First of all, let's get the elephant in the room out of the way: Trump is a cock.
Okay, what's been happening? Well, I lolled about watching television on Friday night (watching the best of Graham Norton) and ended up hitting the sack late, around midnight. When I woke up on Saturday morning I was still thinking about a ride, but because Andy wasn't riding (he had a cold) I had no motivation, no motivator, nobody to meet at the green. So I continued to loll around, but still conning and deceiving myself that I WOULD go out. I didn't. Eventually I did go out, in the car, to a store selling fireplaces. The bloke in the shop was one of those guys who didn't seem bothered whether he made a sale or not. In fact, he kept asking 'what's the point'? He tried to steer us away from spending a load of money on a coal-effect gas fire, trying instead to sell us a £500 electric 'stove' with flame effect and a balloon to blow up in order to block the chimney. I had visions of our house lifting off the ground, like in the movie Up!
We left the store and I felt a little deflated. There's nothing worse, in my book, than getting fired up (see the joke there? 'Fired up'? Fireplaces?) and then leaving without having a concrete idea about how to proceed. Still, nothing a chicken, avocado and bacon sandwich with salad wouldn't cure. After that I felt fine and the rest of the day unfolded slowly, culminating in an early night, which was much needed. In a way I'm glad I didn't go out on Saturday morning, I needed the rest. I did manage a walk around the block, possibly 3-4 miles, not sure.
Sunday I was awake at 0600hrs listening to Something Understood with Mark Tully on Radio 4 talking about mementos. It was fine for 10 minutes, but then I simply had to get up, especially when Tully started talking about getting old. I simply don't need it. For some reason, people keep trying to remind me that I'm no spring chicken. A work colleague texted me, concerned that he (and me) didn't have that much time left on the planet. I felt inclined to remind him that it's all part of the human condition, it's inevitable and it's best not to think too hard about it. "Live in the here and now," I said and then quoted a 1990s death row inmate, Robert Alton Harris, who was executed on 21 April 1992. His last words, were: "You can be a king or street sweeper, but everybody dances with the grim reaper." It was a misquote of "You might be a king or a little street sweeper, but sooner or later you dance with the reaper," from the movie Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. It's a great quote because it puts in their place all those rich, fat bastards, the senior management who think they're a cut above the rest of us, driving around in their fancy cars, bragging about how successful they are when really they're shit scared. The truth is, it doesn't matter how wealthy you are or how big your house is, you still take a dump like the rest of us and, like the rest of us, you die alone even if you're in a crowded room.
On Sunday morning I was considering a ride to Redhill to visit the Pop Inn cafe, but I figured I eat there during the week and changed my mind. Perhaps I'd ride solo to Westerham for scrambled egg and toast in the Tudor Rose, but the thought of riding back up the hill alone without the motivation of Andy put me off. I was left with three options: do nothing, ride to mum's or ride to Woodmansterne Green to see Bon. I chose the latter because riding to mum's would have meant fruit cake and a Kitkat. Bon and I met around 0830hrs and chatted about this and that before heading home. I can't remember what time I got back, but when I did it was time to take out the Christmas tree, which this year had shed a lot of pine needles on the floor. Soon it was unceremoniously stripped of its baubles and slung in the front garden awaiting collection by the rubbish people and it looked a bit like the tree in the photograph below.
Went to Chartwell for lunch - chicken pie, soup, coffee & walnut cake - had a brief walk across muddy ground and then headed home, ate an M&S samosa, engaged in another walk, this time a four-miler round the block. The tourist attraction that had been the local streets over the festive season had piped down their front-of-house festive displays. Some were still there, but the Christmas lights are flickering and soon they'll be extinguished for another year and I think everybody is quietly sighing with relief.
Okay, what's been happening? Well, I lolled about watching television on Friday night (watching the best of Graham Norton) and ended up hitting the sack late, around midnight. When I woke up on Saturday morning I was still thinking about a ride, but because Andy wasn't riding (he had a cold) I had no motivation, no motivator, nobody to meet at the green. So I continued to loll around, but still conning and deceiving myself that I WOULD go out. I didn't. Eventually I did go out, in the car, to a store selling fireplaces. The bloke in the shop was one of those guys who didn't seem bothered whether he made a sale or not. In fact, he kept asking 'what's the point'? He tried to steer us away from spending a load of money on a coal-effect gas fire, trying instead to sell us a £500 electric 'stove' with flame effect and a balloon to blow up in order to block the chimney. I had visions of our house lifting off the ground, like in the movie Up!
We left the store and I felt a little deflated. There's nothing worse, in my book, than getting fired up (see the joke there? 'Fired up'? Fireplaces?) and then leaving without having a concrete idea about how to proceed. Still, nothing a chicken, avocado and bacon sandwich with salad wouldn't cure. After that I felt fine and the rest of the day unfolded slowly, culminating in an early night, which was much needed. In a way I'm glad I didn't go out on Saturday morning, I needed the rest. I did manage a walk around the block, possibly 3-4 miles, not sure.
Sunday I was awake at 0600hrs listening to Something Understood with Mark Tully on Radio 4 talking about mementos. It was fine for 10 minutes, but then I simply had to get up, especially when Tully started talking about getting old. I simply don't need it. For some reason, people keep trying to remind me that I'm no spring chicken. A work colleague texted me, concerned that he (and me) didn't have that much time left on the planet. I felt inclined to remind him that it's all part of the human condition, it's inevitable and it's best not to think too hard about it. "Live in the here and now," I said and then quoted a 1990s death row inmate, Robert Alton Harris, who was executed on 21 April 1992. His last words, were: "You can be a king or street sweeper, but everybody dances with the grim reaper." It was a misquote of "You might be a king or a little street sweeper, but sooner or later you dance with the reaper," from the movie Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. It's a great quote because it puts in their place all those rich, fat bastards, the senior management who think they're a cut above the rest of us, driving around in their fancy cars, bragging about how successful they are when really they're shit scared. The truth is, it doesn't matter how wealthy you are or how big your house is, you still take a dump like the rest of us and, like the rest of us, you die alone even if you're in a crowded room.
On Sunday morning I was considering a ride to Redhill to visit the Pop Inn cafe, but I figured I eat there during the week and changed my mind. Perhaps I'd ride solo to Westerham for scrambled egg and toast in the Tudor Rose, but the thought of riding back up the hill alone without the motivation of Andy put me off. I was left with three options: do nothing, ride to mum's or ride to Woodmansterne Green to see Bon. I chose the latter because riding to mum's would have meant fruit cake and a Kitkat. Bon and I met around 0830hrs and chatted about this and that before heading home. I can't remember what time I got back, but when I did it was time to take out the Christmas tree, which this year had shed a lot of pine needles on the floor. Soon it was unceremoniously stripped of its baubles and slung in the front garden awaiting collection by the rubbish people and it looked a bit like the tree in the photograph below.
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| A tree in the grounds of Chartwell House, Westerham |
