Lockdown, Part 16: To Westerham!

Empty roads...

The routine of cycling early in the morning before the sun comes up has gone and won't be returning until the lockdown has ended and Andy and I can cycle again without the worry of social distancing. This means just one thing: later rides. During the week, as avid readers will know, I ride after 5pm normally and head out to Botley Hill where I turn around and cycle back. It's a 14-miler and it takes me about an hour, just over. My weekly mileage since the lockdown began goes like this: 36 miles, 48 miles, 60 miles, 72 miles, 84 miles and by close of play tomorrow 92 miles. Not bad going.

Today I left the house at 1110 and was initially planning to ride to the Tatsfield Churchyard, but as I bombed down Clarks Lane, past the famous Tatsfield Bus Stop, I accelerated as I passed the churchyard turn-off and headed down the hill into Westerham. The reason for this change of plan was the weather: clear skies, a warm breeze and sunshine, three essential ingredients if I'm going to go the extra mile or two. I powered into Westerham and headed straight for the green where there were other cyclists, but everyone was social distancing.

Nobody was sitting at the wooden table behind the statue of General Wolfe so I parked the bike, got out my flask of hot water, tea bag and Cath Kidson mug and made myself at home. A young mum and her daughter were doing cartwheels but everybody else, mainly cyclists, were chilling out, psyching themselves up for the journey home like I was, but mainly relaxing and enjoying the weather. It was odd being there with no shops, cafes or pubs being open, but in a way it was pleasant and I savoured every moment.

General Wolfe's statue in Westerham today

I'm not sure what time it was when I reached Westerham, but as I made to leave I checked my iphone, it was 1227hrs. I took the hill in my stride, stopping once to take a photograph but also to check I didn't have a bee or a wasp in my helmet (the one I wear on my head to protect me if I fall off). I sped along Clarks Lane, turned right at the mini roundabout and then powered my way down the 269. There was very little in the way of traffic. I reached home at 1324hrs, just an hour, which wasn't bad going. When I reached the house I made lunch, sandwiches basically, but good ones: cheese, mushroom, tomato and watercress with a little coleslaw. And then I feel asleep, or rather I kept nodding off in the heat of the 'conservatory'. Eventually I went out into the garden to read a couple of chapters from David Hepworth's Uncommon People (about Brian Wilson and The Who). Next up is Jimi Hendrix.

I could have just sat there all day, but in the end I felt energised enough to mow the lawn. I raked it afterwards, taking off any excess grass and then gave it a once-over with the mower before putting everything back in the garage and heading upstairs for a shave and a shower. Now, after dinner, I'm back in the conservatory writing this. In the background I can hear that Vikings is on. I'm not keen and I've probably said before that I can't be bothered to watch anything if the characters aren't wearing normal clothes, that's why I'm watching Ozark (Season Two) and the X Files.

On the long climb out of Westerham

Outside all is relatively still and quiet. The garden is looking good, or as good as it can look: there's always major work that needs doing in my garden, although I've put in a lot of work out there of late and I'm fairly pleased with the end result.

Nothing much new to report on the virus front. 

Lockdown, Part 15: It's all about food!

I've been keeping up the cycling. Every day I've been riding to Botley Hill and back and last night was no exception. Last week I rode 84 miles in total and this week I'm trying to go above that total. Surely 90 miles isn't much to ask of myself? As you know I'm riding six days a week with one day off, possibly today as the plan is to queue in the car park and (eventually) 'do the shopping'.

The worst thing about supermarket shopping during the lockdown is that people, including myself, simply don't distance themselves from their fellow shoppers. I have to admit that I get a little annoyed when I see somebody wearing a mask. There's something 'over the top' about it.

Healthy breakfasts are fine, but you can't beat Wispa bars and custard

The big news this week (if you can call it 'big news') was that it looks as if the 'lockdown' is going to continue for some time. The Government is alluding to months rather than weeks and I'm not sure how that makes me feel. There's a lot I miss about 'normal life', but then there's a lot I enjoy about being under 'lockdown', mainly because it's not that bad at all, as I've said many a time. The key, as I've also said many times, is having a bike. A bike brings freedom as long as you don't break social distancing rules and cycle in packs or with other people. I go out alone, after 5pm, and ride to Botley and back, it's become a default ride, and because the 269 is low on cars these days (apart from those who enjoy breaking the speed limit AND riding a little too close to me for comfort).

I realised earlier in the week how much I was saving. There are no train fares to work, no snacks, no meals at the caff, no mint teas while waiting for the train, nobody's birthday to contribute to, no lottery, nothing. The only thing that has 'gone up' in terms of money spent, is the shopping and that's because food and eating has become the focal point of everything, I'm even talking about it on Twitter and on Linkedin with colleagues past and present. In fact, since we've been on lockdown, I've eaten a lot more custard than I'm used to and I've reached the conclusion that Ambrosia Devon custard is far better than Bird's Instant Custard, although the latter could be improved with a teaspoon of banana-flavoured Nesquik. Also under discussion on social media has been Abbey Crunch biscuits. Where do they sit in the hierarchy? Are they better than HobNobs, are they trumped by chocolate HobNobs? It's all a matter of taste I readily admitted that when I was a kid I wouldn't think twice about eating an entire loaf of Mother's Pride bread, but I wouldn't today as there are far better brands to scoff. I remembered when I was kid and how, when ill (rare, but we all go down with stuff at some time or other) my mum treated me to a tin of Heinz Cream of Mushroom soup, often accompanied by slices of Mother's Pride. I loved it: a whole bowl of soup to myself. How we got it all in one bowl I'll never know, but we did.  When I was ill, the big mistake my parents made was leaving me with a little brass bell. I used to ring for room service miles too often and soon it was taken away. Tinned apple puree, now there's another one. And before anybody says there's an accent on one of those Es, I know, but I can't figure out how to type one on this laptop. My mum used to serve it up with warm custard, probably Bird's. One thing I haven't enjoyed for a very long time, however, is Heinz Egg Custard with Rice. As a baby, I loved it and I must say that if ever I find any I'm going to buy it and eat it raw straight out of the tin, just like in the old days. I remember having it as a baby, but I must have cajoled mum to get it when I was a little older as I distinctly remember it, probably when I was five or six, certainly under 10, but oh would I like some? Yes I would! I saw some once in Sainsbury's, a six-pack of it! For a few minutes I stood there until I eventually slapped my own wrists and moved on, but the temptation is there, folks. It's going to happen.

Moving on to current times and I must say that Charlie Bigham's is a great brand. We've enjoyed his bread & butter pudding and, if I recall correctly, his Bakewell pudding (or tart, although I think it's 'pudding'). Both great with custard. There's also a rather tasty cappuccino mousse in Waitrose and let's not forget vanilla-flavoured yoghurt. I'm prone to eat chocolate bars in the queue while waiting for the check out and then handing in my wrapper for scanning. Currently, my favourite chocolate bar is a Wispa, but I'm open to all suggestions. Something else I'm eating a lot of is Alpen. I noticed a huge sack of the stuff on the shelves and now find myself pouring it into a bowl whenever I feel like a snack. Sometimes it acts as a body double for my usual porridge, which must be a surprise for the grapes and bananas.

Anyway, it's now 0800hrs and I should be working so I'd better say goodbye, until the next time. I'm reading a great book at the moment, Uncommon People by David Hepworth. It's all about rock stars, a dying breed, and it's great.

* Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com

Lockdown, Part 14: Who wouldn't want to be Chris Lewis?

I was reading a great story this morning about a former member of the Paratroop Regiment who is engaged in a charity walk for an armed forces charity. His name is Chris Lewis and along with his dog Jet, he's found himself on the uninhabited island of Hildsay in the Shetlands and that's where he's self-isolating from the coronavirus. He's been given the keys to an old fisherman's cottage with no running water or electricity - sounds ideal.

This is where Chris Lewis and his dog Jet are living...

Being alone on an uninhabited Shetland isle must be wonderful: The silence and the feeling that it's just you (and your dog) and there are no outside pressures or any kind of reminders of the world. Lewis keeps himself occupied by collecting driftwood, foraging and fishing for food. He gets supplied with water and coal from the mainland and always ensures he has a three-week supply of dog food for Jet. Being surrounded by the sea and within earshot of the waves as they land on shore at night must aid a good night's sleep. He must be feeling not only on top of the world, but alive and living in the moment.

For more on this story, click here.

Source and image: BBC.

Lockdown, Part 13: To the Tatsfield Bus Stop!

It's the penultimate day of my cycling week and to date, this week, I've cycled 70 miles. Tomorrow, if I ride to Botley Hill as planned, I will have completed 84 miles of cycling. Last week, if I remember correctly, it was 72 miles and the week before that a mere 60 miles. The week before it was 48 miles and before that 36 miles. It seems like an age ago when I was riding the suburban streets of where I live, never more than a 10-minute walk from my house, but still getting a fairly good work-out from Norfolk Avenue, which I approached from both ends during the 36 and 48 mile sessions.

A boring image of the view from the Tatsfield Bus Stop...great weather!

Today, I left the house around noon. To be honest, I can't remember what time I left, but instead of riding to the roundabout just beyond Botley Hill I carried on towards the Tatsfield Bus Stop. My original plan had been to ride down Titsey Hill into Oxted for a mooch around and a bit of pointless window shopping. The last time I was there was just prior to the lockdown when people were still allowed in restaurants. I remember the Deep Blue fish & chip restaurant, sparsely peopled and about to close, but there was time for me to enjoy (if that's the right word) tomato and basil soup followed by an apple pie and custard. It wasn't groundbreaking cuisine, but the last I would sample prior to lockdown. I'm guessing it's been boarded up ever since. Well, not literally, but closed for business either way, although they do have a thriving takeaway business, which might have carried on regardless.

Cycling daily for the past three weeks has made me much fitter. I'm cycling faster than before and managing to ride 14 miles in about one hour, so 14 miles/hour as opposed to 10 miles/hour. I might try to up the ante next week (next week starting on Tuesday, the day after tomorrow). If I decided to ride 20 miles/day my end-of-week total would rise to 110 miles, but I might stick to the convenient 14 miles with, perhaps two or three 20-milers thrown in for good luck; as long as I can improve on this week's 84 miles. Perhaps 90 miles will do, an additional six miles? Let's see. I don't like to commit myself because if I do I end up berating myself for not keeping up with my own goals and that would be disastrous, as suddenly what was an enjoyable pastime (cycling daily during lockdown) would become fretful.

Another scintillating view ...

The great thing about cycling to the bus stop today was being able to sit down with a flask of hot water and (ahem) a Tazo Sweet Orange tea. Yeah, I know, it's a bit, well, you know, a bit strange, although I'm known to be strange when it comes to fruit and herb teas. I love them! But in all honesty, I should have packed some milk and some Twining's English Breakfast, perhaps some chocolate HobNobs, maybe a Scotch egg, the Sunday papers; alright, a tent, a sleeping bag and some baked beans for breakfast in the morning. But no, I sat there for about 20 minutes, Andy and I Facetimed each other and then I headed home. When I got back I had a cup of tea (this time with milk) and then headed out into the garden to cut the lawn at the top.

Now I'm watching (on and off) the One World thing on the BBC. Great to see the Rolling Stones and I thought Rag and Bone Man and Elton John were great. I'm going to sign off.

Lockdown, Part 12: A chance to breath.

Yesterday, I completed 56 miles of cycling, since my week started on Tuesday. As avid readers will know, I've been stepping up the riding from week one of the lockdown, starting with six miles per day, upping it to eight miles, then 10 and this past week 14 miles per day. I take one day off and this week it's likely to be today although, that said, the weather looks fine, a bit cloudy, but no rain, so there might be a chance of getting out there today. If I go out today, I've cycled daily since the Thursday before last, which is good going. One thing this virus is teaching me is that cycling is by far the best mode of transport. When (if) the lockdown is lifted - it's just been extended by 'at least' three more weeks - I'll try to cycle to work every day as it's only 11 miles to get there and I'm riding 14 at the moment. That way I can avoid using the trains or the car, although the car is probably the best bet, despite the fact that I simply don't like driving at the best of times, it's so lazy.

Easter time!!!

It was touch and go yesterday as to whether I'd even get a ride. The skies threatened rain most of the day, but nothing happened until later in the afternoon, but even then it was half-hearted. I sat in the 'conservatory' looking out on the garden, checking the birdbath for signs of raindrops, looking at one of the huge 'picture windows' (as my mum calls them) for signs of heavy rainfall and while there was the occasional droplet, it looked kind of alright. In the end, I checked the iphone's weather app and noted a cloud with a sun poking out from behind it, supposedly from around 1700hrs. I eventually got out around 1730, probably a little earlier, and rode to Botley Hill. It was fine and as I turned at the roundabout just beyond the pub and headed for home, I felt good that I'd taken a ride and could transfer my day off (if I was going to have one this week) to Saturday (today). Although the good news is that there's no rain scheduled for today, just cloudy and grey skies, which is perfect. It's also pretty still out there as I write this, so perhaps a ride today to Botley.

I've got to start thinking about pushing the envelope a little further next week. Oxted sprung to mind yesterday as I approached the turning point on the ride. It would mean riding down Titsey Hill (no great hardship) and then following the road into town. Distance? Roughly 20 miles at a guess, meaning I'd be riding 120 miles in the week (as opposed to this week's 84 miles when I complete on Monday and assuming I have today off). It's a tall order as next week I'm back at work, meaning I'll have to head out after 4pm and I'll be increasing my time out on the bike, and let's not forget Titsey Hill, I'll have to come back up, unless I ride along the A25 to Westerham and then come up Westerham hill, the long haul towards Botley along Clarks Lane, that can be an ordeal and would lengthen the trip considerably, making the ride hover around 25 miles. Not bad, though. I could do it four times in the week and still clock up 100 miles, although the idea of lolling around not cycling for three days wouldn't be good.

Cycling has been a daily pastime

I've come to realise that being in 'lockdown' isn't too bad, although I'm aware that I probably have it better than those crammed into small apartments and living half a dozen to a room and with no garden. Fine if you live in a reasonably decent block of flats with fairly extensive communal gardens, but these days, new blocks of flats are being built without such luxuries. If push comes to shove I can always head out to the garden, which is on the large side, I could even camp out there if I wanted a change of scenery. By and large, however, I'd even go as far as saying I was enjoying the isolation, the change of lifestyle, things have slowed down, I'm happy being at home and I'm thinking how mad things were when I was working all day, coming home by train, not getting back until after 1900hrs and then not eating until around 2000hrs, hitting the sack at gone 2300hrs and then repeating the process.

... and big breakfasts!

Now, under lockdown, I still work, but I get time to cycle on a daily basis, I get to spend time at home, to chat, eat decent meals at a reasonable hour and I don't spend money unnecessarily on mint teas and bananas in Puccino's on Redhill station or in the Pop Inn Cafe on the A23 every lunch time (easily £25 per week). Now I'm not saying I like the situation. I don't want people dying of some awful virus courtesy of China, but now we're all doing what we're doing, it gives us a chance to breath (no virus pun intended). I guess it's all about reappraisal, which we all need to do now and then. I was definitely spending more money than I needed to on rubbish: cake, biscuits, mint teas, bananas, just stuff to scoff while waiting for a train on a cold platform. At least if I was on the bike I'd have no time for pigging out.

I wasted a lot of money, even at weekends, driving aimlessly into the sticks and spending, easily, £25 on coffee and walnut cake, tea and hot chocolate. I've almost forgotten about 'driving'. Since lockdown I think I've only been in the car once a week and that's just a short journey to the store and back. I can't remember the last time I filled up with gas, but I know there's a good half a tank left and I haven't filled up for over a week. All the unnecessary spending meant I was invariably in debt most of the time and that, like a lot of things (delayed trains, stuck in traffic, eating too much cake round at mum's) led to fretting (about weight, work, you name it).

Blossoms on the tree

I've been listening to Johann Strauss, reading, chilling, cycling, eating good food, cooking some of it myself, chatting with my family, in many ways it's all been good. I haven't been sitting in traffic, driving miles just to eat a couple of slabs of fruit cake while watching Escape to the Country, feeling too tired to do anything and then not sleeping well because I'm worrying about money or jobs or travelling or whatever. In short, I'm in a better place right now, I quite enjoy - or I've gotten used to - keeping my distance from other people, keeping my own counsel, whatever, it's fine and the fact that we've got three more weeks of it? Bring it on!

The only stressful bit is shopping, standing there in the queue in the car park hoping that nobody's going to get too close or start sneezing, although I was suffering the other day from either hay fever or some kind of chill and found myself sneezing in the queue. Have I got the virus? Not yet and I hope I don't go down with it any time soon. They say that some people don't show any symptoms, well, I'd like to be one of those people, but I don't think I am. I've yet to hear of anybody I know having the virus and I hope to keep it that way. Mum's locked away from humanity, she's getting her food delivered by Waitrose. I haven't seen anybody, not even my son, who is in lockdown 12 miles or so away. When this is all over I'm hoping we'll all get together (my immediate family, that is, and go to our favourite pub in Sussex for lunch followed, perhaps, by a walk on the beach and even a slice of cake before the drive home. Here's hoping normality returns.

Even the dandelions get a look in...

Lockdown, Part 11: Three more weeks ain't no hardship

This morning I headed out fairly early on my ride to Botley Hill, non-stop. It's unusual riding out somewhere and then coming straight back - round the roundabout and home - but that's the way it is at the moment. Andy does his own thing and I do mine. We both ride solo in keeping with the rules.

Today I had one close call on the 269, some bastard getting a little too close for comfort. There was also an impatient cock (well, alright, cunt) who rather than wait until the road ahead of him was clear to pass me safely, decided to sound his horn loudly, making me jump. I mouthed the word 'wanker' and then quickly forgot about him as the fields opened up and I took full advantage of the lovely weather.

After the ride I head for the queue to shop...

The ride back was uneventful and I stopped at Waitrose to get some milk and other stuff. I had to queue for around 45 minutes, standing there in the car park two metres behind the person in front of me. Fortunately it wasn't raining although later on in the day, when I called mum, she told me she was praying for rain. I rolled my eyes. "It'll be good for the garden," she said. Bugger the garden, I thought, I wanted more sunshine and blue skies, I wanted to be out on the bike, not stuck indoors looking out on the rain. What will be will be.

I did spend the rest of the day in the garden, sawing and cutting and putting stuff in the big, brown plastic container supplied by the council. There's more to do tomorrow, but not if it's raining. Lunch was a tinned salmon and mayo sandwich followed by a deluxe hot cross bun, something else I'd bought earlier. I ended up having two, which was a bit piggish, I know, but being under 'lockdown' I decided it was justified. I figured that all the sawing and cutting back plus the earlier 14-mile bike ride, would burn off any excess calories.

Dinner was an excellent chicken stew, a meal that made it into the pages of Suki & the Christmas Treasure Trove, a book I wrote ages ago and self-published. It needs rewriting if I'm honest, but I doubt I will find the time. I wrote it ages ago, under the influence of Lemsip. I think it has potential, but there are far too many other things to be getting on with, so I doubt anything will happen.

Graffiti close to where I padlocked my bike at the supermarket

I'm sitting in the conservatory writing this. It's dark outside (it's now 2053hrs) and we're all resigned to the fact that the lockdown has been extended for another three weeks. To be totally honest with you, I'm used to it. I quite like it. It would be a nightmare without the cycling, which is part of my routine. I make a point of riding once a day and as we're on week three I'm now cycling 14 miles per day. Not sure what I'll be doing next week, though. I'll try and maintain what I'm doing right now, 14 miles per day, as it's a good work-out and I've managed to complete the ride, from door back to door, in around one hour and five minutes. Initially it took me one hour and 15 minutes, so I've shaved 10 minutes off the time.

The Specialized Rockhopper needs something doing to the front brake. It's rubbing on the disc and I think I need a new shoe. Bike shops are open if I'm not mistaken so I need to run it down to the shop and get it fixed.

Surviving lockdown is all to do with routine and I've slipped into a good one. It involves music (currently listening to a lot of Johann Strauss) and the X Files after the news, plus a bit of reading (currently Uncommon People by David Hepworth) a regular cycle, good food cooked well and a fairly good night's sleep. I tend to hit the sack around 2300hrs and I get up around 0700hrs.

So three more weeks ain't no hardship, I can do it.

Lockdown, Part 10: The UK is the sick man of Europe!

So it turns out the UK really is the 'sick man of Europe'. While other countries come out of 'lockdown' and it is revealed that Germany never closed any stores, the British are looking a little foolish. What with Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister, bragging about shaking the hands of corona virus patients - and then ending up half dead in intensive care and later praising the very immigrants he's trying to keep out of the country for saving his life - it's all looking a little tawdry. What's more, there's still not enough PPE for 'frontline' NHS staff and our care homes have been thrown to the dogs based, no doubt, on the Government's plan to rid the nation of the old and infirm. I mean, who needs a load of coffin dodgers clogging up the economy and costing us all a fortune in pensions? Not a cuntry run by the Tories! And before you ask, when it comes to the United Kingdom, there is no 'o' in cuntry!

At Botley Hill on yesterday's blustery ride...

And yet, everybody has this misguided affection for Boris Johnson, thinking of him as not so much a lovable rogue, but a lovable, blustering old buffoon who represents the true grit spirit of a nation 'at war'. What a load of old bollocks! This country isn't at war. In fact, I found myself getting really angry the other day as I set off on a solitary bike ride into the sticks, when I heard the sound of Vera fucking Lynn singing We'll Meet Again. Who had the audacity, the stupidity, the ignorance, to put that tune on? No doubt somebody who watches Lorraine and reads Hello! magazine and please, spare me from the condescending Nick 'I'd be amazed if he owned one' Ferrari, every morning from 0630. This morning he was talking to some doctor or other and he kept addressing him as 'doctor' when he didn't need to; he was being provocatively polite and hoping somebody might challenge him, but nobody ever does. Why is my radio tuned to LBC? It's normally Radio 4's Today Programme, which is miles more civilised. I don't think I've ever referred to my GP as 'doctor'.

It's looking as if the lockdown will continue until May, although I reckon it'll go on until June and even then we won't be safe as there's no vaccine and they're claiming we'll have to wait 18 months for one, if we're lucky. Let's face it, the UK Government wants to kill us off and it's starting with the wrinklies lounging around in care home day rooms playing cards and smelling of gravy. They could turn those care homes into flats for non-EU migrants or detention centres for illegals or rehab centres for the drugged and disorderly, they don't need old people bulk buying Werther's Originals! Perhaps that's why there's a Vera Lynn revival, to coax them all out of self isolation so the Government can slip them a dose of COVID-19.

The Ridge, bank holiday Monday, looking North and ready to ride home...

Mind you, good old Piers Morgan gave one member of the Government a right old roasting on GMTV this morning. A female MP, whose name escapes me, had no idea about anything and couldn't answer any of his questions. She was given short shrift, I can tell you, and why not? Piers asked, among other things, why the Government was charging VAT on PPE equipment for care homes, but had waived the tax for the NHS. The answer? "Well, they can claim back the VAT." But why bother charging them in the first place if they can claim it back? No answer.

Chilling after yesterday's ride...

I went out early for a bike ride this morning, the first of my solitary 14-milers that will add up to 84 miles by the end of the week. The weather was slightly better than yesterday, not so blustery, not as cold. The sun was out, the skies were relatively clear and once I'd passed Knight's Garden Centre and rode up the hill towards the bit where the fields open out and all is well with the world, I must say I started to feel good. There was little traffic on the road, just a few joggers, the odd solo cyclist like myself and a few baby lambs grazing in the fields on either side of me. I rode to and then round the mini roundabout a few hundred yards from the Botley Hill farmhouse pub and then powered back along the 269 until I reached Waitrose where I stopped, padlocked the bike and bought some milk, a carton of hot chocolate and a Wispa bar for myself (which I ate outside the store).

The sun is still shining as I write this, it's going to be a beautiful day, in lockdown! But there are things to look forward to, like lunch and dinner and the X Files on Prime.

Lockdown, Part Nine: Corona Cocks in a Carrot-Coloured Caterham 7

It's all very well sitting around under lockdown and wishing Bill Gates had been running things, but he wasn't and he isn't, he just so happens to be very clever, but nobody was listening, until it was too late. But it wasn't just Bill Gates, there was a female professor whose name escapes me, she too has been on television, old footage from a lecture given in 2015, explaining how the big threat was no longer nuclear war, but a virus coming from China. They both got it right, but nobody listened and that's when you realise that world governments, not just the UK's, consist of idiots; and then, of course, you just have to look at them to have your aroused suspicions legitimised: Boris Johnson, Michael Gove, Matt Hancock and the rest of them, and that's just in the UK, what about all the other nutters around the world, there's plenty off them and you can imagine them all dismissing Gates as a loony and getting on with the business of making life difficult for the poor and being general bastards.

This IS NOT the exact car I reference in the text, it is a library picture.

Still, as my mum used to say, you can't cry over spilt milk. No we can't, we've just got to grin and bear the mess our 'leaders' have made and hope that when it's all over they start making amends by ensuring we have the wherewithal next time to get it right and save us all from what we're going through now: Lockdown.

Yesterday I rode 14 miles to Botley Hill in the sunshine. It was tee-shirt weather, which is rare for this time of year. In fact, the annoying thing about all this is that normally the Easter holidays are rained off and, ironically, everybody's stuck at home watching shit on the television or visiting the relatives - or both! Then we all scoot back to work and look forward to a short week before the next weekend when the weather turns to shit again. Well, under lockdown, of course, things are different. For a start it's blazing sunshine, great for people like me with my own park, but not so good for those stuck en masse in a tiny room in the sweltering heat. I think if I was in that position I'd somehow get hold of a small tent and self-isolate in the woods.

But I digress and I bet you're all wondering about the cocks in a carrot-coloured Caterham 7. The exist, believe me, and I wish I'd taken a photograph of them or, better still, if I had one of those handlebar-mounted video cameras, because then I could have shopped them to the police and hoped they got prosecuted in some way.

During lockdown it's important to be aware of any nutters on the road. The prospect of there being hardly any traffic on the roads means that the nutters can open up the throttle a little bit and that's exactly what they do. Up until reaching the 269, all had been fine. The Limpsfield Road carried little in the way of traffic, there were a few people milling around at the Green and then I headed off into the sticks, debating in my head whether or not to use the off-road path. But the off-road path meant one thing: punctures. I didn't want to be by the roadside, bike upside down, fixing a puncture, so I stuck with the tarmac. And then, of course, I heard it. The sound of a sporty car building up speed behind me. I kept on, keeping the wheels straight, keeping left as far as I could without ending up on the off-road path and hoping that whoever, whatever, it was it wouldn't pass too close. It was building up a lot of speed and suddenly, whooosh! It passed me. A carrot-coloured Caterham 7 with two cocks, sitting there, as bold as brass, going nowhere in particular, although I didn't know that as I continued along the 269 heading in the direction of Botley Hill. The weather was beautiful and when the 269 opened out into fields on either side I was overjoyed, but then I heard a distant buzzing that grew louder and louder and then I saw it, the carrot-coloured Caterham 7 with it's two cocks onboard. They were now racing in the other direction, high speed and coming at me. Of course I ignored them. You know me, I have a rule. If ever I see anybody in a flash motor trying to get the attention of other road users I look at the ground or, if I'm not on a bike, I might even put my mobile phone to my ear, even if I'm not talking to anybody, just to make out that I'm simply not interested. And I wasn't interested in the two cocks sitting aside one another in the carrot-coloured Caterham 7, it's a kit car for heaven's sake. When I reached Botley Hill I went around the roundabout and pulled up at The Ridge. Here I Face-timed Andy for a brief chinwag. I told him about the cocks in the Caterham and we shared expletives, but as soon as I'd put the phone down, I heard the unmistakable sound of the Caterham. It must have been coming along Clarks Lane and would soon hang a right on to the 269. I was stationary at The Ridge when they whooshed past me and I found myself thinking that these two idiots weren't going anywhere specific. They weren't out on a shopping errand, they weren't working, they weren't visiting anybody, and they certainly weren't key workers, unless, of course, they were employed by Timpson's. What then, were they doing other than joy riding? The answer? Nothing. They were breaking the rules for their own enjoyment, putting their lives and others at risk by potentially having to rely upon the emergency services, the paramedics, who are otherwise engaged at present with victims of the virus.

As I rode back down the 269 heading for home I was hoping I'd see the carrot-coloured Caterham, parked up, so I could take a shot of the licence plate, but no such luck.

It was a great ride in great weather and it took around one hour and 15 minutes in total to get there and back home. It took me 35 minutes to get there, which ain't bad and now my weekly mileage total stands at 44 miles. By the end of today it will be 58 miles and then tomorrow it will be 72 miles. I'll be upping the ante for next week.

Lockdown, Part Eight: 'I hate tomorrow already'

"I hate tomorrow already," somebody said to me yesterday, and I know what they mean. It's the knowledge that tomorrow will be like today and so it goes on with no real end in sight. All I look forward to is a solitary ride into the sticks and fortunately the sun is shining. Cycling has kept me going physically and mentally, it's just being out there, on the bike, a warm breeze on my face, moving at a steady pace and not in any way reliant upon an engine, other than my own strength, pushing me onwards, but not upwards, this isn't ET and besides, my bike doesn't have a basket strapped to the handlebars.

"I hate tomorrow already..."

It's Saturday morning as I write this paragraph - the one above was written yesterday - and the newspapers are spreading doom and gloom as usual. The Daily Mail claims that we'll all be in lockdown for at least a year to 18 months when, hopefully, scientists will develop a vaccine. The Times, on the other hand, is a little more optimistic and believes a vaccine will be available in September. Either way is bad news.

Yesterday was shopping day and I had to queue in the car park, spaced two metres apart from the person in front of me as the store continues it's one in, one out policy. The weird thing is that once you're in the store, social distancing goes out the window, although everybody is watching everybody else and giving them space when they can.

Some people, like journalist Peter Hitchen, thinks the lockdown is a stupid idea. In many ways he has a point as we're basically killing our economy and it will take decades to get over it. We're not alone. Most of the western world is in lockdown, including the USA, and it's all getting a little frayed around the edges.

Things creep up on you...

"This is going to be a long journey - don't think it will all be over in a few weeks," says the BBC, loving every minute of imparting such knowledge to the populus. And as if to add insult to injury, adds: "We cannot simply return to normal after cases peak or even after they are reduced to very low levels." Fergus Walsh will be over the moon! We're all doomed and his highly paid colleagues will keep their jobs and their inflated salaries!

In fact, talking about the BBC, it's on right now, Charlie Stayt interviewing some goggle-eyed woman in Skipton, turns out she's the North Yorkshire Crime Commissioner, and she's moaning about cyclists. But she's not making herself crystal clear. Stayt asks for clarification. Is she saying cyclists are breaking the law? No? Yes? She eventually admits that the cyclists she's talking about are not breaking any laws, and then she says that they must understand that they're upsetting local communities - it's that loaded word again 'communities', loads of mice with bonnets and aprons and children in Victorian clothes rolling hoops down grassy hillocks - by what, by riding through them. Eh? So what is she saying? She's 'getting it out there' that cyclists are to be vilified in some way whenever they're seen on the roads because they're upsetting 'communities', they are the villains, and it goes without saying that all the nutters out there, the people with shaven heads, football shirts and calf tattoos, who believe every word uttered by Boris Johnson, the people who voted for the Brexit Party, the nobs who wave flags and have an unnatural obsession with the Royal Family - the 'British' basically - they will be acting as misguided vigilantes, assaulting, in this case, cyclists 'for the greater good'.

Keep 'em peeled!

People just need an excuse. It's amazing how thin a line we all tread. If you look at the world in general and think of all the bad things out there: extreme racial prejudice, anti-semitism, terrorism, rogue states, general thuggery, you name it; it's all still out there, nothing has been eradicated, we've somehow managed to keep a lid on it, like when rice starts to boil and you cover the pan but it still bubbles up around the edges, trying to escape; it's been held back for years and years, societies have railed against what religious nutters would call 'the forces of evil' but those forces are merely waiting it out, hoping that political change will go some way towards legitmising their actions, as Brexit did for racists. Watch out for empowered nutters.

And it's amazing how things can creep up on you. I was in my 'conservatory' yesterday looking at the book shelves. There's a book, Acid for the Children, written by Flea, the bassist of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. It was the last book I read before the lockdown and I remember, only days ago, it seems, reading in coffee shops, on crowded trains, in cafes, everywhere. Now, of course, all that has gone, it was another world in many ways, but it is no longer. It's unreal. But again, it's that thin line we all tread, dangers lurk everywhere and sometimes they bubble up to the surface, like now.

But what can we do other than scream at the television at journalists who will never ask the right questions, proving, perhaps, that they are part of the problem.

Lockdown, Part Seven: Other people's houses

The only mildly intriguing thing about 'the lockdown' is getting a peek inside other people's houses. As people start to rely upon online video sites to stay in visual contact and as television reporters and what have you broadcast from home, we get to see how everybody lives. The key thing, of course, is books. Shelves and shelves of books and a lot of people choose to sit in front of them, as if to say "See those books behind me? I've read all of them."

Bookshelves as a backdrop, but have you read them all?

I find myself ignoring the person talking on screen and looking at what's going on around them: family photographs, a painting or paintings, clutter of various kinds lying around on coffee tables, a television, a sofa, a dining table. The whole thing has even got me thinking about how I want to be perceived by the outside world. Later today, for example, I have a meeting on Zoom and I'm trying to work out where I should sit. I thought about the book shelves, but they have become a cliche, so I've got various choices, including the garden. My favourite is the dining room table, or rather the dining table as there is no separate dining room, just a vast space that accommodates everything. If I sit at the dining room table my audience will be able to see a white (ish) wall on which a painting is hung, very cultured. What I don't want is for people to see me in a similar environment to those you see on Saturday night television light entertainment shows, when families expose themselves, their dull lighting and cheap furniture to the world, not that I have a black leatherette sofa from DFS. I've also considered taking the lap top into the downstairs toilet and sitting there, cistern in full view, and then flushing just before the end of the meeting.

Does anybody in the UK have a sense of humour?

The other thing, of course, is how to dress. I've considered wearing my WKD turkey mask that makes me look as if somebody has made me wear the turkey, and I've started to wish I owned a panda head, not a real one, just something I could wear to make me look like a panda, or a giraffe or any other kind of animal, although I suppose a panda would be topical, what with the Chinese link to the coronavirus, not that I'm making any kind of political point, or being racist. Perhaps I could introduce the world to the shaving foam goatee, or wear dark glasses. But of course, it's all a pointless waste of time as nobody has a sense of humour and even if they did it would last for all of 30 seconds and I'd have to take off my disguise as the joke would wear thin and I would be remembered as the bloke who made light of a tragic situation.

Has it crossed anybody's mind that while we're all on lockdown, the Chinese are getting up to something they shouldn't? I just wondered. I know there are people who think the whole thing is a con, but I'm not sure I'd buy into that. It's like my dad used to say whenever I brought up so-called 'conspiracy theories', he'd say that, by necessity, people within the walls of Government would have to know about it and for that reason whatever it was would get out and the perpetrators would be rumbled. If the whole thing was a ruse, somebody would know, there would be a whistle blower, this is miles too big. What about all those people in Italian ITUs, is that somehow staged? I don't think so, and yet I swear I heard Mike Pompeo being asked earlier if he thought the whole thing was just that, some kind of ruse. He refused to answer the question, which means he does think it's a ruse, which is weird because he holds a senior role in the Trump administration - or perhaps it's because he's a member of the Trump administration that he thinks the whole thing is made up. Mind you, being in whistleblower in the West is one thing, being one in China would be a decidedly risky career move.

So, Boris Johnson is out of intensive care and in recovery mode, the lockdown is going to be extended 'to flatten the curve' and I've found something that's even more annoying than having to stay indoors: people who think that sell-by or use-by dates on a bottle of milk should be adhered to. Back in the day, when milk was delivered in glass bottles by the milkman, the only way to tell if the milk was 'off' was to sniff it and I for one still believe this to be the case.

It's Good Friday and the sun is shining brightly outside, there are blue skies, blossoms in the trees and it's great weather to be out and about, but of course we have to stay indoors. Yesterday, around 1730hrs, I set out on another solitary 10-miler bike ride and today I'll probably ride a little further, alone, of course! It looks as if I'll break the 60 miles per week barrier again this week and then I'm upping the ante, 15 miles per day, which will take my weekly mileage up to around 85 miles if I take longer rides at the weekend.

* Photos courtesy of Pixabay.com

Lockdown, Part Six: Let's not normalise deadly viruses

I don't wish Boris Johnson any harm and I most certainly wish him a speedy recovery, but if there's one thing I can't stand, it's being told what to do by a tabloid newspaper. "He stayed at work for you, now pray at home for him". And what are you going to do if I don't, you sub-standard little red top newspaper?

Having Raab at the helm is very worrying so yes, Boris, get out of hospital as soon as you can and relieve the man of his duties, although, judging by the fact that Johnson is in hospital with Coronavirus might mean that he too is not really the guy that should be running the country during a pandemic. That said, what is the alternative? Michael Gove? The last thing we want is Orville running the show.

I started off week three of my lockdown exercise regime yesterday with a 10-mile ride to just beyond Warlingham Sainsbury's. I doubled back along Ledgers Road, it might be Ledgers Lane, can't remember, but it was longer than I remembered and I think it added at least a mile on to my distance, so I'm guessing I rode around 11 miles, probably just over.

Hopefully, Johnson will lead the charge against China's unhealthy practices

If the truth be known, I didn't want to go out. I was feeling a little tired, although I hadn't been out of the house all day. It might have a lot to do with staying up late watching episodes of the X Files. Even this morning I could have wished the radio further when it switched itself on at 0600hrs, so I need to hit the sack earlier. It's all very well thinking I'm doing myself some good by drinking a camomile tea before bed, but if I'm not getting enough kip, well, it's not right.

They're talking (on Radio 4) about an international response to the crisis, but as always nobody asks the right questions or deals with the real problem: China. They always skate around the situation, being careful not to leave themselves open to charges of racism. The World Health Organisation, it is being said, is too politically close to China, even Donald Trump is starting to get a little fidgety about the WHO, claiming that he's going to look into it as the USA hands over the most money.

Trump's bound to have something to say...

What we need is somebody to do an Emperor's New Clothes and say it out loud: China is to blame for this virus, nobody else, their bad practices in Wuhan, their cover-up - their fault! It's hard to believe that nobody is saying anything, but they're not and yet thousands of people are dying. There's a story on the BBC website: 'Message from Wuhan: Learn from our mistakes.' I found myself thinking, yes, Wuhan's mistake. If it wasn't for Wuhan's mistakes we wouldn't be in this position. I think the issue here is this: we can't be placed in this position again, it's not only killing a lot of people, it's damaging the economies of nations around the globe AND infringing on the personal freedoms of millions of people. Surely we need to ensure that such a tragedy doesn't happen again. I think if something like this raises its ugly head again, we need to stop it immediately, stop flights from the offending nation and keep our economies going. We can't afford to be politically correct on something of this magnitude. In fact, I'd rather be called a racist than be stuck indoors for months on end and having to socially distance myself from everybody. Unfortunately, I get the feeling that nobody's going to say or do anything, lessons will not be learned and we'll sleep walk into it again in the not too distant future. I'm hoping not, but unless somebody has the guts to say something and mean it, we can all expect our current lockdown situation to become the norm. So watch out for those who start trying to 'normalise' the lockdown - like the mass media, because that will lead to complacency and that's the last thing anybody wants at the moment. You would have thought that being in intensive care, risking his own death by foolishly shaking hands with Corona virus victims, Boris Johnson would come out fighting and determined to put a stop the Chinese doing whatever it is they do that can cause such massive problems for the rest of the world. But I'm doubtful. And if the WHO is politically aligned with the Chinese, well, perhaps things do need to change.

Tonight, the second of my 10-mile rides. Next week it'll be 14 miles. On the cycling front it's all good, although it's a shame I'm not allowed to cycle with anybody and by that I mean my pal Andy. He, like me, is doing the same, cycling alone and we're both missing the tea and the chat. Hopefully, things will improve, but right now we're in the thick of it.

* Photos courtesy of Pixabay.com

Lockdown, Part Five: It's getting on my nerves!

I don't know why, but there are a number of words that are used relentlessly by the media, especially in a crisis, and I can't stand them: 'community' is the worst as it conjures up a situation, in my mind at any rate, where people live like the animals in Brambly Hedge. As if we're all mice wearing Easter bonnets and aprons and living in tree trunks, bidding a friendly 'good morning' to our neighbours while our kids roll hoops down grassy hillocks. No! It's not true! We all hate each other, we all think our neighbour is a disease-ridden scumbag to be avoided at all costs. Stop deceiving us! We know it's not true!

Covid-19 - it's a global catastrophe!

The crisis rolls on, and so does 'lockdown'. Boris Johnson, our PM, has been taken into intensive care and we're all faced with the horror of having Dominic Raab on the bridge, steering us towards the iceberg. There are, as we all know, many nobs in our country, most of whom have been panic-buying groceries, leaving our supermarket shelves empty of bog rolls and pasta. They've now moved on to ignoring the Government's social distancing rules, congregating in parks, cycling in packs and ramming themselves into crowded trains. The big worry is that the Government decides to intensify the lockdown and stop us from exercising out of the home. I sincerely hope this doesn't happen because I work from home all day and I need to get out and take some exercise. I've chosen to ride the bike, alone, every day. My 'week' runs from Tuesday to Sunday, I have one day of rest and this week I managed to cover 60 miles, roughly the equivalent of riding to the lakes twice. I'm going to step this up to 10 miles per day as the default setting, last week it was eight miles, the week before was six, but the weekend enabled me to up the mileage by 30 miles. While out my first ride of the weekend I noticed groups of Lycra monkeys flouting the rules and it made me angry.

Let's hope it passes over soon

And now here we are on week three of the lockdown. I have to say that I've gotten used to it. I wouldn't say I'm enjoying it, but I kind of know where I stand with it. I work from home during the day, I break for lunch, I sit in the garden enjoying the sunshine - because that's the worst thing, the weather is good and we can't take advantage of it.

Keep clear of your disease-ridden, scumbag neighbours and fellow shoppers

In many ways, I've stopped watching the news and media reports. It's the same as Brexit, once I get the gist of what's happening, there's no need to watch GMTV or listen to LBC and even if I do, I find I'm not really listening. Obviously there are spikes in the story, like Johnson heading for hospital, that make me sit up, but other than that the story is simple: a virus, a deadly virus, we're all in lockdown, it's going to get worse, the media are going over-the-top (as always) and need to be listened to with a large pinch of salt, the Government's daily press briefings are a sham, questions aren't answered, and let's make one thing absolutely clear: the current situation is nothing like the Blitz, nothing at all. Imagine how bad it would be if there were bombs dropping on your houses? Imagine rationing and having loved ones conscripted into the army, fighting overseas, think about V1s (doodlebugs) and V2s, gas masks, air raid shelters. I just wish the media would shut up going on about fucking Vera Lynn, I wish the Queen hadn't used the phrase 'we'll meet again' in her address to the nation. Where are the barrage balloons? No! It's nothing like the Second World War! Get over it!

Don't forget to buy out all the toilet rolls from your local supermarket

Like everybody, I want things to go back to normal, I certainly don't want them to get worse. We must not forget, however, that things aren't as bad as we think they are; the media (both mainstream and 'social') is behind the panic. They LOVE the virus! They're ramping up the hysteria and we're all buying it. And don't you hate the way they throw in the cute home videos of people stuck indoors, singing and 'making the most of it'? It's cringeworthy. I can't stand the way television news reporters have been forced to perfect their 'serious faces', a constant frown as they speak as if they have a migraine.

The important thing to remember is this: it will end!

The important thing to remember is this: it will end, sooner or later; it's not THAT bad. I mean, think what it would be like if the virus was airborne and not simply transferable from human to human. I suppose it would be a little more like the blitz as the media could compare the virus with German Heinkels or Stukas. Imagine not being able to go out into the open air for fear of catching the damn thing, so it's really nothing to get overly concerned about and that's why it's not worth listening too much to the media. Fine for a bit of light entertainment watching Piers Morgan lose his rag with some politician or Emily Maitlis being annoyingly right about everything. Fine to sit there watching the press briefing having a competition with your nearest and dearest about when those behind the lecterns are actually going to address the questions asked, or laughing at the ignorance of the Scottish chief medical officer who, in my opinion, should have lost her rag and instead of saying sorry to the nation, tipped over said lectern and told everybody to fuck off. "I'm going back to my country retreat, you miserable fuckers, I don't need the money, so piss off!

COVID-19: It can be fatal, but in 80% of cases, expect only mild symptoms

And please, keep that Fergus Walsh away from me. I can't stand him. He's so smugly overly knowledgeable about everything COVID-19 and he too is enjoying every minute of the pandemic. All we need to know is that it can be fatal for some people and that it's best to self-distance when out and stay indoors as much as possible. End of.

All I can say is thank the Lord for Amazon Prime. I'm now embarking upon Season 3 of the X-Files having already watched Seasons 1 and 2 and on that front alone, I'm enjoying the lockdown.

There's going to be a pink moon tonight, don't miss it!

* Photos courtesy of Pixabay.com

Lockdown, Part Four: Cycling clubs flout social distancing rules

Another beautiful day so I decided to get out on the bike again, alone, for some solitary exercise. This time I thought I'd ride 'the slow way' to the Tatsfield churchyard and I decided to take some tea with me. For those of you unfamiliar with this blog, there are two ways to reach the Tatsfield Churchyard from my place, the fast way along the B269 and the slow way following the country lanes that lead to Beddlestead Lane and beyond. The latter is harder and longer, but it stays away from the traffic.

The ride was wonderful, like yesterday, if not better, as yesterday I was on the 269. The sun was shining, the skies blue and once again I found myself feeling the freedom offered to me by a bicycle. The ride to and from the churchyard is roughly 17 miles there and back. It means that this week I've so far riden around 53 miles and there's still one day to go before I start on my third week. Last week my total was 36 miles. My plan is to ride six days per week, with one day off. Last week I had Sunday off, this week it was Friday.

On the roads, the occasional lone rider like myself would whizz past in the opposite direction and we would briefly acknowledge one another with a slight nod of the head and then continue on our way, although I've noticed that there's less politeness these days, people think that 'social distancing' also means not saying hello for fear of catching something. It doesn't really bother me except that I hate it when I've made the effort to shout 'alright!' or something and there's no response. I always think: 'rude bastard!'.

Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday 5 April 2020...

When I reached the churchyard and had climbed the steps and walked through the gate, I was pleased to note there was nobody around and that I had a choice of around five or six wooden benches on which to sit. I chose the bench Andy and I normally use and then set about simply enjoying the moment. The only noise, give or take, was the sound of buzzing insects, other than that all was still and I soon realised that I should have brought with me some sandwiches, perhaps a newspaper and, of course, a radio. Had I done so, I'd still be there now. I did have a flask of hot water, some milk and a couple of teabags so it wasn't long before I was sitting there, alone, in the sunshine, listening to the sounds of nature and sipping tea from a bone china cup. Yes, a bone china cup. I noticed, however, that my flask was 'made in China' and that put a damper on things as it reminded me of the virus, something I'd forgotten up until that point.

And then, of course, I heard it. The dull murmur of the M25. Why, I started to wonder, were there so many cars on the road? They can't all be going to their local shops to buy food. Everybody's been told not to go out unless it's necessary, like shopping, but there's always a bunch of idiots that flout the rules and mess things up for everybody else. We're allowed to take exercise, alone, like I was doing, but what are people doing just driving around? They're probably the same people who buy all the toilet rolls and leave the shelves of supermarkets empty, they probably believe every word uttered by Boris Johnson and were certainly taken in by the message on the side of the bus during the Brexit campaign, a lot of them probably voted for the Brexit Party, I bet! They're also the sort of people that are likely to be calling the police to report their neighbours when they spot them venturing out for some reason or other. In short, they're cunts.

After my two cups of tea, I spent a little longer at the churchyard, chilling out and checking on a couple of the headstones that I could see from the bench I was sitting on. First there was Albert William Barton, born 3 February 1914 and died 7 September 1977, the Queen's Jubilee year. He was sharing the headstone with his daughter Gladys Jean Shrubb, known affectionately as Peggy. She was born on 18 March 1933 and died on 31 September 2014. I looked at the dates a little closer and realised that old Albert was only 19 when he became a father to Gladys. Underneath Gladys' name was an epitaph. "I've lived a good life and now I will have a good rest". I wondered why Albert had become a father so young, but then my attention was drawn to an adjacent grave, that of Walter "Wally" Simpson, born in 1936 and died 2015. He was sharing the stone with Ian Alexander Simpson, born 1963 and died 1976, at the age of just 13. Now that was tragic, I thought as I set about packing up and preparing for the ride home.

Back on the road with around 45 minutes left in the saddle - or at least that's what I thought at the time, it turned out to be 35 minutes - I was staggered to see a bunch of around 8-10 cyclists riding along and paying no attention to the social distancing rules imposed by the Government during the lockdown. It started to annoy me as, back in the churchyard, I had checked my iphone for news and noticed that the BBC was claiming that Health Minister Matt Hancock, aka Jiminy Cricket, was threatening to ban exercise out of the home unless the minority of people flouting the rules got their acts together. I couldn't spot the name of the cycling club (otherwise I would have reported them for sure) but they'd probably emerged from Beddlestead Lane and could have come from anywhere in South East London or they might have been local. Either way, I don't want a bunch of Lycra monkeys ruining my daily exercise. They were heading into Tatsfield Village where, if that was their stopping point, I'd imagine they would all be grouping together on the green or around the covered bus stop. There are probably people living in Tatsfield who notice them and are probably wondering, just like I wondered, why they were all together.

I put aside my anger for the ride home, which was very enjoyable. The good weather continued and the traffic was relatively light, although again I found myself wondering why there was a fair smattering of cars travelling along the 269 on, of all days, a Sunday. No pubs were open, nobody was allowed to visit other people so why so much traffic?

I'm hoping that Jiminy Cricket doesn't forbid solitary exercise outside of the home for the sake of a few idiots, although it has to be said that the UK has more than its fair share of idiots these days.

Lockdown, Part Three: 'We're all doomed!'

There used to be a time when, occasionally, I had a strange feeling of being doomed. I could never quite put my finger on it, but it was there, nagging away at me, but never quite revealing itself. I would wrack my brains trying to find out what it was that was making me feel depressed and feeling like people tend to feel when they've had a great weekend and realise they've got to go back to work where there's loads to do, but I couldn't. It was hard, feeling downbeat and not really being able to say it was for this reason or that, sometimes it was just the notion that we're all mortal beings, the human condition basically, we're all going to die one way or another, and as a result everything seemed so pointless, we never really own anything, even our houses, everything is transient, here today, gone tomorrow and yes, it was (and always will be) depressing. But everybody feels this way at some time in their lives, possibly on a regular basis, I know I do. Not all the time. Most days I'm pretty upbeat about things, but not right now.

This time, of course, I know what's nagging at me. It's the same thing nagging at everybody. The coronavirus, lock down, uncertainty, curtailed freedoms, lovely weather but something wrong with the world: ignore that sunshine, ignore the blossoms on the trees (once a sign of hope as we pull out of winter and head for summer). Not any more. Everything is tinged with a sense of foreboding. It's all a little unreal, but at the same time real. It's as if the old days of fun and laughter have passed and now we have little to look forward to. I used to feel this way about Brexit and the Tories and Boris Johnson, but that was slightly different, all that leaving the EU, Donald Trump and what have you, almost a comedy, but the Coronavirus is a horror movie because it's Russian roulette. Yes, 80% only suffer mild symptoms, but who's to say I'm in the 80%? I might be one of the unlucky few who succumb to the disease and end up in the ExCeL Centre, better make that the Nightingale Hospital, but it'll always be an exhibition centre to me. In fact, with all the exhibitions I've been to, there would be a tragic irony to find myself there dying and wondering what exhibition stands had previously occupied my death space.

Today, Saturday 4th April 2020 and I escape the misery of coronavirus...

But I live in hope, of sorts. I've always believed in my own immortality, foolishly, perhaps. I like to think that by stocking up on zinc and selenium and cod liver oil, not to mention grapes and blueberries, porridge and everything else I stuff down my throat, I'll somehow survive whatever life throws at me.

Everything has been turned upside down and that includes the cycling. Andy and I are riding alone these days. No more tea at the bus stop, no more laughing about this and that, no more moaning about the European Union or the media or anything. We ride alone and that's a whole new dynamic. Nobody to share tea with, nobody to ride with, nobody to share the pain of the hills.

Today, much later than normal, I headed out for Botley Hill. It was a beautiful day and, probably because there have been no planes in the sky and virtually no cars on the road, the air was fresh, the hedgerows fragrant and the skies blue. In short, it was truly the most wonderful day and as I rode out of Warlingham and into the sticks I felt good. It was almost as if there was nothing to worry about, no virus, nothing, and it made me realise the freedom offered by the bicycle. I was cycling alone so I wasn't breaking any rules, despite what Chris Boardman was telling everybody on Twitter, something about staying local. Well, I suppose Botley Hill is local, it's a 14-mile round trip and it only takes around 27 minutes to get from The Ridge to my front door, which ain't bad. There were other riders on the road, mainly Lycra monkeys, but only groups of two and they were, of course, social distancing themselves from one another. But it could have been a normal day, a normal time without the virus and that's what I loved most about it. The bike offered me the freedom to be out and about and outside of the confines of the house. Not that being at home has been bad. As I've said before, the key is having a routine and now that I'm cycling daily, after work is done, I have a routine. That and watching the X Files, listening to music.

But I digress, let's get back to the ride. The daffodils were out, the sun was shining, the roads were relatively empty and as I headed back down the 269 a weight had been lifted off my shoulders: the weight of the coronavirus. The bike, I realised, was my ticket to ride, to break away and take in the fresh air. I was on cloud nine, so much so that I Facetimed Andy when I reached The Ridge. We chatted for a while and then said goodbye. Both of us are looking forward to normality, but when it's coming back is anybody's guess.