Sometimes I lose the will to live...

Last Sunday we broke with tradition and rode to Tatsfield village instead of Westerham. In the old days, of course, riding to the village would have meant sitting in the cold bus shelter drinking tea from a flask and then riding home again, but now that we're leaving our respective houses later, we get there in time for the opening of Sheree's Tea Room. Last Sunday I was there first and secured a seat by the window. It was all very festive and cosy. I ordered a pot of tea and (foolishly) a millionaire's shortbread. And then Andy arrived. I could have sat there for the whole morning if the truth be known, but as the clock edged around to 1000hrs I knew it was time to head home. Andy and I parted company at The Ridge and I rode the 269, getting home around 1100hrs.

Cosy and festive window at Sheree's Tearooms last Sunday...

Talk about riding five miles daily went out of the window as the new working week began. When I reached home on Monday night I was in no mood to get on the bike and it was the same for Tuesday and Wednesday. I did manage a Washpond Weeble on Thursday and I might well try to get one in today (Friday) but it's looking increasingly unlikely. 

Fake cakes at Sheree's Tearooms...

The weather is getting bad (or so say the TV weather people). If it does get colder then the balaclava will come out, and the scarf. Yesterday (Thursday) I rode the Weeble wearing a heavy jumper and my Parka. It was a good ride. Apparently today (Friday) offers "a really chilly start", not what I wanted to hear, but then I'm not planning on going out this morning. I have the day off so I'll go later on. Andy's not riding on Sunday so I'll have to motivate myself, which isn't a problem. I've been thinking about a ride to Redhill to have breakfast in the Pop Inn, let's see.

I'm beginning to wonder why I left it until later to hit the road. It's raining now and doesn't look as if it'll stop any time soon, so today might be called off. I'm beginning to lose track of my rides. Yesterday was a 12.38-mile ride starting at 1324hrs and ending 73 minutes later. Prior to that I had covered 16.26 miles to and from Tatsfield village on Sunday (on the road for 93 minutes in total) and then, the previous day, I did a longer ride into Westerham via Beddlestead Lane and back up Hesiers Hill (24.26 miles in two hours and 35 minutes). I did a Lunchtime Weeble (12.37 miles) on Friday 19 November and then it was the ride I mentioned in my last post when I gave up queuing and simply rode home from Westerham Costa without my regulation large English breakfast tea. In other words my mileage is seriously slacking.

Losing the will to live

I'm actually finding it difficult not to lose to will to live at the moment. This is largely due to work-related woes, and I feel a little on the edge as a result and constantly thinking how pointless everything appears to be at present. It's all work, work, work and no play. And at night I am reluctant to go to bed because I don't particularly like sleeping any more, ever since that inner ear infection back in October 2017 (28th), the day I decided to give up drinking. I've kept that up, which I'm pleased about, but the end result of the infection is that I cannot sleep on my right hand side, or rather I don't want to in case it all starts up again. Add to that a constantly blocked up ear, which I will get seen to shortly, and the whole idea of resting has become a nightmare. There's nothing worse than not being able to hear what's going on at night. I literally can't wait to wake up and as soon as I do I'm out of bed and downstairs eating breakfast if the clock reads 0500hrs or later. Anything before that and I have to grin and bear it, the only one awake, staring at the ceiling, fretting about something or someone until the hour is respectable enough for me to rise from bed and head downstairs for breakfast. 

Last Sunday's at Sheree's Tearooms

My only true pleasure at the moment comes from visiting a cosy coffee shop with a decent book and my lap top, like I did a few weeks back at a London branch of Caffe Nero. You simply can't beat it. 

To try and stop the edgy feelings and the stress I also look forward to just sitting in front of the television watching something decent (if I can find something). Normally nothing good is broadcast until 2100hrs and at the moment I'm watching the ultimate rubbish in the shape of I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! which is absolute craperama, and even more so now that Richard Madeley has been removed from camp after being struck down by illness, caused, I believe, by diving head first into a load of rotten vegetables and fish guts, aged 65. They're back in the Welsh castle again this year due to COVID and now, of course, there's talk of another variant (Omicron) emanating from South Africa that can bypass all vaccines. I've been double-jabbed and I'm awaiting the booster, which I don't particularly want. 

Television

Getting back to what I like watching on television to soothe my edgy feelings, stuff like long-running crime dramas (Shetland) or programmes presented by Ben Fogle or even watching Shappi Korsandi (an Iranian comedian) walking alone through the countryside, something that takes me away from everything. Sadly, reality gatecrashes the party at 2200hrs when Huw Edwards appears, sombre look on face, to deliver a whole bunch of bad news to the country, normally something that involves us having to watch pictures of that prat of a Prime Minister Boris Johnson or Priti Patel leaving buildings or giving speeches or addressing the House. At this moment I channel hop, but rarely find anything worth watching, and soon I start to consider the awful reality of the situation: I've got to start thinking about locking up the house and heading upstairs to bed. Perhaps I should just sleep in a different part of the house to mix things up a bit. I keep thinking about bedding down in the conservatory in a sleeping bag for some reason, surrounding myself with pillows. That would make waking up in the middle of the night a bit more exciting. I could lie there with my radio for company, listening, perhaps, to BBC Radio Three or LBC, although the latter would probably make matters worse so let's stick with classical music. I've got a lot on my mind at present and I just wish I could find a desolate cottage on a windswept beach in Shetland or Orkney or the Isle of Harris where I could simply stare at the sea for a few days, that's what I need more than anything else.

Blood pressure

Then, to make matters worse, the doctor sends me some kind of document to download on my iphone (which proves impossible) so that I can send him a blood pressure reading. My blood pressure has always been 'borderline high' meaning not crazy or out of control but worth monitoring. So I have a monitor, which I think causes more stress than anything else. What normally happens is this: I visit the doctor for whatever reason and he takes my blood pressure, it's high, it always is when it's first taken, they call it 'white coat syndrome', and it won't come down a great deal if he presses the button on his machine a few moments later. He asks me to go away and do my own tests, which I do, and invariably the readings are much lower and it's all forgotten about. As a stressful day at work drew to a close last week the message came through and I somehow managed to send him a reading (152/89 - or something of that ilk). There was a note saying that when you first take a reading it will be high so I didn't send him the first two or three, which, according to the document, meant I needed to get myself off to A&E immediately (in itself stress-inducing). And so, the ball was in motion once again. On top of work and not being able to hear properly because my ears are blocked (and don't appear to be unblocking any time soon) all I need is to start fretting about blood pressure. But it's worse this time. My pulse, which, for years has been a constant 60, has dipped to 59, 55, 53, 51, even 50. Naturally, I make matters worse for myself by checking it out on the Internet. Brachycardia. This might be something to do with the amount of cycling I've been doing over the past 18 months, I don't know, but there it is. Andy says he gets it too and he's thought about visiting the doc, but hasn't yet. At around midnight I call a Bupa nurse (who, of course, is absolutely no help whatsover). I thought about dialling 111, but that would have been a mistake, they'd insist I wend my way to casualty and I would have been there all night... and nothing would have been resolved.

Tudor Rose Tearooms today

I have an appointment with the doc next Friday at 1000hrs and I'm already plotting (working on ways I can reduce my BP). Daily cycling is one thing, although this is also to stop me fretting at night times when I hit the sack and it was something Andy suggested when we met on Saturday (yesterday) at Sheree's Tearooms in Tatsfield Village. "Just a local five-miler, nothing more, don't attempt to start cycling to work as that will cause more stress when you fail to get it together, just five miles, nothing more, nothing less". So I'm going to do it. Incidentally, I weakened and ordered a slice of cake. See, there I go, fretting again.

Right now I'm just a ball of stress. I simply can't relax. I'm always thinking about work or I'm feeling wary about something and it all starts from the moment I open my eyes. Consciousness reminds me about the BP situation, about work and anything else that might cause anxiety, down to little things like "can you put X or Y in the loft?" or "should we put the electric fire back in the garage?" And if I'm sitting down, reading a paper or watching the TV I'm thinking "I wonder if my BP is dangerously high?" It's a continuing onslaught of worry and with the latter it's because I don't want to take blood pressure tablets, I don't want to be one of those people 'on medication'. Last night I had the monitor on all night and most of the readings were borderline high and some very high, but I managed to get one or two below the 140 marker, but nowhere near the optimum reading. I find myself getting conspiratorial about it: the docs just want to make money by getting me to take out a life-long prescription, that's all this is about. Apparently they get paid for every prescription they issue, no wonder there's a load of top-of-the-range Audi sedans in the surgery car park. I view doctors with suspicion like I do almost everybody these days. Very few people have my best interests at heart. And what really annoys me about the BP thing is this: I don't drink, I take regular exercise, I eat relatively well, I make a point of walking to Purley station every morning (well, most mornings) to keep up my steps. My only vice is the odd bit of cake, although I do need to lose about a stone in weight, and that's why I'm going to bust a gut to do that daily 5-miler during the week.

Sunday's ride to Westerham

It's Sunday morning and the sun is shining, but it's not warm outside. Far from it! Time to hit the road and get some exercise, in the shape of a 22 miles plus ride to and from Westerham. I'll probably have a large English Breakfast tea when I get there and then ride home again. The weather was bright and sunny and cold as I headed off in my Parka, heavy jumper, beany hat under helmet, and gloves. I rode the slow way along Beddlestead Lane and then down Clarks Lane, a left on to Pilgrims, turning right at the Velobarn and then riding up the hill to the Costa. There was quite a few cyclists in there and a long queue so, reluctantly, I moved along the green a little to the Tudor Rose Tearooms where I enjoyed a pot of tea and a rock cake, which was absolutely perfect. For a short while I was chilled out, deep in thought, sipping tea and munching on that rock cake. Wonderful. But soon the journey home beckoned and I found myself standing on the green, buttoning up the Parka, putting on the crash helmet and gloves, pressing 'resume' on Strava and then heading off, retracing the inward route. I decided to ride through Woldingham and up Slines Oak Road and then made my way along the Limpsfield Road towards home.