It's the Saturday after Christmas and it's been a busy week as it was my turn to organise the so-called Boxing Day Bash, something that traditionally took place at mum and dad's house, but since dad's death (in 2011) and mum's old age (she's 91 in November) it's moved around a bit. Well, only over the last two years: last year at Bon's and this year at my place. It was a great success and now Christmas is over for another year, although we're now going through that lovely timeless period between the old and the new year and I love it. There's nothing better than a walk around the block at dusk when the Christmas lights adorning the front of people's houses are switched on and it's time to get a glimpse of other people's lives and to gain some kind of insight into the other players of the game of life.
Yesterday (Friday) we followed the same route.
One of the only things I don't like about the festive season is the unnecessary eating, even if I do tend to do a lot of unnecessary scoffing at the office throughout the year, something I simply must stop doing - now there's a new year resolution. At Christmas time things come into the house that we don't see at other times: there's Garner's Pickled Onions, pate (I don't know how to put the accent over the 'e'), cheeses, biscuits, mince pies and other stuff that is essentially rubbish. Last night, while watching Worzel Gummidge (I never watched the Jon Pertwee series, but having watched Mackenzie Crook's Detectorists and enjoying it immensely I thought I'd sit down and see what transpired). Well, what transpired was a bread roll, some pate and a two pickled onions. I didn't really need any of it, but because it was there and because it was Christmas, I ate the lot, but I can't say I enjoyed the gluttony. So I've thought now's the time to stop this lunacy, although we have a large tin of Quality Street too and I keep saying no to myself and then breaking my promise. It has got to stop, but it didn't. As soon as I returned from the ride I helped myself to around half a dozen chocolates, although that was after a fried egg sandwich and two organic Weetabix.
We rode to Westerham, for a change. The weather was perfect, but there is a problem. Yesterday I went to Cycle King in Croydon to have my new saddle fitted. The reason I did this was because I dismantled the screws and plates securing the existing saddle in place and then forgot which way round it should all be reassembled. I left the bike in the shop and went for a walk into central Croydon (never a good idea at the best of times). After a brief wander around Waterstone's I headed back to the shop and noticed that the saddle had been fitted nose down rather than level. "Is that right?" I asked the man who fixed it and he said yes it was, but I noticed that none of the hundreds of bikes in the Cycle King showroom had their saddles pointing downwards. "Nice saddle," he said as a passing shot and Ieft feeling slightly disgruntled, but still holding on to the notion that he knew better than I. It wasn't until Andy and I stopped on Westerham Green that Andy said it was wrong and needed to be fixed. "Just untighten the front nut and then tighten up the back one," he said, that word 'just' was worrying. If I attempt to fix the saddle that's an 80% chance the bike will be in bits within seconds and I won't be riding; in fact, to avoid that, I'll take the alun keys with me and Andy can watch me make a pig's ear of the process while we're on the ride. At least that way we get a ride in. That said I might nip out there later and give it a try, it's just that I don't trust myself at all with any kind of DIY activity, anything that is deemed to be a 'fixing' exercise. I just lack the dexterity and the confidence to do anything in that ball park so count me out of fixing your car or putting up a picture frame, making shelves, doing any car mechanics, anything at all as the outcome will be negative in so many ways.
It was good to be in Westerham, although the thought of riding back up the hill was pretty terrible. Beddlestead was worst, said Andy as we headed out of town, passing a car that had somehow wedged itself in a roadside ditch. "It was there on Boxing Day," said Andy.
We parted at The Ridge and said we'd meet again on Sunday at the earlier time of 0730hrs. Today we met at 0800hrs.
Exactly four years ago to the day, this is what we were doing: click here!
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| Christmas tree in Westerham, 28/12/19 |
Yesterday (Friday) we followed the same route.
One of the only things I don't like about the festive season is the unnecessary eating, even if I do tend to do a lot of unnecessary scoffing at the office throughout the year, something I simply must stop doing - now there's a new year resolution. At Christmas time things come into the house that we don't see at other times: there's Garner's Pickled Onions, pate (I don't know how to put the accent over the 'e'), cheeses, biscuits, mince pies and other stuff that is essentially rubbish. Last night, while watching Worzel Gummidge (I never watched the Jon Pertwee series, but having watched Mackenzie Crook's Detectorists and enjoying it immensely I thought I'd sit down and see what transpired). Well, what transpired was a bread roll, some pate and a two pickled onions. I didn't really need any of it, but because it was there and because it was Christmas, I ate the lot, but I can't say I enjoyed the gluttony. So I've thought now's the time to stop this lunacy, although we have a large tin of Quality Street too and I keep saying no to myself and then breaking my promise. It has got to stop, but it didn't. As soon as I returned from the ride I helped myself to around half a dozen chocolates, although that was after a fried egg sandwich and two organic Weetabix.
We rode to Westerham, for a change. The weather was perfect, but there is a problem. Yesterday I went to Cycle King in Croydon to have my new saddle fitted. The reason I did this was because I dismantled the screws and plates securing the existing saddle in place and then forgot which way round it should all be reassembled. I left the bike in the shop and went for a walk into central Croydon (never a good idea at the best of times). After a brief wander around Waterstone's I headed back to the shop and noticed that the saddle had been fitted nose down rather than level. "Is that right?" I asked the man who fixed it and he said yes it was, but I noticed that none of the hundreds of bikes in the Cycle King showroom had their saddles pointing downwards. "Nice saddle," he said as a passing shot and Ieft feeling slightly disgruntled, but still holding on to the notion that he knew better than I. It wasn't until Andy and I stopped on Westerham Green that Andy said it was wrong and needed to be fixed. "Just untighten the front nut and then tighten up the back one," he said, that word 'just' was worrying. If I attempt to fix the saddle that's an 80% chance the bike will be in bits within seconds and I won't be riding; in fact, to avoid that, I'll take the alun keys with me and Andy can watch me make a pig's ear of the process while we're on the ride. At least that way we get a ride in. That said I might nip out there later and give it a try, it's just that I don't trust myself at all with any kind of DIY activity, anything that is deemed to be a 'fixing' exercise. I just lack the dexterity and the confidence to do anything in that ball park so count me out of fixing your car or putting up a picture frame, making shelves, doing any car mechanics, anything at all as the outcome will be negative in so many ways.
It was good to be in Westerham, although the thought of riding back up the hill was pretty terrible. Beddlestead was worst, said Andy as we headed out of town, passing a car that had somehow wedged itself in a roadside ditch. "It was there on Boxing Day," said Andy.
We parted at The Ridge and said we'd meet again on Sunday at the earlier time of 0730hrs. Today we met at 0800hrs.
Exactly four years ago to the day, this is what we were doing: click here!
