The bad weather continues...

I'm seriously considering taking up another sport, one that is sheltered from the weather. I can't stand going to the gym so it won't be that and it looks, therefore, as is swimming might be coming back, although the cost of living crisis means that some local authority pools, I am told, will be closing to save money. It's been almost one month (bar a recent ride with Andy on Boxing Day) since I've been out on the bike and it's all down to bad weather, extreme cold in the main, but now it's rain and it doesn't matter how much waterproof clothing I buy, the key is that riding in the rain isn't much fun, let's face it, so why bother? Going into the garage to use a turbo trainer simply doesn't appeal and I don't have the spare cash to purchase a stationary bike, which, arguably, would solve the problem, but I've been there before and would rather go for a proper ride on the roads and country lanes. 

Westerham, Boxing Day morning...

Today, Saturday (New Year's Eve) I had planned a ride to Oxted, like in the good old days, but that was scuppered early this morning as I lay in bed listening to the howling wind and then waking to discover that it was also raining. It's all extremely depressing because all I appear to be doing is sitting around waiting to go to work. Today, being Saturday, is almost 'back to normal' inasmuch as I'll be going to work next week. Now, it's as if I have Monday off and that's it; and to top it all there are train strikes EVERY DAY of next week. There's little more to say other than I am rather pissed off. I feel like time is passing by very quickly and I'm getting nowhere, all the landmark dates come and go: Halloween, Guy Fawkes Night (what happened to that this year?) mum's birthday, my birthday, Christmas and soon New Year's Day - arguably the most depressing day of the entire year as people wake up, hung over and realise that it's the same old shit, just a different day and all they have to show for it is a headache. Throw in a large amount of absolutely rubbish television (largely repeats produced at a time when things were better) and a general feeling of pointlessness and you'll have some idea of how I feel right now. Depressed. And now, as the clock is being rewound, only to be unwound slowly over the next 12 months, it's more of the same: Putin, train strikes, crap Government, COVID, the cost of living crisis and everything else. In short, there is nothing to look forward to except for shite.

Westerham, Boxing Day 2022...

I'm glad that Andy and I managed to ride to Westerham on Boxing Day as the festive ride is a NoVisibleLycra tradition that we try our best to uphold. I was noticeably out of condition having not riden the bike for a least three weeks but I somehow managed to get there bang on 0900hrs before Costa even opened its doors. Andy's bought a new bike and he rode it to Westerham. It's a nice bike with some parts built to spec, ie narrower handlebars and different wheels to what would have been on the original bike. Andy ordered a black coffee and a toasted teacake, I ordered an English breakfast tea and a toasted teacake, but no jam, just butter (Andy ordered just jam). 

Our bikes outside of Costa Coffee

As always, I eat a lot of crap over Christmas and, as always, I start to make up resolutions for the new year, like 'no more crap food', 'no more bread, no more chocolate, cake and so on' and then, of course, I break them. Perhaps it's best to say nothing and just try not to eat too badly. What I need more than anything, however, is exercise, but the weather is so piss poor even a walk is out of the question.

And now I sit here at the dining table looking over at a Christmas tree that will soon be dumped unceremoniously in the back garden awaiting being chopped up and placed in bits in the brown plastic wheelie bin that is currently residing on the front drive. All the decorations that seemingly only went up a few days ago will have to be packed away until next year and then all that's left is to sit and wonder at the anti-climax of it all and why people cram into supermarkets as if we're all expecting some kind of calamity that will leave us all without food when the reality is that Christmas Day is just one day and that on Boxing Day we'll all be able to go out and buy food again. What's even more annoying is that this year I noticed the big stores like John Lewis did their patronising Christmas ads as usual, inviting everybody to go out and spend a fortune, and then, the very same store advertised its sale, meaning that if people had just waited a few days they could have got whatever they bought for half the price they paid a day or two earlier. Again, I found myself wishing that we were not so gullible. Imagine if we all simply said no and didn't bother doing any Christmas shopping until the sales, that would be hilarious, playing them at their own game. But no, we won't, we'll simply carry on like we always do and then go to the sales too. I couldn't believe that I was in a shopping centre in Tunbridge Wells yesterday afternoon looking, but not buying anything (although somebody I was with bought a coat). It's all horrible and I found myself thinking of Guy Debord and a book I really ought to buy, The Society of the Spectacle. Perhaps next year.

Slapstick follows me everywhere!

Wherever I go, slapstick follows me. Something as simple as fixing a puncture! First, off comes the wheel, the rear wheel, now that's a shit show in itself, but off it comes and I figure I'll remember how to get it back on later. Thanks to Halfords no longer selling 'leeches' I'm forced to use 'Scabs'. Horrible things! First, how the fuck do you get them out? Virtually impossible, but the other day, when I first fixed the very same puncture, I managed it... only to discover that I had a flat tyre the very next day. Cold weather kept me out of the garage, away from the bike and in the warm for the next God knows how long, easily over a week. But now the decent weather has returned. Decent? Well, yes, by comparision. So I'm out there again today, the wheel comes off and this time I place the inner tube into a bowl of hot water to check whether or not I had more than one puncture. It turns out to be the same one. Bubbles escaped from underneath the 'scab' proving to me that the scabs are rubbish. I tried placing another scab on the area where the bubbles were escaping from, but no good. This meant just one thing: I'd have to buy a new inner tube and while at it also buy a new tyre and inner tube: £24 the lot from Halfords. And I'm back in the room! Well, the garage, armed with a new tyre and a new inner tube. The tyre's fine and so is the inner tube, just a case of getting it out of the plastic packaging. I know! I'll break a hole in the plastic with a small key on my keyring. But where is my key ring? It must be in my coat which is hanging off the back of the lawnmower. I check. Nope, not there. I must have left it on a shelf somewhere. Nope. In the garage door? Nope. Well, it can't be indoors as I used it to open the garage. I then spend the next half an hour searching the garage, but without success. Where is it? I start to imagine myself sheltering in the garage, unable to pick up my family from the railway station because I don't have my keys. What amazes me is this: I checked my coat thoroughly, every pocket, and it wasn't there, but then on checking it a second time, it's there. Ridiculous. So I go back into the house and using a knife from the draw in the kitchen I open the packaging and then head back into the garage. All I have to do now is put the tyre on the wheel and then the new inner tube inside it. It took an age to prise the tyre on to wheel and then I spent an inordinate amount of time stuffing the inner tube inside the tyre. Once I'd completed the task I then noticed that some of the tyre bulged out when I pumped it up so I had to deflate the tyre and mess around until it all went back without bulges. I pumped it up and managed (unusually) to get the wheel back on the frame. Thank the Lord! Seriously! Thank. The. Lord. I closed up the garage and then decided it was time for a walk, albeit a brief one, to Coco & Nut, my favourite coffee shop (it's about 10 minutes away). I ordered a cappuccino and a toasted chicken and pesto sandwich and then sat there reading for around half an hour or so. After a while I realised it was time to go. I was just glad that this time I got a table. The last time I walked here (on the slippery icy pathways) I was cheesed off to discover that the place was full-to-bursting (no seats at all). I could have sat outside, but it was cold so I didn't bother. I simply trudged home, book in rucksack untouched.

Icy roads en route to an indie coffee shop last week, far easier today!

Today, however, has been good. Once I'd completed a few tasks, one involving the aforementioned puncture, the other taking a faulty product back to IKEA, I decided to listen to music and found, completely by accident, a band called Husker Du, an American rock/punk band who have since disbanded, but not before releasing a number of amazing albums during the 80s. I'm amazed I'd never heard of them before, but there you go. So I've been listening the Husker Du and Judas Priest and the Pixies (Debaser) on a continuous loop almost until I was told no more. I get that totally. While I could listen to Debaser over and over and over again, I appreciate that it's not to everybody's taste and I had a good run so I was happy to switch it off and watch a bit of Dad's Army. I think that I'm at last managing to chill out, ie come down from the stress of working. I'm so glad I had holiday to take off otherwise I'd be at work all this week. As it happens I'm not.

I'm hoping to get out on the bike tomorrow. I'm hoping that when I open the garage door I won't find another puncture. The inner tube I've bought is one of those slime-based products that fix the puncture automatically when it happens. Let's hope, that's all I can say. I'm planning a much-needed ride to Oxted. The new tyre is pretty basic, but it does the trick and it's got more tread on it than the one I've taken off.

The cold weather continues...and there's no cycling

 I'm starting to wonder when I last went out on the bike. I think it was a ride to Tatsfield to meet Andy on a Sunday, probably not last Sunday but the week before. The weather was, if I recall, relatively fine and, as those who read this blog will know, I sat there and indulged myself with a pot of tea and a large slice of coffee and walnut cake. Since then I've done nothing, no cycling whatsoever, and for good reason. Suddenly the weather changed, plummeted to be more precise, into the depths of arctic temperatures and all that goes with them: frosted windscreens, slippery roads, even more slippery pavements, delayed trains, everything unpleasant that you can think of. 

Snow outside the house... it's going, but slowly...

Last weekend I fixed the puncture that led to me walking five miles home because it was just too cold to fix it by the roadside. So, going back to the previous paragraph where I say the weather was 'relatively fine' it clearly wasn't that good. Yesterday I went into the garage and lo and behold, the puncture I thought I'd fixed was not fixed, it was as flat as a pancake; either the fixed puncture wasn't done properly or there was more than one puncture. The one I fixed was bad enough, it was like a tear in the fabric of the inner tube. Perhaps that's it, it's simply unfixable and I'll need a new inner tube... and while I'm at it a new tyre.

I've had no exercise since that ride with Andy, apart from some walks, and while I have considered swimming, it's just too cold. Everything is turning to shit basically and throw in Christmas and all the shite that lands on the table in the office kitchen and, well, I might as well give the bike away and become a fat bastard.

Frozen Sanderstead lake last weekend...

There's one week to go before Christmas and I'm glad to hear that retail sales are down, all those greedy bastards, especially the supermarkets, with their television ads designed to pull at the heart strings, were all a big waste of time as people simply don't have the money, so stop advertising to us, we don't care about what you have on your shelves, we don't want it and, what's more, we don't need it.

People ask me what I want for Christmas and I don't really have an answer because I simply don't know. I have everything I need, although I do hate it when people ask if I'd like socks. No, fuck off! I don't want socks! I can buy them whenever I need them; alright, I need them, but that's not a Christmas present is it? 

"Oh, what did you get for Christmas?"

"Socks."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

I'd rather have nothing than have socks for Christmas.

We've done a bit of Christmas shopping, which I hate with a vengeance, milling around with all the greedy bastards who clasp loads of branded carrier bags in both hands and for what? Oh, yes, just so a few days later they can say "Right, we need to talk about the money, we're currently £400 overdrawn and we've got, er...six weeks to go before pay day." Just the sort of thing I don't want to hear. Personally I'd rather cancel Christmas than be in debt. But then it's not really Christmas is it? No, it's an excuse for big business to make even more profit than they do throughout the rest of the year. I'd love Christmas to be like it used to be, with people not knowing what they're getting, but it's not. These days it's "Well, you buy it and then we'll wrap it up and put it under the tree." So when it comes to the big day I open something that I already know about and so does everybody else. Oh for a desolate cottage on the Isle of Harris, a roaring log fire and no sign of the greed found further south, just the sea and the hills and perhaps an exchange of Christmas cards, a bracing walk to a local pub for lunch and then an afternoon spent in front of the fire eating festive delicacies.

Bleak...

It's now Sunday 18th December and while I think the weather has warmed up a little bit, the snow is still on the ground and I'm guessing it's still cold out there as the cars still have frosted windscreens. I won't be riding today and nor will Andy. We're both busy for a start, then there's my as yet unfixed puncture, the possibility of rain (although I'd love to try out my new waterproof trousers and shoes) and, of course, the fact that it's still cold and icy out there. At some stage I'll fix the puncture. I reckon I've got two of them, not just one, but who knows? Not me until I get out there.

Last night I watched the Strictly Come Dancing final and Hamza won it, just like I thought he would. I also watched JK Rowling's Strike, which I really like. Then I fell asleep and when I awoke it was gone midnight. I got up around 0700hrs, made breakfast of porridge and chopped oranges, not forgetting a cup of tea and a glass of water and now I'm about to get on with the rest of my day.

The cold weather has arrived...

The weather has taken a turn for the worse and I start to wonder if it's worth a bet on a white Christmas. It's never worth betting on a White Christmas. It's cold. Very cold. And I keep finding myself standing on cold railway station platforms with nowhere to go. And by that I mean nowhere to sit and read or drink tea while I wait for my train. It's the same everywhere. Network Rail seem to have a policy stating that waiting rooms are old hat and if they exist they must be unwelcoming and uncomfortable. Why can't railway stations be a bit more like in the movie Brief Encounter? I want a roaring log fire. To be fair, there are some that sport modern leather sofas (I'm thinking of Purley and Merstham and I'm sure there are others) but steer clear, well clear, of Redhill and East Croydon, they're awful and I'm guessing there's some evil thought behind it, like "make it uncomfortable for the bastards". And when it's cold, of course, the whole thing is a nightmare as I end up pacing up and down the platform, killing time in the cold and the dark.

Heavy fog close to Botley Hill recently

It's so cold out there that I can't be bothered to go into the garage and fix my rear wheel puncture (see previous post) even if I need to get out there and do it as tomorrow is Saturday and my weekly ride to Oxted beckons. That said, there's a electric 'coal effect' fireplace out there with a convector heater underneath. I might switch that on and get it done. My rear wheel is a bit dodgy. For the first time ever in my cycling career (not that I have a cycling career) the rear wheel has come away from the frame TWICE! Andy says it just needs to be tightened up properly (he's probably right) but I can't help but think it's more than that, ie it's faulty in some way, but I'll take Andy's more optimistic assessment of the situation.

Andy, quite understandably, is a little wary of the cold weather. I say 'understandably' because he's not like Phil who simply doesn't like the cold, Andy's wary because of what happened to him earlier in the year (he came off on black ice and broke his hip). Last week we met later than normal at Tatsfield Village, giving the weather time to heat up the tarmac so that all would be well (again, see previous post). Tatsfield is a good place to go as it's not too far away, but far enough to be a decent ride. In terms of degrees, Tatsfield is in the number two position in terms of shorter rides, the number one spot going to a ride to Botley Hill (roughly 14 miles). Tatsfield is around 16 miles and there's a decent cafe there too, unlike...well, actually, not unlike Botley Hill, which now has a tearoom at the Botley Hill Farmhouse. In fact, all of our rides are now adequately catered for by decent caffs and, as I was saying to Andy in Tatsfield last Sunday, we've certainly upped our game from the days when we used to sit out in the cold, sheltered by a wooden bus stop, sipping tea from a flask and munching on a couple of Belvita biscuits. It's quite weird thinking back to those days of shivering in the frost, rain and sleet, watching the rain sweep in or the fog shrouding the bare trees. Not any more! We much prefer our tea in a pot, on a tray and accompanied by a slice of cake. It means, of course, that we're now spending money, roughly a fiver for tea or coffee and an almond croissant. I used to put four teabags into a small tupperware container, fill up a flask with hot water and a smaller bottle with milk and then put the lot in a rucksack and head off in the cold to wherever we were heading. We'd meet at Warlingham Green and then ride off on the 269. Today we meet at the destination. Our old meeting place is still there, but we pass it by (or I do, Andy goes a different way). In all honesty, it's better. Far better than shivering in the cold wishing for the summer to return.

Looking out at my parked bike from Oxted's Caffe Nero

The key to success in the cold is to wrap up warm. Last Sunday I think I had four jumpers on. All I need to add is a balaclava and that's me sorted, as long as I'm wearing gloves. I wear a beanie hat under the helmet, plenty of layers, gloves and a balaclava (it'll be out this weekend, rest assured of that) and then I'm fine in the cold. Andy and I ride throughout the year and while I've stopped riding to work because of the dark and the need to be extra wary of bad drivers, I'm busy thinking of ways of keeping up the exercise I'm losing. It's looking as if I'll be swimming. Yesterday I checked out the local leisure centre in Redhill and the pool is empty at lunch times. I reckon I can get there, change, swim and change again within the hour if I simply swim 20 lengths of the 25-metre pool. It's just over a fiver a swim and my aim would be to swim twice a week. Let's see. The problem with swimming in the cold weather is finding the motivation to go. I used to swim a lot, ie three times a week: two half-milers and then a one-miler at the weekend. I always feel amazing after a swim so hopefully I'll pluck up that much-needed motivation and get on with keeping fit.

Oxted and Tatsfield...and I'm still munching the cakes!

Friday week ago – so that's not the Friday just gone (2nd December) but the Friday before (24 November) I rode to Tatsfield Village. I stopped off at Sheree's Tearoom and enjoyed a pot of tea and a Twix, sitting in an easy chair. The other tables were taken up by old ladies, although I'm sure they'd hate to be described in such a way. They weren't 'old old' ladies, this wasn't the territory of the blue rinse and the walking stick, but let's just say these were people who were most likely post-menopausal, comfortably off and enjoying themselves. Well-heeled pensioners talking about visiting garden centres and Christmas shopping. Because we're in festive territory now, it's almost Christmas and once again I'm amazed at how the time-travelling train is racing through stations like 'Guy Fawkes' Night', 'Mum's Birthday' and soon, of course, my birthday... and then it's Christmas. Time is flying again and soon it will be 2023. So I'm sitting in Sheree's having tea and a Twix. I had just completed around eight miles of the 16-mile ride and sitting there with tea and a chocolate bar was my idea of fun, even if I really ought to slow down on the sweets and cake front. That said, I'm always moaning about how much crap I'm eating, but I'm not doing anything about it. I will some day change my eating habits, but these things come in cycles (if you'll forgive the pun). I've just got to control myself, it's as simple as that. It was a good ride and I'm glad I did it as my cycling has been a little touch and go of late. Rain has stopped Andy and I from meeting in Westerham for the past three to four weeks. I've been riding on Saturdays to Oxted and, by and large, I've been riding twice a week, although sometimes that's fallen to just one ride. I've decided to start my cycling week on a Saturday from now onwards, meaning that I get two rides in immediately (if that makes sense) ie, Saturday and Sunday. In the past my cycling week has started on Sunday, meaning that, to get two rides in, I have to ride Sunday and then the following Saturday. Anyway, it's all clutching at straws. After my ride to Tatsfield I rode to Oxted on Saturday and did what I always do in Oxted: sit in Caffe Nero reading and drinking either tea of coffee.

Sheree's in Tatsfield, Friday 25 November 2022...

The following week (that's 3rd and 4th December) - last weekend in other words - I rode to Oxted on Saturday even if I had considered Malabar (it's a coffee shop in Riverhead). The plan was to get a 'big ride' under my hat, a 34-miler no less, but when push came to shove I opted for Oxted and a ride down White Lane. Actually, I forgot to mention that last week when I rode to Oxted I decided on the return ride to climb up White Lane. I started on Titsey Hill but then turned right into White Lane and off I went. I managed to reach the top without stopping and I felt quite good when I reached the top. On the Malabar front, the reality was that I couldn't face the long ride in the cold, because it was cold. And I figured it best to hole up in a coffee shop closer to home. I opted for the Costa as opposed to my usual choice (that of Caffe Nero) and the only reason was to try something different. I say 'different' but to be honest, I visit Costa most Sundays with Andy so it's not as if I'm unfamiliar with the brand. Furthermore, I have a Costa card so I thought I'd use it. I ordered a medium cappuccino and an almond croissant (despite promising myself that I wouldn't order any food). I sat there for some time, reading and chilling and then I reluctantly headed out into the cold weather. It was cold riding down the High Street and remained cold as I headed up Titsey Hill, resisting the temptation to ride up White Lane. A car drove too close, which annoyed me (it always does) and soon I found myself at Botley Hill.

Tea and Twix at Sheree's, 25 Nov...

At the moment I'm taking Fridays off to use up holiday I would otherwise lose. It means that I often wake up on Sunday thinking it's Monday when it isn't. Sunday, of course, is when I ride to Westerham to see Andy and, as I mentioned earlier, it's been three or four weeks since we met, thanks to driving rain. Andy's not keen on the cold and for good reason: he doesn't want to come off on black ice as the last time he came a cropper he broke his hip. As for me? Well, I don't like the rain. I hate it. So Sundays have been off the agenda completely. But this week there was no rain. None at all, so we headed not to Westerham but to Tatsfield and later than usual; we met at 0930 in Sheree's and I weakened when I saw the coffee and walnut cake. To be fair, Andy would have had a slice too, but when he asked if the cake was vegan (and was told it wasn't) he passed...and I sat there scoffing alone (and feeling guilty about it too). After a good old chat it was time to go home, Andy to Caterham and me to Sanderstead. But on the way back, when I reached Warlingham, I noticed a rear wobble and yes, you got it, I had a puncture. It was too cold to fix by the roadside so I knucked down for a five-mile walk, pushing the bike alongside me. So, a 12.5-mile ride and a five-mile walk, not bad going. The bike's now in the garage and needs to be fixed... and it will be before next week's rides.

The top of White Lane...a piece of cake!

And here's a real piece of cake, at Sheree's, 4th December 2022

At this point I had a rear wheel puncture and walked home

I love this, in Limpsfield Village before Titsey Hill beckons...

To Tatsfield...

Two cup cakes. Fair enough, but I could have settled for one. Three walnut whips? I never needed to eat all of them. I could have eaten just one, or none. I could have left them for another day and made the two ill-advised cup cakes the only sin of the day. But I didn't. I should have stopped at one. But I didn't. I should have stopped at two. But I didn't. And when I'd finished I felt guilty. Not because I'd upset anybody else, just because I'd upset myself. What the hell was I thinking? Two cup cakes and three walnut whips. It had to stop, of course it did, but it didn't. And I'm losing track too. Somewhere along the line I found myself in Tunbridge Wells, but I think that was pre-cup cakes. Not that pre- or post- mattered. It was definitely pre-cup cakes, but I had every reason to feel guilty even then, probably because I'd fucked up the day before; I might have bought a Lindt or Lindor chocolate bar, because I love the salted caramel variety and even then, at the point of purchase, I might have said to myself 'no more' and then found myself in the Zero Waste cafe in The Pantiles, probably saying no the cake (inwardly) and then ordering it anyway. And then I have the nerve, the audacity, to eat the two cup cakes the following week and then indulge further with those three walnut whips. Well, let's face it, you don't see walnut whips these days. I mean, that must have been my motivation. Perhaps I looked at them as my long lost friends. Whatever. The fact is I ate them and I ate those two cup cakes and I started to berate myself, saying 'no more, no more, just say no'. But I knew then and I know now that I won't say no, not yet at any rate. And when I got home after the walnut whips I found a double box of Jaffa Cakes in the cupboard. Admittedly, most of the box had already been eaten, but I found three biscuits and enjoyed every one of them. The next day things got a little worse. I was in the office, there were stollen cakes slices, three of them, and these little star-shaped biscuits, similar to stollen, but not exactly the same. I ate quite a few of them, but I left one on the plate when I left the office after dark. I should have eaten it, but I left it and it was probably stale and inedible the following morning.

Sheree's Store and Tearoom, Tatsfield

When I looked at the iphone's weather app this morning there was sunshine spread throughout the day. It was an opportunity I couldn't ignore. Cycling over the past few weeks has been blighted by rain. Rain, wind and a silly cape. Not forgetting the realisation that there's no such thing as waterproof clothing. My trainers are still in the garage and they're probably still wet. The cape is not worth wearing. So I've resorted to a pair of red leather All-Stars that I've had for years. I bought them in Oxford Street probably in the late seventies and they cost me just £19. I love them. I remember once being on the tarmac in Barbados, queuing to board a flight back to the UK. It was 1993 and the same All-Stars were on my feet. A little kid, a local, asked me a question. "Are they leather All-Stars, man?" I confirmed his suspicion as correct. Clearly, the All-Stars had cred and now, in 2022, the maintain that cred. They're still around and they haven't really worn or anything and the fact that they're leather probably means they're a little more waterproof than the walking shoes in the garage. Alright, I said 'trainers' but they're walking shoes and they cost me £22 on Amazon. In the summer, they're fine, but when it rains they're useless. Today there was no rain so I headed for Tatsfield Village and Sheree's tearoom. I rode the 269, considering different routes as I rode along. The weather was wonderful. I wasn't wearing any gloves, that's how warm it was. When I reached the village I entered the teashop, ordered a pot of tea and then I weakened again, but I didn't choose a cup cake, I opted instead for a Twix. For some reason I thought it was the better option, but it did the trick. I sat down among the old ladies who were talking about visiting garden centres and read my book, The Bear Comes Home by Safi Zabor. I like it, but I'm reading it very slowly. I don't know what it is about me at the moment, but I'm reading very slowly, not even daily, just when I find myself in a coffee shop or a teashop. Last Wednesday I went to a Costa Coffee in Redhill, ordered a medium cappuccino, nothing else, and sat and read the book. The previous Saturday I found myself in a Caffe Nero, having cycled there, with an English Breakfast tea doing exactly the same thing and now it's Friday 25 November, almost a week later and the weather is good so I couldn't waste any time. I had to get out there for fear that tomorrow will be stair rods and a ride will be forfeited. Nobody likes riding in the rain unless it's the summer. Andy said in text on Strava that he had maximum respect for anybody who went out last Sunday. I would agree with that. The weather was grim, to use another of Andy's words. Grim summed it up. I stayed in and I wasn't happy about it, but I soon got over the disappointment. But today was good and when I finished the tea and the Twix I headed on out of the tearoom and mounted my steed. I'd tethered it outside, like a cowboy's horse outside a saloon. I rode off thinking about Biggin Hill. I hadn't been there for a while now and I found myself thinking of the hill that leads to the high street and the Costa Coffee. For a split moment on the way into Tatsfield I considered riding down Lusted Hall Lane and then into Biggin Hill, but no, too much, there was stuff to be done at home and I had that feeling that I was on a short leash and needed to get back. As it turns out I wasn't on a leash, but there were things to do and when I got home, feeling energised like I do when I've been on the bike, I set about doing what needed to be done. The weather held out and I have no idea what it will be like in the morning or whether I'll get to Oxted's Caffe Nero. If it rains I won't be going anywhere, but if it's dry I'll head along the 269 and down Titsey Hill into Oxted where I will read for 30 minutes before riding home.

I could be watching England play the USA, it's on now as I write this, but I can't be bothered. The World Cup is for the summer, not the winter and because of the latter the vibe ain't there. I remember my father watching sport on the television but in the back garden. He'd sit there, bush hat on, yellow swimming shorts, his 'Jansen's' as he called them. It was probably a brand name. He sat outside, smoking a cigarette with the television uprooted from it's original position in the living room and turned around to face out into the garden. Dad would have been drinking a beer, probably Tolly Cobbold bitter. I remember how he gave me a glass of it on occasion, diluted with lemonade and with an ice cube added. I loved it, the sharp bitter taste softened by the lemonade and of course it goes without saying that in later life I would go on to drink a lot of beer. 

It's 2115hrs, I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here has just come on and I'm relaxing on the sofa. I could have watched the football, but didn't. Instead I watched The English on iplayer and was tempted to continue watching it, but the temptation to watch crap was overwhelming. Better go, there's a whole hour of it ahead of me.

Just one ride this weekend...

Oxted on Saturday morning...

The day started with rain and I just knew I'd have to abort the ride. It was to be one of those days. The worst part of it was a little later - and by that I mean around 0900 - when the sun came out, but the momentum had already been lost. I don't know, sometimes it happens, the desire leaves me and I find myself envisioning being out there and I feel odd about it. I just don't want to go, the motivation leaves the building but it takes me a long time to realise it. I swan around, I fret, I look outside, I wonder, I sit and I think, I hesitate, but deep down I know darn well that I ain't going nowhere. Eventually I accept it and accept it I did, and then things were better, things levelled out inside my head, but I wasn't relaxed, not until later, on a drive to Sutton to see mum, but first we had to find something for her 93rd birthday, which is on Wednesday 23 November. The darkening skies and the fading light as we walked along Westmead Road was evocative of something, probably my earlier life at home. There was something very 'Saturday afternoon in the 70s' about it, soap opera teens on street corners, winter clothes on, front rooms illuminated but curtains not drawn, and then the shops advertising Christmas, festive music playing and gullible consumers buying into it all. I found it slightly annoying if I'm truthful, the gullibility mainly, the fact that the capitalists put on the music and we dance to their tune, and the goods aren't that good either. Women are still wearing Ugg boots, more's the pity. I spotted a few as I wandered the high street, popping into various shops and not wanting to be a part of the con, because that's what it is. The con depressed me as I considered the so-called cost of living crisis. I never seem to have any money around Christmas time, but I reckon this year will be the worse... or perhaps not. It's hard to tell to be honest. We reached mum's after dark, around 1642hrs. Tea and KitKats followed, mum had the heating on, and her coal-effect gas fire was in full swing. We sipped tea and munched the KitKats, mum keeps them in the fridge so there's no mess. We sat and we chatted. The house looked cosy. It always does. Christmas lights have yet to arrive, but it always looks like Christmas at mum's. I considered another KitKat, but that was all I did, consider another KitKat. There's more rain on the agenda. Only Tuesday is rain-free, according to my iphone, but who the fuck am I kidding? It's dark by 4pm, I won't be riding the bike, probably not until next weekend, but it looks like it'll be raining next weekend too. I really need to look at another form of exercise. Swimming, perhaps. I used to swim a lot, three times a week: two half-milers and then one mile. The only problem with swimming is the boredom. Counting lengths. Not a good idea if you're prone to miscounting. The World Cup is on. Qatar. Nobody likes the place with it's poor human rights record. Comedian Joe Lycett protested against Beckham's greed by shredding £10,000 of his own money*. Fair enough, I thought, as I considered Beckham pocketing £10 million for being an ambassador for the Qatar World Cup. Personally, I can't get enthusiastic about the footy, not in the winter. The great thing about the World Cup is the summer... but not this year. It's now Monday night. I should be in bed because I had a late one yesterday. I watch I'm A Celeb and then the news and soon it's 2300hrs. Put all this together and it's not good: less exercise, later nights, it's not good and it has to change and the key is motivation, which I'm currently lacking.

* Lycett didn't shred the money, he donated it to charity and instead shredded a copy of Attitude magazine in which there was an article on David Beckham. 

To Oxted...and no rain!

It's been raining a lot and when it's raining on the streets, it's raining in my soul too. I don't like it and over the past few weeks, as I've said in a previous post, it's pissing me off. I'm not too bothered with 'winter' as such, although it always means less cycling or having to 'wrap up' whenever I fancy a ride. I suppose the only real upside is arriving in the Caffe Nero (or wherever) after a cold ride and then settling down, preferably on the leather sofa near the window, to chill out a little before the cold ride home. But give me the heat any day, give me the sun and the smell of the hedgerows rather than the wind and the rain. In short, I hate it. 

Last week I went out on Saturday (this time last week) and yes, as always, I rode to Oxted and sat in a Caffe Nero with an English Breakfast tea reading my book, The Bear Comes Home. I'm taking my time reading this not because it's boring but because, for some reason, I can't apply myself to reading. It's a phase I go through, but I like to keep a book on the go at all times. So I'm reading but not a great deal. I'd like to force myself to read more frequently than I am at present and I do try to sneak in reading at lunch times when I'm not with anybody else and I suppose you might say 'read on the train home' and I'd say 'well, I do, but the journey is so short and involves a change of trains that I don't particularly want to get settled only to find I've got to 'down tools' and change platforms. Home is a good place to read but there are distractions, plenty of them, like the television and the fact that 'the conservatory' (I've said before that it's not a conservatory and never has been, it's a brick-built extension that I suppose should be referred to as the rather middle class 'garden room', but basically it's an extension and it was there when we arrived here many moons ago. The trouble is it's a kind of unwilling store room. At this present time, for example, there are two computer screens on the desk, a lot of wires and crap and it's like sitting in a store cupboard. There's also a clothes horse in there and often (very often) there are clothes draped over it, not to mention socks lined up on the radiator and this means there's also a damp atmosphere in there, combined with the smell of fabric conditioner. The wicker garden sofa (it's a two-seater) is uncomfortable in the extreme and the whole room needs to be decluttered so, as you can imagine, it's not a great place to sit and read.

I'm not the sort of person who can sit in bed reading, that's far to 'sitcom' for me, and I probably wouldn't get much reading done. For a start I'd have to come up early and then expect to be interrupted or told to switch the light off, so that's out of the question, leaving me with no option other than to find a coffee shop, in my opinion the best place to do most things (well, reading and writing). That's why I like my rides to Oxted. Sometimes I don't read when I get there. Sometimes I meet people, like the Illustrious Illustrator or my pal Garth and instead we chat about this and that for about 30 minutes before I head home up the hill and along the 269 praying that it won't rain.

During the week I took a walk to Halfords just outside of town and looked at loads of stuff: lights, water bottle holders, bikes and, of course, high-visibility waterproofs for the colder weather. I also found out that a gear service (which my bike needs more than an overall service) can be done for £20. Although I'm slightly suspicious as they're likely to say something like 'we've changed the block, we've done this, we've done that and that'll be £200 please, sir'. Well, no it won't be, so I'll have to ask about that little loophole before I hand over the bike and I'm only going to hand over the bike if I ride down there, although there's a branch close to where I live. But right now I can cope with the gear problem and, as Andy said recently, my changing up and down problems are more than likely exacerbated by the bike being dirty and in need of a clean. Talking of which, I've promised myself a jet clean at the Esso garage on the way home. When I say 'myself' I mean the bike, but it's whether the cleaning bay is free and whether I have time and whether I have the inclination. I probably won't have any if the truth be known.

This might sound odd, but at this moment in time I simply exist. I know we all do, but what I mean is I ride the bike, I put it back in the garage, I ride the bike, I put it back in the garage, and I don't think anything of it, I don't clean it, oil it, nothing, I just ride it until something happens that stops me riding it, then I get it serviced and then I ride it again. It's like this in all aspects of my life, I trudge on, I keep going, I clean my teeth, I get dressed, I get undressed, I sleep, I wake up, I watch television, it's a constant process through time, I eat, I sleep, I walk, I ride the bike, I just do stuff but there's no pit stop, no holiday, no break, no nothing, I just am and somehow I need to change this scenario. Perhaps forcing myself to read more would be a start, that's a kind of pit stop.

Around 0800 I set out for Westerham. Rain didn't appear to be on the horizon but it was colder than normal. I was wearing a fleece and jeans over my cycling shorts and headed the normal way through Warlingham out into the sticks on the 269 and then down Titsey Hill into Oxted. I rode 'no hands' along Granville as there's nothing, no cars, so it's safe to do so, and then placed my hands firmly on the handlebars to make the left turn past the library and then the right turn to ride up the high street towards my final stop, Caffe Nero. I ordered an English Breakfast tea and then took a seat and read my book for around half an hour. The place was crowded and noisy today but I shut myself off from the world until it was time to consider heading home (never a good moment as I know I've got Titsey Hill to climb). But all was fine. I rode down the High Street, along Granville and then followed the road towards the hill, which is never THAT bad. There was no mist at all when I reached Botley Hill so I sailed down the 269 towards Warlingham where the traffic picked up a little bit. I managed to pass a lot of stationary cars and soon found myself in Sanderstead, cruising down Church Way towards home. It had been a good ride and a dry one so here's hoping tomorrow will be just a good.

I tell you what never fails to get on my nerves and that's the patronising television ads that start appearing courtesy of the big retailers. Yes, it's the Christmas ads, designed to pull at people's emotions with the sole aim of getting them to 'buy stuff' and keep them in profit during these difficult times. What they fail to recognise is that we don't have any money, they simply ignore the cost of living crisis and pretend that nothing extraordinary is happening and they hope we're all going to buy their crap so that their profits maintain a level keel. And every year and I find myself thinking (actually, hoping) that people will see sense and not fall for it. There's nothing worse than these patronising advertisements featuring silly little bears in festive jumpers (Lidl), ridiculous scenarios depicting hordes of people running towards one house to have their Christmas lunch (Argos) another one with a little boy's Christmas list that somehow gets blown into the sky never to be seen again (McDonald's) and there are many more; all the rubbishy perfume ads from the likes of Paco Rabane and that stupid stupid ad in which three girls are in a field chanting Daisy Daisy Daisy Daisy. Fuck. Off. Perfume, aftershave, it's all ridiculously expensive, just have a good bath or shower is what I say. Anyway, I find it all annoying.

Equally annoying is that complete and utter wanker Matt Hancock in the jungle on I'm a Celebrity, Get me Out of Here. They had the first of the vote-outs last night and he's still in there, meaning the great British public have taken to him, they like him, they want to keep him in the jungle, he's been forgiven, he might even win. Even Boy George, who I thought was going to give Hancock a piece of his mind has yet to deliver. So there you have it: rising prices and Christmas ads that ignore the situation we all find ourselves in, a dodgy politician earning a six-figure sum to eat kangaroo bollocks and the rest of us seething quietly as the world approaches the year end. Next up is the Christmas songs, which are equally depressing. "And so this is Christmas...and what have you done?" I've done enough thanks for asking, Lennon, and I don't need you to make me feel guilty about anything. Again, all the songs are designed to make us all feel sad and guilty and perhaps in need of what? I know! Some retail therapy! Well, no. Once again, two words: Fuck. Off.

It's now almost a quarter to five in the afternoon (1642hrs) and it's dark outside. I'm alone in the house but the other residents are not far away and I expect them back shortly. I've drawn the curtains so that nobody can peer in to the living room and I'm now going upstairs to take off my cycling shorts, which I've had on all fucking day. Why? Because my trainers in the garage are still wet from the heavy rain of two weeks ago and I've been forced to wear my red leather All Stars. They have long laces and can't be slipped off, they have to be painstakingly undone and that's such a hassle if you've got to put them back on again, so I kept them and my jeans on all day and now that I know I've got nowhere else to go tonight, I've taken them off and can relax, but I need to get upstairs and take the shorts off. Better go.

Pissed off with fucking rain...

I'm fed up with rain. Today (Sunday) I headed off, for the second time, in a downpour. Yesterday I went out, wearing my ridiculous cape, and rode to Oxted. Today, the plan was Westerham to meet Andy and yes, it was raining; except that today it was much heavier than yesterday. Yesterday I managed to reach Oxted without getting too much of a soaking. Today, the driving rain meant that I was soaked through before I reached the top of Church Way, but I persevered. By the time I reached Knights Garden Centre, roughly four miles from home, I was completely drenched. My shoes were soaked and will remain so for the rest of the week. When I put them on this morning they were already wet from yesterday as was the cape, which is totally useless. It's like a tent. You know when you go camping and people tell you not to touch the walls of the tent because they will be wet, well, it's the same with the cape except that the cape does make contact with your body and so you get wet. If I wore the cape on a dry day I'd still get wet. 

I don't like cycling in the rain and this weekend has been the third in a row. By and large, up until now, it's been fine, although on all occasions I've taken a soaking, despite wearing so-called waterproof clothing. Today, however, was the worst ever. The rain was constant, never-ending, and initially when I stopped at Knights Garden Centre to send Andy a text saying I was diverting to Tatsfield Village, that was the plan. But the phone itself was malfunctioning because it was wet weather DESPITE being in a zipped pocket on the front of the cape. My feet were wet through, but the rain wasn't slowing down, there were huge puddles spanning the road. I'd moved on to the off-road track, like I did yesterday on my return from Oxted, risking again the chance of a puncture. I was fully expecting a puncture when I opened up the garage this morning but all was well. So, as I stood on the off-road path a few yards past Knights, I realised that there was no point going any further. Whether I reached Tatsfield or Westerham I would be thoroughly soaked through (I was already) and there was no way that I could possibly get any wetter, but had I continued I would have become more and more uncomfortable and when I reached wherever I was going I would have sat there, soaking wet. This was, I realised, not enjoyable at all and so I decided to return home. Even when I turned the bike around the rain didn't let up, but when I reached Warlingham I thought for a minute that things were slowing down. I stopped and reconsidered my position. Perhaps I should head back to Tatsfield Village, but I was deluded and time was moving on; and then I realised the error of my thinking: I was still soaking wet. The best option was to go home and dry off, which was what I did. In short it was too much. I would have been better off going swimming, I was just as wet.

Bike (and cape) back in the garage...

The cape is useless and dangerous. There are holes through which you can slot your hands, but this is not good as doing so means that you will get wet from the waist down. If you decide to keep your hands underneath the cape you then cover your legs BUT it's dangerous as you then find yourself preoccupied with keeping your legs dry, you don't have full control of the gears or brakes and you're not holding firmly enough to the handlebars because you keep thinking about keeping the cape stretched over your legs.

Today's rain was off the scale. The usual puddles by the gutters had been replaced by torrents of water, raging rapids, there were waves of rainwater crossing the road in front of me on the return ride, which made me realise that turning back wasn't such a bad idea. 

Incidentally, the reason I was on the off-road path once I reached Knights Garden Centre was because I knew that cars would be revelling in giving me an additional soaking, something they were denied. 

Andy made it to Westerham but he said it was grim. Now that's the word to describe it: grim. It was grim, terribly grim, and while a part of me felt a little rough for turning back, I knew I'd made the right decision. It would have been pointless to continue. As I write this, my trainers have been moved to the garage where they can dry off and not stink out the porch where I originally left them. My gloves are weighed down with rainwater and could probably be wringed out, similarly the pink woollen bobble hat I was wearing underneath my helmet.

Yesterday, as I rode in the rain with the cape to Oxted, I spotted a cyclist who seemed to be wearing the right stuff. It looked as if he was wearing a wet suit (not a bad idea) but of course he wasn't; he was wearing a waterproof cycling top and matching leggings and he looked as if the rain didn't matter, probably because it didn't. He wasn't billowing around like an idiot with what amounted to a huge high-visibility sail that flapped around and even collected water. 

Wet trainers...very wet trainers

There's riding in the rain and there's riding in the rain. Both are unpleasant and today was the final straw for me after three consecutive weeks of it. The only good thing about this week is that I managed three rides.

Later...

By 1515hrs the sun was out and there was no rain. While I had no intention of going out on the bike, the thought did cross my mind. I imagined myself cycling off in the sunshine and heading for Westerham's Costa Coffee. I might even have packed a book to read for when I got there. These were the thoughts going around in my head and I even started to wonder what would have happened. Would I have got there without any rain? Would it have rained as I sat in the Costa reading? Would I have been soaked? Well, my questions were answered. I would have been soaked. I reckon I might well have reached Westerham, I would have been sitting there reading and sipping English Breakfast tea as the light faded and the streelights came on and then I might have looked up and noticed the rain hammering down outside. I would have thought, 'I'll leave it a while and see what happens' but ultimately I would have to go out in the rain, don the cape and ride off; and imagine how I would have felt! Conned! I thought I could just get up and go and escape the rain but hey! I was caught out again. But! Great news! I didn't go out, I stayed in. I wasn't conned. I'm dry!

A break in the weather means a ride to Redhill...

It's Friday 4th November. It's 1130hrs and the sun is shining, the skies are kind of blue. But it's not warm, not like it used to be when I last rode to Redhill. Warm, no. Cold? Not really. Put it this way I didn't wear gloves or the bobble hat under the helmet but I did have a pair of jeans on over the Lycra shorts. I was planning on a visit to the Pop Inn cafe and my ETA was something like 1245hrs or thereabouts. As it turned out I was spot on. I followed the route I'd been taking throughout the summer: down Tithepit Shaw Lane, up Whyteleafe Hill, along Stansted Road, right on to Springbottom Lane, left at the end of it, over the motorway, Warwick Wold Road, Merstham and then into Redhill. It felt sluggish because I hadn't done it for a while, but I hadn't really lost much in terms of time. It was still roughly one hour and 10 minutes there and back.

Lunch at the Pop Inn...

My pal Garth joined me for a cup of tea and and we both ordered a sausage and egg bap, each paying a reasonable £5 - all week I'd been making my own sandwiches so I felt I earned a caff lunch. We sat and chatted about this and that and then walked in to town, me accompanied by the bike, which I had padlocked outside the Pop Inn. Once Garth and I had parted I walked to the park and then jumped on the bike and headed for home. I knew that in front of me there was White Hill Lane to conquer. In the summer I was fit enough to tackle the hill without much effort, although I would be the first person to say that however fit you are, White Hill Lane is always a struggle of sorts. Today was no exception, although, in all honesty, it was easier in the colder weather and I didn't feel any of the pain I had felt in the summer when I quickly broke into a sweat as I ascended the hill. Today was different, in fact I won't lie, it was fairly easy, although perhaps that's a lot to do with climbing Titsey Hill every weekend, I don't know. Tithepit Shaw Lane was easier too and soon I'd finished the ride and when I reached home there was nobody around so I chilled, watched Louis Theroux's interview with Dame Judi Dench. Is it Judi or Judy? Hold on while I find out. It's the former. The light faded and soon the house was in darkness. I switched on a small light not wanting to use up unnecessary energy and after a bit of faffing around on the computer I was no longer alone. I feel good having cycled around 24 miles. It means that if I go tomorrow I would have completed three rides this week so here's to riding to Oxted in the morning.

About to turn left and tackle White Hill Lane...

I said at the start of this post that it was 1130hrs, but that's wrong. It was 1130hrs when I was about to set off on the ride to Redhill. When I started writing this post it was around 1930hrs, or around that time. Right now it's 2007hrs and I'm back to chilling out. After a good ride I always feel chilled out. I can sit on the sofa and enjoy feeling restful rather than restless. So here's to tomorrow and that all-important third ride.

At the top of White Hill Lane...

While on the ride today I felt good. The fresh air, the breeze, the motion of the bike. All the hills were manageable, all the straights were straightforward, there wasn't much in the way of traffic. When I left the house there wasn't that much on the road and when I returned early afternoon things were relatively sleepy. I had a strong feeling of accomplishment as I rolled up on the front drive and checked out my Strava. I opened the garage, wheeled the bike in and then closed and locked it. Job done, I thought. Job done!!!

Last Sunday's ride to Westerham in Kent...

For the past two Sundays now I've bitten the bullet and taken a ride in the rain, but not just to shops and back, oh no: a 22-mile ride to and from Westerham in Kent. The first time, the Sunday before last, it was the result of knowing I had to sort out the sealant around the bath, a job I not only dislike but one I'm not particularly good at; and it was the latter point that drove me out in the pouring rain, the knowledge that I was taking on something I wasn't particularly good at made me throw caution to the wind and get out there to get one last bit of enjoyment before plunging myself headfirst into despondency, one last ride before the boredom of DIY. 

Last week, ie the Sunday just past, it was a case of 'if you can do it once, you can do it again' and by that I mean that being out in the rain isn't really that bad, not once you get used to it and accept that you're going to get wet and that's the end of it. I had the cape, the bright yellow and grey cape and while it did keep me dry, to a degree, I did get wet. I remember reaching home and taking off the cape only to discover that my fleece underneath it was damp, alright, wet, but that might have been the sweat created by the cape. The long and the short it is simple: whatever you wear you're going to get wet so get over it, which I did.

Cappuccino and an almond croissant in the rain

Last week, as I rode down to Westerham to meet Andy (if you remember, we didn't meet the week before because we got our wires crossed); initially we talked about Westerham, then I threw in Tatsfield Village and the end result was Andy went to Tatsfield and I went to Westerham. But anyway, as I was saying, I rode along in the rain, riding through puddles and, as I approached the northern Kent market town I started to wonder - or perhaps that's not the word - I started to imagine Andy not sitting inside Costa out of the rain, but sitting outside and I began to think: 'no, he wouldn't do that, why would he do that?' I couldn't get the thought out of my mind, mainly because I didn't fancy sitting outside in the pouring rain. Much to my amazement, when I reached my destination, there he was sitting outside in the rain, admittedly under a canopy, but right on the edge of it - he was sitting outside! And what's more, he didn't look too happy. Later, after ordering a cappuccino and an almond croissant, which set me back around £4 (Costa is far cheaper) I asked him why the long face? The answer was simple and totally understandable, it was the poor weather and also perhaps he was looking into the future and wondering what he would do when he retired or whether there was something else he could do with his life now. I understood what he was saying as it's something I'm always doing: wondering what if, what else I could do and then the chilling realisation that there was nothing (short of selling up and living in a cottage by the sea on the Isle of Harris). We sat under the canopy. I'd taken off my cape and was watching the rain and talking about futures and what ifs and this and that and it is a sobering conversation that lingers and gets me thinking. But I think something I don't take into consideration (and I'm sure Andy's the same) is that what we have is alright, at least we're both working in fairly steady jobs, we can afford to get our bikes fixed and sit in a cafe, in the rain, on a Sunday morning and what we're really dealing with here is what Ian Brown refers to in a song as 'first world problems'. He's right, that's what we have here, first world problems, we don't have to worry about Russian bombs or the Iranian Morality Police or famine, all we have to worry about is getting back home on our bikes in the rain.

When it was time to go I lingered, saying goodbye to Andy and adding that I'd see him next week, ie this coming Sunday and let's hope it doesn't rain this week.

I rode back via the Velobarn and along Pilgrims and then, while I considered Titsey Hill, the idea of doing it in the driving rain put me off so I hung a left up Rectory Lane and followed the more conventional route back from Westerham along Clarks Lane and then down the 269, all of which was fine.

Today is Friday 4th November, the 49th anniversary of the Battle of Kiln Castle, the big battle in my childhood home's back garden in 1974 when my brother and I decided to stop playing with our toy soldiers. Almost 50 years ago, can you believe that? I can't. Anyway, that's another story for another day, although I think I've written about it on this blog somewhere. In fact, click on the link to read more about the Battle of Kiln Castle 1974.

Saturday's ride to Oxted, Surrey...

 Late October, the trees thinning on top but still full of green leaves. There's a smoky sky overhead but the blue is there, veiled by light and wispy cloud.

Outside there are people, some sitting and chatting, others waiting for buses or making their way to the gym or walking dogs. Stores are opening up and many are already open, and inside the coffee shop, music plays.

Soon departing Oxted and heading home.

It's time to get back on the road and head home. After around half an hour - make it 20 minutes (or at most 25) - I have to contemplate the return trip and the big hill (Titsey Hill) that awaits me about two miles up the road. There's no point delaying it any more, it's just got to be done, it's one of the great things about cycling - have to ride back too.

I unpadlocked the bike then headed down the high street and out of town along Granville Road, turning right and then left and cycling along the winding road towards the hill. The weather was wonderful, not at all cold and no sign of rain as I changed down to the low gears for the uphill jaunt. A group of cyclists overtook me and then turned right on to Pilgrims Lane, one of them wishing me good luck as I began my ascent of Titsey Hill. Then I passed some walkers who commented that I would beat them to the top of the hill. I remarked that it's a tough hill, but not as tough as you might think it is, meaning that it levels out, which it does, shortly after passing White Lane.

It's not long before a road sign appears at the top of the hill and I know that the ordeal is over. I ride towards Botley Hill and then straight down the 269 in the higher gears and soon I find myself in Warlingham. I keep away from parked cars because I know that somebody could open their car door and send me flying and I don't want that. Oddly, as I near Warlingham Green somebody does open his door without looking and it's just lucky that I was in the middle of the road. Having left Oxted around 1006hrs, probably a little later, I reached home around 1110hrs and chilled with a green tea. Ride one of two completed, but I still need to address how I'm going to up my riding from just two rides to four. I'm thinking the only real options are either to simply bite the bullet, have the rucksack prepared and the lights charged and just get up and go OR I sign up for the gym and ride the stationary bike three times per week. Once again I was scuppered last week. The plan was to be three rides (Friday, Saturday and Sunday) but as always happens I get bogged down with crap and end up not going, that's what happened Friday. Today (Saturday) was fine and tomorrow (Sunday) will also be fine. Last week I remember heading out with my cape on, knowingly riding into a storm, but I just had to get out there. Next week I need to ride two mid-weekers, one can be Thursday, the other would have to be Tuesday or Wednesday UNLESS I force myself to ignore everyone and just go on Friday, my day off. So, Thursday and then Friday, then Saturday and Sunday (four rides). The only other alternative plan is to ride the Norfolk Nobbler three times a week (roughly a 35-minute ride) which is easy enough and a good mix of hills and downhills. The last trudge up West Hill is always a killer but rain or shine it'll be over in 35 minutes. Perhaps a mix of the two. If I can get up and ride to work, that's the best option, but with the clocks going back, it'll mean night riding for sure so I'll need to get my lights ready. I really can't stand USB-chargeable lights as, for some reason, they never work, and by that I mean everything I've got that is USB-chargeable never charges fully or goes off suddenly and unexpectedly leaving me thinking, 'but I charged that overnight, what the fuck's wrong with it?' I had one of those video doorbells and despite me charging it overnight it NEVER, EVER was fully charged and sometimes was hardly charged at all. That's gone now. All I want is something powered by proper batteries.

The key thing with all of this is motivation. It's drumming up enough enthusiasm to get out there and ride to work. The cape helps, but there's something annoying it: if I wear it, it conceals the rear light and there's no way around that. I could, of course, buy one of those high-viz waterproof cycling tops, that's the best bet. Let's see what transpires. If it all turns to shit, it'll have to be the gym and the stationary bike.

Oxted, Westerham, rain, a great movie, a DIY chore...

I hope to ride this morning. It's currently 0648hrs and while I'm guessing, I'd say it's still pretty dark outside. Well, perhaps not dark in the true sense of the word, but certainly I'd question whether lights were needed. The riding to work has stopped, but I know there are train strikes coming up and I might make the exception for those days, although I'll need to have lights sorted out. Next week, I think, the clocks go back and that's a terrible moment for me as I hate the winter months with a vengeance as dark nights (what nights aren't dark?) mean it's more dangerous to ride a bike. As I mentioned in my last post, the gym beckons. I'm planning on riding a stationary bike during the dark months and then resuming riding to work twice a week once the clocks go forward in March, we'll see how things go.

So here we are, 22 October 2022 and I'm nearly five years into my abstinence from boozing (I gave up on 28 October 2017). I'm absolutely fine with it; I've never ever felt the need for a drink and generally speaking I feel better in myself for not drinking. I plan to keep going even if not drinking means I lose friends. It's true. Some people only want you around if you're drinking, either because they like it when you mess up, make a fool of yourself or worse OR they just want a drinking partner. I've suggested meeting friends (or a friend) in a coffee shop and they refused, stating in not so many words that it was the pub or nothing: 'you can have a lemonade if you want'. So we didn't meet and probably never will. People don't like it when they discover I've given up the booze, they see it as some kind of affront towards them and their way of life, perhaps they think I'm judging them (I'm not) but either way not drinking puts certain types of people on a back foot, they think I'm a threat, perhaps that's it. Anyway, I don't care. I prefer not to drink, I prefer not to have a hangover or make a fool of myself or end up in a police cell.

Red sky on Saturday morning...

I'm hoping it won't rain. Today is Saturday 22nd October and it's my ride to Oxted. I'm planning on taking a book with me so I can read for half an hour, hopefully on the leather sofa in Caffe Nero, and then I'll ride home again.

I still haven't cleaned my chain. I keep meaning to but I never get round to it; perhaps later today.

In an ideal world I'd ride four times a week. Currently I'm back on twice a week, but even one extra ride would help things along, although I need to sort out my lights for sure. In a nutshell I need to get my act together.

Arundel Castle

Yesterday (Friday) I took the day off and we went to Arundel Castle. Unbelievably, I've never been before. It cost £50 to get in (two tickets) but it was well worth the effort. Normally I'm pretty cynical about walking around stately homes and listening to the guides, but this was something else. For a start it wasn't a stately home, it was a castle, and the guides were personable people and it was a pleasure to listen to what they had to say. We started the tour in the restaurant: Cornish pasty and a pot of tea set me up nicely and soon I was on my way to the Keep, which offered great views across Arundel to the sea at nearby Littlehampton. Arundel Castle is owned by the Duke of Norfolk, he's in charge of organising the King's coronation, which I'm told will be a dumbed down affair due to the rising cost of living. I guess old Charles doesn't want to feel guilty about everybody visiting food banks and being on the breadline and who can blame him for that? Personally, if I was him, I'd do it in the pub, perhaps a Chef & Brewer, complete with a few mini Melton Mowbray pies and some chicken legs. Forget the horse-drawn carriages and the limos, just get Station Cars in Purley to take him and the Queen Consort back to wherever they live and why bother televising it. Well, I suppose you could televise it, but just use iphones, no need for expensive equipment. Get the local rag to cover it and Bob's your uncle. But I digress. Arundel Castle was fantastic and it's good to hear that the old Duke still lives there and that the amazing bedrooms we passed by on the tour are still used by guests of the Duke today. How amazing is that. It really is an impressive place and while I was a little scathing about it due to the price of admission, I would actually say that it was good value for money even if I did 'tweet' to the contrary yesterday. I love Arundel, it's a nice place and it's close to the sea, which is good.

Riding to Oxted

It's now 0710hrs and I'm thinking of leaving early, departing at 0730hrs, that would mean I reach my destination at around 0830hrs, I stick around for 30 minutes reading and then I head home. I should get back around 1000hrs.

Well, I got back at 1010hrs and it was a great ride. I followed the 269 to Botley Hill and then rode down Titsey Hill into Oxted. I parked up opposite the charity shop, padlocked the bike and was early enough to get the leather sofa by the window where I sat with an English Breakfast tea reading until it was time to head home but this time riding up Titsey Hill. I do it every week and it's a doddle, and what's more the weather was fine.

Sunday I watched the rain...

To Westerham in the rain

Now it is 0738 on Sunday morning and just a second ago I heard an enormous clap of thunder. Rain is hammering down outside and I've just sent Andy an abort text. We'll look again around 0900. Who knows? We might get a ride in... but we might not. But suddenly I felt as if I had to go, weather be damned, but it had stopped. The rain had stopped and when I looked out the skies were clearing. And then I guess they clouded over again but it didn't stop me wanting to get out there. I found an old hi-viz cape in the garage. I figured it would keep me dry even if I had issues with it a couple summers ago. I don't know, I can't remember, but I felt it was ineffective. The thing is it was hi-viz and that's what I needed with all the cloud floating around. I didn't have any lights, I simply wasn't prepared for dark skies during the daylight hours, so I donned the cape, looking like some kind of dumb superhero. I was wearing cycling shorts underneath, which didn't seem right for some reason, but that's the way it was as I rode along Ellenbridge, up Elmfield, left on Morley and up Church Way. Then I rode along the Limpsfield Road and I won't say it wasn't raining, it was and it kind of rained throughout the ride.

Tatsfield village or Westerham?

The plan was to meet Andy in Westerham. Tatsfield village had been discussed (all via text) and then I changed my mind and said let's meet in Westerham. I rode the usual way: along Clarks Lane and down the hill, the roads wet and shiny and small rivers following me on the side of the road. It was difficult to avoid puddles as they were everywhere, particularly along the 269, keeping me veering into the centre of the road, not a good policy on the 269. I mentioned Tatsfield because I thought it would be less of a journey in the rain, but then, when I changed my mind it was because I wanted the challenge, I wanted the rain if I'm honest, I needed something and I don't know why. Actually, I do know why. The prospect of fixing the sealant around the bath was looming and I know I'm crap at anything DIY so I thought a long and punishing ride in the rain would sort me out. I'm not saying the ride would make me any more keener, any more up for doing the task, but I needed to get out there because I know that when DIY tasks arise there are people assessing my performance, which I know will be crap, and I get on the defensive, I get a little angry, a little tense, it's stress and I hate it because I know what I'm like, I get abusive, there's foul language and I don't mean it, I just get edgy because I hate doing DIY and I hate doing DIY because I know I do it badly, there are always rough edges if you get my drift. So the ride was because of all that. I could have aborted, I could have stayed in the warm, drinking green tea and surfing the internet, but instead I chose to get out there, in the rain, a kind of penance, perhaps that was it, I don't know. But look, it doesn't matter. I got out there, I didn't really care about getting wet, not that I did get a soaking, that cape did it's job. And when I reached Westerham I was elated to discover that I was there first. I thought Andy would be there, not outside the store as he had been these past few months, but inside, in the warm, listening to whatever they were piping through the sound system. But he wasn't there, I'd gotten there first.

Thick fog at Botley Hill so I turned left for Woldingham...

Like ships in the night

I ordered an English breakfast tea in a paper cup and then I ordered a toasted teacake with butter. No jam, no honey. The woman behind the counter said she'd bring it over when it was ready. I took a seat by the window and looked out at my bike that sat outside in the rain getting wetter and wetter as the rain poured down. Where, I wondered, was Andy. I left it a while as anything might have happened. A puncture, a later start than me, I don't know, but in the end of sent him a text stating that I had a good seat, in one of the windows, the small little bays, there were two of them. He texted back saying he was at Tatsfield village, probably in Sheree's Tearoom. He hadn't seen my later texts, the ones that said I'd see him in Westerham and not Tatsfield. We agreed to meet next weekend as there was nothing either of us could do about it. I sat there and finished my tea. I wish I'd packed a book but I hadn't so I resumed staring out of the window at the falling rain, waiting for it to stop so I could ride home. I needed a window, a gap, a space, a pause, a break in the rain and sure enough there was one. I finished my tea, put the cape on and headed out, but the rain started just as soon as I'd riden past the old antique shop on my way out towards the Velobarn. The bike was buffeted by the wind and the rain and cars passing too close as I rode towards Pilgrims Lane and I was relieved, if that's the right word, to turn left and leave behind the main road. Pilgrims Lane was quiet and because of the poor weather I didn't see any other cyclists, they were all at home, in the warm, keeping dry and watching Sunday morning television. I crossed Clarks Lane into the final section of Pilgrims and was facing a dilemma: do I turn right on to Rectory Lane and rejoin Clarks or go straight ahead and take on Titsey in the rain? I opted for the latter and as always I sailed up the hill, and as I got higher and higher there was mist. When I reached Botley Hill it was a real pea souper so I veered left and rode into Woldingham. Everywhere was dark and misty and it didn't brighten up until I was riding down Slines Oak Road and heading towards the last hill of the ride. The rain continued and wasn't going to let up until I reached home, but at least things had brightened up and I no longer needed lights. It was as if I'd been in a dark tunnel most of the ride but suddenly all was well, the need for lights had gone and there wasn't much longer to go before I reached home. Not that I wanted to reach home. Home meant sorting out the bathroom sealant and there would little more than a cup of tea between me and the chore.

Mr Hannigan's Phone

I won't bore you with the chore, but suffice it to say that I did it. I'm not saying I did it particularly well, although the outcome won't be known until the morning when I strip off the masking tape. I'm guessing it won't be brilliant but that's all I can say about it. I feel a bit bad for being such an arsehole, but I'll have to get over it. Right now I'm watching a movie, Mr. Hannigan's Phone, it's an adaptation of a Stephen King short story starring Donald Sutherland. I've got a camomile tea on the go, I'm hoping it'll help me get a good night's sleep. I'd better go, the movie's getting good and I can't think of anything else to say other than I enjoyed the ride. Normally I wouldn't enjoy such a ride, but for some reason I really enjoyed being out there in the weather, in the driving rain, wearing the cape, battling against the elements and trying to take my mind off that awful job, the bathroom sealant, the job which is now done, the job which is not forgotten because it might come back to haunt me, who knows? Tomorrow I'll know whether it's good or a bad job, whether it'll need doing again and whatever else, like my reputation, which is probably in tatters anyway because of my foul language. I just hate being the underdog, the guy that can't do something properly, I don't like being challenged in that way because I reckon there are things we're all good at and things we're not so good at, but I hate having to do the things I'm not so good at because, well, I'm not so good at them. I've lost my train of thought. Mr Harrigan's Phone is a good movie, that's why, so I'll leave it there, say my goodbyes, so to speak. Until next time.