shape of a bonus and meanwhile they fret about whether they are going to be shafted in some way, which they probably will be.

And in all of this let's not forget the worst 'royal' ever – Megan chuffing Markle. Nothing to do with the corporate world, I know, but while people in Hartlepool are resorting to crime to eat, she's out spending £500,000 on a fucking baby shower in New York. Now there's greed for you! The awful Amal Clooney paid £125,000 for Markle's flight there and back in a private jet. And what does Markle do to appease the populace? She writes a load of patronising old bollocks on bananas using a felt pen and gives them to prostitutes. "You are strong" and words to that effect. Oh, there's a revolution coming, there's a revolution coming!

I view the weekends as stepping stones that I reach after five days of working. I was kind of looking forward to this weekend, but it all turned to shit when I was reminded early on that I was nothing, I simply work and work, day-in, day-out, and I get nowhere fast, I have no 'spoils of victory', no nothing, I simply 'get by' if I'm careful and I don't overspend; and you can bet that somewhere not that far away is a fucking fat bastard getting away with it. Come the revolution, of course, these people will be the first against the wall.