Yesterday (Saturday) I should have gone out on the bike. Yes, there was rain forecasted and it had been raining (the ground was wet and there were puddles) but it wasn't actually raining, or if it was it was only the odd raindrop, nothing that would have caused any problems. I didn't go out. Andy had aborted.
Instead, I went on one of those Saturday afternoon shopping trips having spent most of the morning doing nothing but listening to music, mainly bluesy music, country music and a bit of Bob Dylan who kind of crosses the bluesy, country, folk divide. I love Subterranean Homesick Blues, but also Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. I finished off with This Town Ain't Big Enough for the Both of Us, by Sparks, which has nothing to do with any of the aforementioned genres.
After a lunch in the M&S cafe in Bromley I ventured off alone to Waterstone's where I looked at books in the travel literature, history and music sections. I would have bought Eric Hobsbawn's An Age of Extremes (it might have been The Age of Extremes) but they didn't have it. I considered a number of travel books, but eventually settled with Coal Black Mornings by the leader singer of Suede, Brett Anderson.
You can't beat Waterstone's. There's nothing better than a decent bookshop, I don't know what it is, but they're cosy places especially at this time of the year when the darkness of winter encroaches on the late afternoon and Christmas trees appear here and there. The only problem with the Bromley Waterstone's, which is in the Glades shopping mall, is the lack of chairs on which to sit and read.
Later on. Much later on, I was coming back from Oxted in the dark and decided (as I had to kill a few minutes) to measure the mileage of my round-the-block rides. For some time now I've been riding around the block first thing in the morning during the week. It's a good circuit with enough ups and downs to make it worthwhile on a fitness level, but I had no idea how far I was riding. It turns out to be six miles on the nose, which is good as I try to ride the new route three times a week, meaning an additional 18 miles to my cycling. The ride takes around 40 minutes.
And now it is Sunday morning. Everyone in the house is asleep except for me. I'm sitting downstairs in front of the laptop, writing this and listening to classical music on Radio 3 before I head out to the green to meet Andy. When I woke up it wasn't raining and there have been no abort texts. The only possible stumbling block could be if I had a puncture.
Well, I didn't have a puncture, but I was running late, although when I reached the green there was no sign of Andy. While I waited I noticed that a Christmas tree had appeared, but no decorations, not yet at any rate. In fact, later on I drove past after dark and there were lights. We rode the slow way to bus stop and as we approached the junction with Clarks Lane, we noticed the fog. It had swept in quickly and there were virtually white-out conditions. Cars disappeared within seconds of them passing and it was good to reach the bus stop where we did what we always do: drink tea and flick our teabags off the end of a teaspoon, seeing who could throw - or flick - their teabag the greatest distance. Today it was fairly level pegging, but Andy's better at it than I am. I reckon he practices in his back garden.
I considered going back via The Ridge with Andy, but in the end opted for the off-road track. Here's hoping I haven't got a puncture. I'll find out in the morning. I reached home around 1010hrs and sat around watching guilty dogs on Youtube, but there are things to be done and I need to get moving, although, to be honest, it's wet and grey out there, not exactly gardening weather.
113231(6)
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| On the off-road path coming home in the fog |
Instead, I went on one of those Saturday afternoon shopping trips having spent most of the morning doing nothing but listening to music, mainly bluesy music, country music and a bit of Bob Dylan who kind of crosses the bluesy, country, folk divide. I love Subterranean Homesick Blues, but also Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. I finished off with This Town Ain't Big Enough for the Both of Us, by Sparks, which has nothing to do with any of the aforementioned genres.
After a lunch in the M&S cafe in Bromley I ventured off alone to Waterstone's where I looked at books in the travel literature, history and music sections. I would have bought Eric Hobsbawn's An Age of Extremes (it might have been The Age of Extremes) but they didn't have it. I considered a number of travel books, but eventually settled with Coal Black Mornings by the leader singer of Suede, Brett Anderson.
You can't beat Waterstone's. There's nothing better than a decent bookshop, I don't know what it is, but they're cosy places especially at this time of the year when the darkness of winter encroaches on the late afternoon and Christmas trees appear here and there. The only problem with the Bromley Waterstone's, which is in the Glades shopping mall, is the lack of chairs on which to sit and read.
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| Watching the fog from the Tatsfield Bus Stop, Sunday 24 November 2019 |
And now it is Sunday morning. Everyone in the house is asleep except for me. I'm sitting downstairs in front of the laptop, writing this and listening to classical music on Radio 3 before I head out to the green to meet Andy. When I woke up it wasn't raining and there have been no abort texts. The only possible stumbling block could be if I had a puncture.
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| Over-the-top florist on Warlingham Green |
I considered going back via The Ridge with Andy, but in the end opted for the off-road track. Here's hoping I haven't got a puncture. I'll find out in the morning. I reached home around 1010hrs and sat around watching guilty dogs on Youtube, but there are things to be done and I need to get moving, although, to be honest, it's wet and grey out there, not exactly gardening weather.
113231(6)
