Over the past couple days I've been riding along country lanes taking in the wonderful smells and aromas of the summertime, the scent of the hedgerows and, of course, that lovely warm breeze you get on days like today and yesterday. As I rode around the lanes that led to St. Leonard's church in Chelsham I thought about a lottery ticket I had bought during the week, it was one that, should I win, I would get £10,000 per month for the next 30 years. Can you imagine that for one moment, £120,000 per annum, tax-free, for the next 30 years. That's a lot of money and a lot of time. And as I rode the lanes I imagined having won such a prize and how amazing it would be to be cycling through the summer knowing that I didn't have to work anymore, I could spend my days riding the bike, going to the beach, strolling around, wild swimming in the sea and so forth. Hell, I might even buy myself a place close to the coast so that I could enjoy the freshness of the sea and the sea air whenever the fancy took me.
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| Chilling at Costa in Westerham, Kent today... |
My sleeping rough 'fantasy' or 'dream' or whatever it is, still hangs over me occasionally. The other day I was on Amazon looking up bivvy bags, which are kind of elaborate sleeping bags. I found one that was basically a small tent, the sort of thing you could set up in minutes and then cover with camouflage so that nobody can spot you from a distance (I'm thinking angry farmers who wouldn't entertain the idea of me sleeping in one of their fields. That said, sleeping in random fields could be dangerous. What if a herd of horned bulls mosey on over during the night while I sleep, although I don't think I'll be getting much sleep, not on my first few nights under canvas. That whole 'dawn to dusk' business could easily involve the bivvy tent as it would be easy to carry, simple to erect and ideal for one person trying to keep a low profile. One day I might have a crack at cycling to the beach, I haven't done it for a long time and I'd love to do it; riding to Felpham is about 60 miles, which, these days, bearing in mind my increased fitness levels, I wouldn't have a problem with. I reckon I could easily do such mileage and would enjoy every minute, just as long as the weather was on my side, which it could be, you just never know with the British weather.
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| Summer in full swing on Beddlestead Lane today... |
I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I made a big mistake recently when I purchased a copy of Thomas Hardy's Return of the Native, I book I read ages ago and I rather enjoyed it; there's something about Diggory Venn, the reddleman, and Egdon Heath, which appealed to me, or so I thought when I bought it. But now I'm struggling and I wish there was such a thing as an amnesty on unread novels, like there is for knives. We could all trampse on down to our local police stations and hand in the books that failed to keep our attention, and I'd certainly be taking Hardy's tragic novel with me, although, in all honesty I don't really find it that 'tragic'. The character of Clym Yeobright, to me, is basically pathetic, he's come back from Paris where he seemed to be 'doing alright' and found himself getting married to one Eustacia Vye, Egdon Heath's femme fatale I suppose. But she fell in love with Clym because of what he was, not because of what he intends to become, and it all starts to go wrong. As I read it (I'm still struggling) Clym has damaged his eyes because he's been studying hard in bad light and as a result has taken a job as a furze cutter on the heath, much to the dismay of his wife who thinks he's capable of much better things. She wants to head to Paris with him, but he's fed up with the French capital and never intends to return and now she's going off of him. In my mind Clym is basically an idiot; he had a good job, he should have stayed in Paris or, failing that he should have returned to Paris with Eustacia, but no, he doesn't do that. I always feel as if I should shout at him to pull himself together and not throw his life away on the heath, but he wouldn't listen. His mother, Mrs Yeobright, is despairing with him too. Not only does she not like his new wife, but can't believe that he would throw away the opportunities presented to him by Paris and whatever it was he was doing there (I'm sure this is explained, but I can't remember). As I said earlier, I've read the book before and for some reason thought that the haunting quality of the heath and the strangeness of the reddleman would make the book appealing, but in all honesty I want to finish it and then crack on with something a little more exciting, like a cycling adventure book, of which there are many online at present; but because there is no amnesty on unread novels I'll have to wait until I've finished Return of the Native as I hate buying a book and then not finishing it; then it's all down to what \i read next. I could make a rod for my own back and read Saul Bellow's More Die of Heartbreak, which might be a decent book, I don't know, but it could be another Return of the Native scenario. What I need is to be sitting in a coffee shop somewhere, possibly the Costa down in Westerham. I could ride there, order tea and cake and then try and get through a couple of chapters of Hardy's classic novel. I'm not doing too badly. I'm on Chapter Three of 'Book Fourth', The Closed Door so I'm not a million miles from ordering something else online, like Nelson Algren's A Walk on the Wild Side, yes, the book that inspired Lou Reed's classic song of the same name. I'm tempted to read The Plague by Albert Camus or even something by Jean Paul Sartre, but I'm not sure, perhaps something lighter. like the aforementioned cycling adventure, would be better. But right now my only problem is finishing Return of the Native. It's Friday evening, it's very warm outside and the sun is still shining as the time approaches 1830hrs, so it's likely that I might fight my way through another chapter, taking me closer to the finish line.
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| The Lunchtime Weeble... |
It's Saturday afternoon, 1317hrs to be precise, and the sun has just come out. Earlier, around 0900hrs, I rode to Westerham and it was cloudy with a mild breeze. I had the feeling it would rain at any minute and it did when I was sitting outside of Costa Coffee drinking tea and enjoying another cinnamon brioche bun, yes, another one. The rain lasted all of a few seconds and then stopped and held off all the way home until I reached the Sanderstead area. I had riden the slow way (along Beddlestead Lane) and then turned left and headed down Clarks Lane, following the road down the hill and round the bend, bearing right, not even turning left as I usually do and riding along Pilgrims Lane. I sat outside with my tea and bun and just took in my surroundings, people watching. A man tried to get a bright red armchair into the back of his estate car and he managed it before heading off to his home in nearby Chiddingstone, which, he said, was 15 minutes' drive away. There was a man with a nasty-looking dog, a few old people floating around and a handful of people on the green. The sun made brief appearances. I rode back along the road towards the Velo Barn and then hung a left into Pilgrims Lane where I found a Lycra monkey struggling to get out of the wrong gear. I should have quipped that being in the wrong gear was the story of my life, but I simply couldn't be bothered. I continued along Pilgrims Lane, emerging at the foot of the hill and started the climb that wouldn't end until I reached the Botley Hill roundabout. I turned left on to The Ridge and rode into Woldingham, down Slines Oak Road and then up the steep bit at the end. When I reached the 269 it was raining, but it wasn't cold so I pushed on regardless, passing Flavours, my new favourite caff in Warlingham, and then along the Limpsfield Road towards Sanderstead. I sailed down Church Way in the rain and put in a good 24.55 miles, giving me that magical 84-mile weekly total, well, just over 84 miles.
