25 August 2022 - Flight BA779 Stockholm Arlanda to London Heathrow

You can tell when it's time to engage with the UK after a few days out of the cuntry. Since Monday there have been no queues and nobody moaning, but today it started again. When I arrived at check-in points 19-21a I was greeted by a queue of people standing in front of empty seats where the BA staff were supposed to be sitting. So typical that there was nobody there, but like everybody else I waited in line. BA staff eventually arrived and started the process of checking in bags. I asked for a window seat and of course there was none available because (for the first time this week) it was a full flight. The hassles, the disappointments, had started, I thought as I was handed my boarding pass which displayed a middle aisle seat and let me make this clear: the plane had two aisles with three seats per row, there was no middle aisle. It's only a short flight, but I could still do with a window. Sadly not, though, as it's a full flight. I'm now a little more miffed that I was when I woke up this morning, but I set about the task of making the most of last few hours in Stockholm.

Last snack before heading to Arlanda airport

I've got to reach page 200 before I leave here!

Breakfast at the hotel was pleasant, consisting of green tea, muesli with seeds and sultanas and a few mini cookies, not forgetting an amazing cinnamon roll. I went to my room afterwards and packed things away, had a shower - having originally considered not bothering - and then I went to the front desk and asked them to look after my bags while I cavorted around the city for the last time. Actually, 'cavorting' was not what I was doing, I was just milling around looking for somewhere to chill and read my book. It was, if you like, a last wander around town. I went to a place called Brod and Salt, two foodstuffs/ingredients I wasn't that happy about when you consider that bread contains a fair amount of salt so why have bread and salt? Why double the dose of bad health? I ordered a cappuccino and a sticky blueberry pastry that I regretted the moment I took possession of it and then I set about reading Philip Roth's American Pastoral which I'll admit I'm struggling with, but I must finish it as I borrowed it from a colleague and it's her favourite book, but I'll be honest and I will tell her I struggled. Listen, the jury is out until I finish it, the whole book might redeem itself before the end, who knows? The aim was to reach page 200 before heading to the airport and I made it.

Room 341 Scandic Malmen

I considered another coffee but didn't bother. I went back to the hotel, retrieved my suitcase from the luggage room in the basement and then headed for the metro and a short trip to the airport on the Arlanda Express. It wasn't long before I found myself at Arlanda airport and, despite saying I wouldn't eat anymore until I arrived in the UK, I consumed with gusto a cheese and ham baguette and a paper mug of tea. I made the mistake of going to the gate, which in this case meant going through passport control and not being able to go back to the shops and restaurants. There was nothing but a small kiosk, but I bought a bar of Marabou milk chocolate (Sweden's equivalent of Finland's Fazer brand, I'm guessing). It's comfort food.

The thought of a middle aisle seat continued to bug me as did the weather in the UK which was supposed to be bad, ie cloud and rain, just what I don't like when I'm flying. In Stockholm the weather was sunshine and blue skies, but I figured that at some point on the flight things would change and I would be looking down at thick cloud knowing that sooner or later I'd be descending through the murk to the UK below. What an awful thought. Heathrow airport. It normally means endless circling until a runway becomes free, although the captain said something about arriving ahead of schedule so we might avoid the crap of going round and round and round in thick cloud wondering if we'll hit another plane circling in the other direction. I tend to think of the worst when I'm flying, but I keep my thoughts to myself. I heard a voice on the Tannoy system making a last call for a flight to Helsinki and I started to wish I was on that plane, which would probably be half empty and I'd definitely get a window seat. Anything for the tranquility of a country with just 5.5 million people. Frankly, I'm amazed at how empty Helsinki airport was when I flew to Stockholm (see previous post). There was nobody around and it was wonderful. Stockholm was busier and I'm expecting the usual shit show at Heathrow immigration... and then the awful and extortionate Heathrow Express to Paddington, which is far preferable to a taxi ride home listening to the rantings of a bigoted Brexiteer going on about Siddique Khan, the Mayor of London. I'm scheduled to board a BA flight which is full-to-bursting and I'll be sitting in the middle seat. Life couldn't get much worse if it tried, I thought to myself, hoping that they might cancel the flight and put me up in a hotel overnight so I can regroup, get a window seat and fly back in the morning. I always have these thoughts and I should be careful what I wish for (avid readers will recall my last trip to Pittsburgh in May, and will know exactly what I'm talking about).

Stairwell at the Scandic Malmen

Two cunts have turned up. Former colleagues who haven't seen each other for some time. One of them now has two kids and is married and living in Battersea. The other says he used to live in Balham. I know the type, fucking awful, so I moved away just in case they say something that makes me want to vomit. The plane arrived at the gate and it's now just a matter of boarding and getting home.

The flight was fine all the way, even sitting in the middle seat was fine. I didn't speak to the person on my right who spent the entire flight - all two hours and 10 minutes - on his laptop, but I briefly had a word with the lady to my left who was knitting a small octopus for a charity that had something to do with premature babies.

Foodwise, a KitKat and an awful cup of coffee: a paper mug of hot water with a coffee bag thrown in. The member of the cabin crew who served me was raving about how good it was, but to me it was like muddy water. She kept saying it gave Costa Coffee a run for its money but let me tell you this, it was nowhere near. I wanted a proper bar of chocolate but the KitKat was all they had and let's not forget the Tyrell's potato chips and the small bottle of mineral water. British Airways love to reinforce the class divide between coach and business class, they even draw a small grey curtain across to block out the plebs in economy so that the posh people in Club Europe or whatever it's called don't have to listen to us salivating over what delicacies they have to eat compared to the crap we're given. I'd love to run amok with a tin of paint but I'm sure I'd be arrested and fined and banned from flying for years, which wouldn't go down too well, and besides, is it even possible to bring a tin of Dulux on to a plane? Probably not.

The plane did arrive ahead of schedule and I had to wait an age for the baggage handlers to load the luggage from the flight on to baggage reclaim conveyor number 11. But once I had my bag I sailed through customs with my kilo of cocaine* and made my way to the Heathrow Express (£25). I took the Bakerloo to Oxford Circus, changed on to the Victoria Line and when I reached Victoria jumped on a train to Sanderstead. Trip over.

* Joke, alright? Not serious. I know how sensitive we all are these days.

Leaving Helsinki for Stockholm...

I thought about walking from Helsinki's central station to the hotel using my iphone's SatNav, but I didn't get very far and decided instead to go against the grain of my own thinking and jump into a taxi. We got stuck in a small jam but soon I found myself checking in to the Scandic Paasi and making my way to room 602 which was at the end of a corridor on the 6th floor and oddly in the same position (albeit in a different hotel) as the room in which I stayed the last time I was here, back in February 2020 and also in a Scandic property. In Finland all the doors open outwards (it's a fire precaution). I've probably mentioned that before too. I think it might be the same in Sweden too and, therefore, I'm guessing it's the same in Norway, who knows? Next time I find myself in Oslo I'll know for sure. The room was pleasant and after dinner I sat and watched an episode of Top Gear, the one when they go to Australia to herd cows using their cars. Mildly amusing and enjoyable to watch and I'm now looking forward to the next Grand Tour on September 16th on Prime. The following day was relatively free. Well, the morning was relatively free. I had to be on a flight to Stockholm at 1425hrs which, miraculously, would get me into the Swedish capital at exactly the same time so I amused myself by going to the gym and getting some much-needed exercise. I jumped on an exercise bike, set it for 60 minutes on a high setting (17 out of 20) and then sweated my way through what was quite a work-out. By the time I got off the bike and wiped it down I was in need of wiping myself down. The tee-shirt I had been wearing was wet through with sweat and I'm sure those in the lift moments later were looking at me in disgust as, to be fair, I must have been whiffing somewhat. But not for long. Once back in room 602 I took a shower and then packed up ready to leave the hotel. There was a metro station virtually next door and I rode the train for two stops to the central station and then took the sky train (was that it's name?) to the airport where I found everything very simple and easy. Why? Because there was nobody around. Remember that Finland only has a population of 5.5 million and they have a bigger land mass than the UK (where the population approaches 70 million). So there was nobody around and it was fantastic. I checked in my bags immediately, security was a doddle and soon I found myself in an empty airport wandering towards gate 36a to catch my short flight to Stockholm. I was amazed at the lack of people, it was fantastic and yes, before you ask, I could live in Finland. The stark contrast between Finland and the UK was all around me. There's probably no better way of illustrating the lack of people than showing you a few photographs (you can see some in the previous post, but here's some more).

I could get used to this. Helsinki airport is like a ghost town.

 

Empty, no people, lovely!

Where is everybody?

Hardly anybody around at Helsinki airport

Helsinki airport is empty, nobody around, brilliant!

This is what I like, hardly any people...

Nobody around...

Nobody around at Helsinki airport

But things changed when I reached Stockholm. The flight was pleasant and virtually empty and after touching down I made my way to baggage reclaim where I encountered people. Oh no! Not people! It was the last thing I needed, crowds of travellers, but I was one too so I couldn't really complain. There were sniffer dogs at customs and once through the other side I made my way to the railway station to take the Arlanda Express into the city and to my hotel the Scandic Malmen, which in my opinion wasn't as good as the Scandic Paasi in Helsinki. There was a big reception area and I vaguely remember not staying here but coming to the lobby on a previous visit to Stockholm when I was staying in the Nofo hotel. At the time I remember thinking that it would be a good hotel to book should I ever find myself back in the Swedish capital. Well, there I was, in the Scandic Malmen about to check in to room 702; actually, I can't remember the exact number, which is just as well as the room stank to high heaven because there was a drainage issue, and I couldn't stay there, the whiff was too much, so I bowled down to reception with a view to finding another hotel if I had to; the man on the front desk, who resembled Rutger Hauer's replicant in Blade Runner, looked for another room and initially said he didn't have one, but eventually I was given room 341 on the third floor which, compared with the room on the seventh floor, was tiny and had a very cramped bathroom. Not brilliant it has to be said and because of 'the environment' they weren't going to be cleaning my room daily, which meant I'd return later to an unmade bed, nothing more depressing than an unmade bed. The last time a hotel said it wasn't going to be cleaning my room was in Pittsburgh in May at the Hilton Garden on Forbes Avenue. I spent a week in that hotel and whenever I returned to my room there was my unmade bed competing with Tracey Emin's work of art. I suppose I could have made the bed myself, but that would have been missing the point. During my stay in the Pittsburgh Hilton Garden I ended up with a foot infection that later needed two weeks of treatment with antibiotics, and bearing in mind that the only place my feet were exposed to the outside world was in the hotel room, I'm guessing that's where I picked it up. Anyway, fortunately I picked nothing up in room 341. 

I was in Sweden for two days conducting interviews and meetings. Prior to the first one, which was on the other side of town to the Malmen, I found an amazing little bakery. I'd been up at the crack of dawn, had a quick breakfast in the hotel and then took the metro to Hotorget from where I walked the rest of the way. It was fairly easy using the iphone's SatNav and I reached the bakery at 0730hrs. My meeting was scheduled for 0900hrs so I settled in with a couple of bakery items and two cappuccinos. It was Wednesday, half way through the week, and I'd resigned myself to not getting much in the way of exercise. But I suppose the two bakery items were a bit excessive... and the two cappuccinos. After the interview I walked back across the city. I didn't do too badly until the very end of the journey when the SatNav confused me again and I think I probably walked around in circles a few times before finally finding my hotel. Half way back I stopped for lunch and sat outside in the sunshine. It was hard to believe I was in Sweden as I could easily have been in Italy or the South of France. I ordered salmon with asparagus and skin-on potatoes, plus a Carlsberg (no alcohol beer). It was pleasant and prepared me for the rest of the journey back to the Malmen. I had one more interview to do. I got back to my hotel around 1430 hrs and went straight to my second appointment which was around a 20-minute walk away. The person I was interviewing had joined me for dinner the night before and we had sat outside in the warm evening air chatting about this and that. All very pleasant. But now it was over and we'd said farewell and it was early evening and I had time to kill. I wandered up a few streets as the light faded and found an Italian restaurant where I ordered a pizza and salad with another alcohol-free beer (make that two) and then I wandered back to the hotel knowing that tomorrow I'd be flying back to the UK – what an awful thought. Back to Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak and all the shite I left behind earlier in the week. I wasn't looking forward to landing on UK soil and I wasn't looking forward to the flight either, with British Airways as opposed to Finnair. It was as if a little bit of the UK had flown over to Sweden to pick me up and return me to the shite of the cuntry. Yes, I'm back to taking the 'o' out of country, it's that bad, in fact it's much worse than it was the last time I bastardized the word. Still, back I must go, but I had a few hours to go and most of it, of course, would be spent sleeping. I switched off the lights, drew back the curtains and lay on the bed thinking bad thoughts.

In the morning I discovered there was a gym in the hotel but it was too late to start building up a sweat. Instead I decided to enjoy breakfast and managed to eat a handful of small cookies on top of my original healthy muesli-based breakfast and then there was a rather nice cinnamon pastry slice that I enjoyed immensely. But I'd also started fretting about what I was eating and how much exercise I'd be doing on my return to Shitsville. After breakfast I nipped out and found a cafe where I bought a blueberry pastry and a cappuccino. I later considered another coffee and another pastry before resigning myself to the fact that I needed to get to the airport. I went back to the Malmen where I had left my suitcase in a room in the basement and then rolled down the street towards the metro and the start of my journey home. Here's some more images...

The Arlanda Express into Stockholm city centre...

People! At Stockholm's baggage reclaim area.

Lobby of the Scandic Malmen in the early hours.

View from room 341, Scandic Malmen

Beers with my pizza meal.

Coffee and a pastry before an important interview.

I bought these in the early hours...

The British Airways flight to London Shitsville.

The hours passed by and soon it was time to board the UK flight. It was, of course, a full flight, as I might have said already, and I had the misfortune of sitting in the middle seat, which wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but I was still annoyed about the middle seat and about going home. I was now sitting in a little slice of England which was going to take me home and dock with the mother ship. I ordered coffee and a KitKat and then just sat there occasionally looking out of the window to assess whether there was going to be any turbulence. There wasn't any, the flight was perfect. I sat next to a woman who was knitting a small octopus for a charity supporting mothers who suffer premature births. We landed safely and because I hadn't booked a return cab I jumped aboard the Heathrow Express into Paddington, took the Bakerloo to Oxford Circus, the Victoria Line to Victoria and then a direct train home.

22 August 2022 - Flight AY1332 London Heathrow to Helsinki...

The taxi to Heathrow was fine. I was left alone, which is the main thing and that was thanks to the driver not being English and, therefore, not being a racist or a bigot, like some of the British taxi drivers I've experienced on past trips. Very little conversation passed between us and I was allowed to look out of the window and engage in my own thoughts. Perhaps that should be 'engage with my own thoughts'. I reached the airport with plenty of time to chill out before I departed, that is after passing through security, which is always very annoying. Fortunately, I didn't have to take off my shoes. That said, despite not having any metal on my person, the alarm still went off and I was forced to use the body scanner.

Flight to Helsinki...

Finding somewhere to eat did prove problematic as everywhere I had to queue. First at The Curator so I didn't bother; then at Caffe Nero so I gave that a miss and then I found no queue at Wagamama so I took my seat, decided on what I wanted to eat and waited for somebody to take my order; but they didn't so I upped and left and then found a table at a very pink and girly establishment, which had once been Oriel. I was, of course, in Terminal 3, but the restaurant in question was rubbish. A couple to my left were already moaning to the manager about the dry and stodgy nature of the baked goods they had purchased. I had ordered from a menu that I had to request otherwise I was supposed to scan a QR code on the table and use my phone. They couldn't be bothered basically to hand out menus and asking for one caused mutterings from the staff as if I'd asked for something over and above the call of duty. Expecting paying guests to rely upon technology is all about doing as little as possible for the customer... but still asking for the same money. From now onwards, I will always say that my phone is faulty; similarly for paying the bill: I'd rather use my credit card and no, I don't want them to email me a receipt, I want a paper one...go cut down a tree and make it snappy! Not really. Well, not really in the sense that I don't want them to cut down a tree, but that's about it.

Looking out...

I am now onboard the flight and tucking into my second bar of Fazer chocolate (a quality Finnish chocolate brand). This is also mildly annoying as I have been doing very well on losing weight and keeping fit, but this week I'm away from the bike and it looks as if I'll be forced to eat crap on the hoof, like most travellers find themselves doing. I'm not moaning about the chocolate, though, as it is fantastic. But let's get back to the weight loss. First, the cycling to and from work over the past few weeks: it's been great (as you know) and I've managed to lose around a stone, perhaps just under a stone. I'm now (or I was) just a pound or two over 12 stone, thanks to exercise and salads and not too many potatoes. Now I'm away for a week, I've left my shorts on the washing line back home and that means no exercise unless I buy some shorts and that, of course, depends on whether my hotel has a gym with an exercise bike. Let's see.

Nobody around...Finland population 5.5 million

Outside of the plane window I can see clouds below me and blue skies above. The flight time to Helsinki is two hours and 17 minutes and I must say that Finnair has been good. Friendly cabin crew, a vast improvement on British Airways and it has to be said they (the Finnish crew) have a far nicer attitude. I'm looking forward to reaching Helsinki as I'm meeting Illka, somebody I met in New Delhi in 2018. He works for a Finnish company called Pesmel - they're into 'material flow how' - and we're having dinner in town. Then I'm off to Sweden (Stockholm to be precise) where I am planning to interview two people individually about steel making technology. 

View from Room 602, Scandic Paasi

The plane is big, an Airbus 350-900 and I am sitting in seat 23a, there's only one other person in my row and he's in the aisle seat, which means there's a much welcomed space between us which I'm sure we both appreciate. As I write this, we have been in the air for just over one hour which, if you'll excuse the pun, has flown by. The scenery outside the plane hasn't changed much, which is fine by me and there's little else to do other than write or read. Looking at the map, we're over Copenhagen at the moment and there must be around one hour and 15 minutes left before we land. Once on the ground I'll make my way to the hotel, the Scandic Paasi, and see what the situation is with regard to the gym. All the recent cycling to work has made me a bit of a fitness freak and now that I'm losing so much unwanted weight I want to keep it off, hence the possibility that I might need a pair of shorts if there's a gym and an exercise bike.

The flight is very serene, people are relaxing, there's little conversation, babies must be sleeping, adults reading or watching movies, it's great. I can see land below me and sea; I wonder if the Danish government has dumped loads of shit and other sewage in the sea. Somehow I doubt it very much.

Deserted platform...

There's about 30 minutes to go before we land. I'm always looking at the map and watching as the little plane (the plane on the map, that is) makes its way towards Helsinki. The descent has started and we're 15 minutes ahead of schedule. The temperature in Helsinki is 21 degrees and, as the pilot said, the sun continues in Finland. The in-flight service has come to an end, not that i was going to order more chocolate. The skies below us are clear and blue and I'm looking forward to being on the ground. If there's a minibar in my hotel room I won't be using it. The last time I was in Helsinki was in February 2020, just ahead of lockdown. Back then, it was cold and unbearable to be outside for more than a few minutes. Knowing that the weather was going to be pleasant I considered a wander around the city for a to see if I could find where I was the last time I was here, but time caught up with me. I wish I had booked the ferry from Helsinki to Stockholm instead of the flight as that would have been good fun, but I didn't think, which means another, albeit short flight tomorrow. Outside it didn't look as if we had descended at all. We were, however, flying at 41,000 feet. I would have to wait until the stats appeared on the screen in front of me. 

'We will land soon' said a recorded voice. As I suspected the clouds  reappeared. We are now at 20,000 feet so we've come down a long way, it just didn't look that way. Actually, perhaps it did as those clouds I'd been looking down upon were now much closer so perhaps I simply wasn't paying attention. There was only 15 minutes of the flight left but I wondered if they could get all that way to the ground in such a short space of time? It's a thought I always have at this stage in any flight and, quite frankly, it never ceases to amaze me. I could see lakes below. Quite a few lakes. It was a fairly clear day and I could see roads and houses. "Landing in 10 minutes," said the captain, but it still seemed impossible that we would be on the ground in such a short space of time. I could make out apartment blocks and even an airstrip. There was the odd rogue cloud and a hazy mistiness as the plane descended. Fields, fir trees, forests, the plane banked left a little making me wonder whether the airport I saw earlier was, in fact where we were landing. More banking left. I could see cars on the roads now as the plane straightened momentarily before banking left again. My seat (23a) was right on the wing. To my left I could see the sea, the undercarriage was now down and the plane was almost gliding to the ground. I could see back gardens and forests and industrial buildings, car parks, four-lane highways and we were on the ground, engines switched to reverse thrust, we had arrived in Helsinki and slowed to a virtual halt as we began to snake our way towards the terminal building.

A strange dream about a beard and more thoughts about riding to work...

A couple days ago I had a dream. In the dream I sported a large and bushy beard that was uneven on the right hand side and I felt a strong urge to cut off the offending bit just to even things out a bit. For some reason I found myself walking around or through the corridors of an expensive hotel, looking for the lift and while doing so spotted an old friend from a long time ago. I remember wondering why he was working in the hotel, but I never stopped to converse with him. Next I found myself standing by the side of some kind of pond and there was a man in the water wearing waterproof trousers, but where the waterproof bits ended there was a real risk that the man would get wet and the very thought of it made me feel uncomfortable. I have no idea why he was wearing waterproof clothing or why he was in the water and the next thing I knew I was awake and it was morning.

When the gates open I ride out and head for home...

Sometimes I don't feel like riding the bike to work. I managed to ride on Tuesday and my plan is to ride again tomorrow, Thursday. But today (Wednesday 10th August) I took the train in and the bus home. By going just one way by train I only spend £4.80 instead of £9.40 and that means that this week (if I ride the bike tomorrow) my total expenditure on train fares is just £9.60 instead of the usual pre-bike bill of almost £38. The last thing I want to do is give Southern Rail any more of my money than I have to, so I ride to work and I get fit in the process (and I lose a bit of weight). I rode Tuesday morning and it was a good ride in; I must have broken a record of sorts because even though the inward ride involved me stopping to buy shower gel at the Co-op in Merstham I still managed to shower and dress and be at my desk around 0810hrs. Now, considering I'd been faffing around in the shower, which is a good 20 minutes of balancing on one leg, trying to dry my feet before placing them on the tiled floor and then all the messing around drying the rest of myself, that means I must have arrived at the office around 0750hrs, which means I rode the distance in what, well, actually, I couldn't really tell the exact time because my iphone let me down, or rather I let myself down by forgetting to charge it. Still, I left the house around 0637, if you account for messing around in the Co-op as five minutes, that means I would have started the ride at 0642 so that means it took my just one hour and eight minutes when it normally takes me around one hour and 10 or even one hour and 16 minutes, so I'm managing to shave time off the ride, which is good.

The ride back was good too. Again, however, I felt the need to stop at the Merstham Co-op, this time to buy some mineral water. I need the water to hydrate myself before the climb up White Hill Lane and later up Tithepit Shaw Lane and believe me it helps. After swigging half of the bottle I sailed up the hill and felt great when I reached the top; I did the same before ascending Tithepit Shaw Lane and once both hills were conquered I only had a short ride along Wentworth, on to the Limpsfield Road, through Sanderstead's high street and then through the churchyard and down Church Way to home. The other week, or perhaps it was the other day, my wife was following me down Church Way without me knowing. She'd been to Waitrose to pick up some food and followed me down the hill. She said I ride miles too fast and she's probably right, but I kind of know what I'm doing, I keep a weather eye on the streets and roads ahead of me and I'm always covering my brakes.

When I got home last night I was whacked out. So much so that I fell asleep in a crumpled pile on the sofa and had to be woken up around 11pm after which I went to bed and slept through until 0530hrs. It was this morning that I was considering riding in, even leaving the house later at, say, 0700hrs, but in the end I simply couldn't face it. Instead I was given a lift to the station from where I paid my £4.80 and took the 0848 train to East Croydon where I switched over to Platform 6 and picked up a Gatwick train, which I knew stopped at Redhill. All day I felt relieved that I didn't have to ride the bike home, I was simply not in the mood. The very thought of changing into my cycling gear and riding towards Warwick Wold Road and the hills that followed filled me with dread. Instead I sat on the bus for all of 40 minutes reading Philip Roth's American Pastoral and now I'm sitting in the garden writing this blogpost. But tomorrow I ride and hopefully also on Friday even if I am on a day off. If I ride tomorrow I must ride either on Friday or Saturday to keep up with my four rides a week.

Yesterday (Thursday 11th August) there was a strong temptation not to ride to work again, but I was conscious of how I'd been saving money and denying Southern Railway a little bit of profit and felt good about it, so I simply had to ride the bike. I left the house around 0700hrs and it was a wonderful ride. The sun wasn't properly up yet so it was relatively cool all the way in. Put simply, I loved it! I showered and went upstairs to work and during the day the conversation, with my pal Garth, turned to his 1287 Loop ride in which he rode down Hilltop Lane on the way back. Hilltop is the road I'm effectively riding towards as I come up Warwick Wold Road prior to turning right into Springbottom Lane. By continuing up Hilltop I avoid the dreaded White Hill Lane, but the rumour is that Hilltop is just as punishing, if not more so.

Around 1800hrs I leave the office in the heat of the evening and head towards the sticks, excited by the prospect of a new hill and possibly one that presents more of a challenge that White Hill Lane. I fill a water container with lemon-flavoured water. There was a lemon in a bowl in the kitchen so I squeezed it into the water to give myself a flavoured drink. At the foot of Hilltop I stopped and drank half of it and then I set off. Before I tackle White Hill Lane I crank the bike down into the lowest of gears, but on this occasion, as I wasn't sure what to expect, I kept it in the middle of the front crank and as the ride progressed I didn't feel the need to change down. At intervals I stood up on the pedals, not really finding the hill any great effort. The worst bit (if it can be called such) was a right hand turn climb but I still didn't change down and then, there it was, a sign reading 'Chaldon' and the end of the climb. I felt good because I wasn't feeling like I normally feel (knackered) after climbing White Hill Lane. Hilltop continued on the flat and was peppered with pleasant-looking houses all the way to a crossroads. I knew not to go straight ahead down Church Lane because that led to Coulsdon and would have resulted in a ride along the A23 into Purley and besides, the road was closed. My aim was a right turn towards Caterham on the Hill along Dove Road, which proved to be bad road, lots of cars and slightly precarious. There was a mini roundabout and a shop called Chaldon Books, here I turned left and headed towards an Esso Garage then it was a right turn on to Burntwood Lane and then I was back on Whyteleafe Hill and the fairly fast coast towards the railway crossing at the bottom. Normally at this point I would be feeling tired and longing to be home, but I was feeling pretty chipper I has to be said. I finished off the lemon-infused water at the bottom of Tithepit Shaw Lane and then sailed up the hill without a care in the world. Not riding up White Hill Lane clearly preserved a lot of energy and when I reached home I was still majorly energised, so much so that a ride to Hurst Green and a pub called the Haycutter for dinner wasn't a big effort. I enjoyed cod and chips with mushy peas and a small bottle of sparkling mineral water. Even when we reached home I felt fine so there's something to be said for not opting for the steep hill. That said, Dove Road put me off so I won't be riding up Hilltop Lane for some time, I'll be enduring White Hill Lane.

This morning (Friday 12 August) I kind of knew I wouldn't be riding to work and I didn't. I figured that if I ride to Oxted in the morning that would be fine as it would mean four rides (Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday). So here's hoping I'll get up tomorrow, feeling fine, and that I'll look out, notice the amazing weather and then head towards Oxted for a green tea in the sunshine outside of Caffe Nero.

A slow puncture ruins the day...but not for long

The great thing about taking Friday off is that you wake up on Saturday thinking it's Sunday and then you realise it's only Saturday and you feel fantastic knowing there's another day before you have to head back to work. Not that I find going to work a hassle, it's just nice being off and not thinking about it.

On Saturday, later than usual, I headed for Oxted in Surrey, thinking it was Sunday but knowing it was Saturday. I left the house around a quarter to eleven, something like that and it took me roughly 54 minutes to reach my destination: Caffe Nero. I'd cycled along Clarks Lane and turned right into White Lane and then, as I rode down the steep hill I figured I could easily cycle up it, but then decided no, not today and besides, riding to Oxted, sitting in Caffe Nero and sipping a large green tea in the hot sunshine was enough entertainment for me. 

A chilled ride to Oxted on Saturday led me to Caffe Nero and a green tea!

The ride to Oxted was fine but because it was Saturday and not Sunday there was a fair amount of traffic on the 269, which was a little bit unsettling. I considered riding back through Woldingham but in the end didn't bother, even if the 269 was just as tricky on the return ride. It was, of course, later than usual and there was more traffic on the road. 

I reached home around 1pm, had a light lunch (a salad sandwich of all things and a yoghurt (make that two) and not forgetting another green tea. And now, as the huge conifer at the top of our garden casts its long shadow across the lawn (it's almost half past three in the afternoon) I'm considering doing one of the many chores that need to be done around the house. Tomorrow I ride early to Westerham to meet Andy.

To Westerham!

Today, Sunday, I left the house around 0806 and followed the usual route to Westerham, along the 269, which was fine. It took me 55 minutes, a little longer than last week's 52 minutes but hey ho! Andy was there and we chatted about bike stuff covering subjects like the London-Edinburgh-London event, which is happening now. It's around 1,000 miles, 500 each way and it seems like a hard slog. Then we discussed Timmy Mallet who has just finished his mammoth round the UK coastline trip, travelling clockwise (as opposed to Mike Carter's anti-clockwise trip). I think he arrived home yesterday as there's video on Twitter of his emotional arrival back home. Andy said he was a little emotional after his first Ride London and I'd imagine after spending four or five months on the bike, travelling around the coastline of the country, being a free agent, enjoying your own company, meeting some interesting people and generally enjoying the ride, it would be weird coming home, getting used to not being on the bike, getting used to not being that free agent, not arriving in a strange town, living the hotel life, but yes it would be emotional too and for many reasons, one being actually doing it, or having done it. Quite an achievement so I'd imagine there would be plenty of emotions running wild. Mallett was a little tearful when he saw that his family and friends had turned out to welcome him home and I must take my hat off to him for doing the ride and for living the dream (it's certainly my dream and probably, like all of my dreams, destined to be dashed on the rocks of reality sooner or later). When is there ever time to ride a bike around the coast of the UK? Mind you, there are other things to do that might be a little more realistic. There's a guy on Twitter called Will, as in "Will is too honest to be an MP" and he seems to run wild camping-based bike trips. Now that might be fun for a few nights.

Slow puncture!

We eventually decided it was time to head home and all was well until I noticed a slight wobble. I get the feeling I had that same wobble on the ride down, but this time it seemed more pronounced and yes, it was. I had a puncture. I advised Andy to carry on and he did as I slowed to halt and tried to figure out how I was going to play things. The puncture seemed like a slow one, so there were options. I could try pumping it up and seeing if I could get home or I could fix it by the roadside. I pulled up on to the side of the road and thought things through. In the end, I decided to ride back in to Westerham, the plan being another cup of tea and then fix the bike on the green. In the end I didn't buy any tea. I took the wheel off, took out the inner tube, pumped it up and tried to listen for the hiss. There wasn't one. I'd need a sink of water to find this one, I thought, marching in to the Costa and discovering there was no plug in the sink. Fucking nightmare. Now what? I tried putting the inner tube close to my face but there was no breeze, nothing, leading me to the conclusion that I'd have to put the wheel back on the bike, pump it up and see if I could get home before it went down. I reckoned it was a very slow puncture and that I'd likely make it so that's what I did. It proved to be the right thing to do as it wasn't until I reached Church Way that the wobble returned and by the time I was outside of my own garage door I was still in one piece as I rolled the bike back in to the garage and went inside for something to eat, ie a salad sandwich of chopped watercress, tomato, onion and mayo on brown bread followed by some ginger-flavoured yoghurt and a banana smoothie. It was then time to fix the puncture. I turned over the bike in the garage, took off the wheel and removed the inner tube, plunged the latter into a bowl of cold water and lo and behold I found the puncture. Normally I fix punctures with "Leeches" but there don't appear to be any in the bike shops so I settled for 'Scabs' which don't look as if they're as good (only time will tell on that one I guess). It all worked and soon I had the wheel pumped up and back on the bike. All I can do now is wait and see how firm it is in the morning. If it's flat in the morning I'll be taking the train, but let's hope it won't be.

It's hot outside. In fact, the hot weather has been commonplace over the last few weeks and there's been no sign of any rain and no let-up on the heat. Long may it continue is what I say. I'm not one of those people who say a drop of rain will be good for the garden, that's far too Daily Mail for me; I'll leave phrases like that to my mum, but what I do wish is that I could go to the South Coast for a night or two and swim in the sea during the day, it's simply something I must do and soon, spend the day by the sea just chilling. I need to do this but don't really have anybody who feels the same way, which is a big shame. I have this idea of arriving fairly early, let's say 1000hrs. I'd bring the wind break and a cool box full of goodies, possibly a newspaper, definitely a book and a fully-charged radio and then sit there all morning, until about 1230hrs or 1300hrs. A lot depends on the tides. If it's high then a swim straightaway, if the tide is out then just chilling, listening to the radio, munching a sandwich or a Scotch egg, whatever I've brought along, and eventually, probably around 1600hrs start to consider going back to wherever I'm staying. The whole thing would then be repeated the following day and then I'd drive home happy. In many ways it's all I want and I certainly want to do it before the weather turns and everybody starts counting down to Christmas. It's already started: the BBC has announced some of the line-up for this year's Strictly Come Dancing, which is basically a countdown to Christmas. It'll be interesting to see how the greed merchants play it this year as there's a big cost of living crisis brewing and the last thing we'll all need is commercial television trying to tempt us with the thought of a new this or a new that; they can all fuck off. All I want to do is stare at the sea for a couple of days and I'll be happy and unstressed, not that I've been that stressed of late. I'm sleeping well, eating well and feel well, give or take, and I put it all down to cycling to work three days a week, upping my cycling from two to four days per week and tackling some big hills in the process. I'm definitely a little fitter and long may it continue.

A few thoughts on the ride...

Riding the bike is becoming a little addictive. Today, I normally ride work but on this occasion I had a day off and if the truth be known, the best thing I could have done would have been to go out on an early morning ride, to Oxted. I should have jumped on the bike, hit the road and had a mug of tea in the Starbucks in the High Street, just me and Philip Roth's American Pastoral, which I am currently reading. But I didn't. I lolled around being lazy and it's all because I'm wound up with work and no holidays. I allow myself to get wound up, there's not enough down time. I have a lot of trouble unwinding, it takes a few days and when you're just taking the odd day off it simply doesn't work, unless I'd bitten the bullet and taken the bike out. That would have been the solution. The exercise would have done me good, not just physically but mentally too and I should know it because for the past few weeks I've been riding four times a week in the morning and in the evening and while the return ride certainly takes it out of me, that's half the point. I get home, I eat dinner, I then relax and fall asleep and it's that nice kind of tired you tend to get after exercise. Or is it exhaustion? Sometimes it feels that way. I'm often told that I'm overdoing it, or rather that I'm overdoing 'things' meaning I'm overdoing the cycling, but I don't think so. The cycling makes me feel good inside and the ride home is far better than taking the train, sitting there next to a lot of stressed people heading home from their respective workplaces. I'd much rather be out in the sticks, miles from the nearest railway station and on my own, just me and the bike against the world. Riding gives me the chance to think things through, sometimes I think through the wrong stuff and it gets fretful, but all I need really is the challenge of a major hill, like White Hill Lane, and then I find that I'm concentrating my mental faculties on just getting to the top of the hill. I feel great when I get there. On the return route there are plenty of hills and completing each one feels good. Not that there isn't something daunting about the ride home. I start to think about those hills long before I get on the bike. I think about them a little more as I ride towards them, through the Merstham council estate and out towards Warwick Wold Road where they start. In fact, it's probably best not to think too much about them and just pedal onwards, remembering that every yard, every inch even, takes me closer to home. The ride home is an ordeal, but only because of those hills, but the ordeal is part of the fun, part of the enjoyment, part of the challenge, although I never think as much at the time. After a day at work it's tiresome, but not overly so, it's good to be doing it rather than waiting on a hot platform for a train. That said, I've started (as I say in the previous post) riding in and then taking the bus home. I did this on those really hot days a few weeks back when it was inadvisable to ride home in such heat, especially attempting the hills. So I jumped on the 405. When the kids have all reached home safely, say around 5.30pm or a little later, the bus is empty and with a cool breeze coming in through the open windows, and a good book, it's a pleasant way to wile away around 40 minutes. Taking the bus home means taking the train the next day and then riding home, but it's one of those 'change is as good as a rest' things, sometimes it's nice to break it up and not make the whole thing a pain. I don't want to find myself not doing this because I get tired of it so to mix it up a bit is good, I still ride three times per week, I just split up one of the rides.

Riding a bike is quite an amazing thing and yet it's something nobody really thinks too deeply about. Riding a bike is riding a bike and that's it, you might think, but just the different route, the quieter route to wherever it is you're going is like finding a new world in which to exist, a world that might not be too far from the one you know and love but a new world nonetheless, a route you wouldn't otherwise take, houses you wouldn't normally see, wildlife you wouldn't have seen. A couple of rides back I followed a small brown mouse as he waddled his way along in a dirt track that ran parallel with the road, it was quite a funny sight if I'm honest and eventually he disappeared in the undergrowth, but it was good to see him. In fact, on the same stretch of road I saw a lonely goat herd in a hillside, which, as I said in the previous post, reminded me of the song from The Sound of Music. These are all things that don't happen on the train or the bus or the car, but they're all life-enriching, albeit on a small scale. I love that idea of new worlds, but that's what it is, new worlds, different routes, roads not normally travelled, houses not usually seen, it's great the way the bike cuts through this new territory and gives its passenger a different perspective on life. Suddenly there are different views, no longer the back gardens of houses close to the railway tracks, or that boring windscreen view you get whilst sitting in the passenger seat of a car looking at the rear of a bus or another car. My route at this present time is virtually car-free, there's nobody around in the morning and by leaving the office around a quarter to six in the evening, the sun still shining brightly, by the time I reach the sticks the cars have gone (almost). It's important to remember that there's always going to be a car coming out of nowhere so I never get too complacent, but by and large the ride in and out is quiet and I like that. 

Sometimes things happen out of the blue and I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but the other week, near the Whyteleafe Tavern, I stopped to fix the chain back on the bike only to discover that the rear wheel had come loose. It was a new rear wheel and I reckon I simply hadn't tightened it enough. I managed to cover both hands in thick dirt from the chain but eventually I managed to put everything back together and head off towards the last hill of the ride, Tithepit Shaw Lane. I tend to bring water with me and I have a couple of cups of it before tackling the hills. I don't know, but I reckon it helps in some way, unless its psychological. Something else weird - and very dangerous - occurred as I made a left turn into Park Avenue off of Stanstead Road. Over the past couple of trips I'd been slowing down a little to take the sharp and blind turn and being as there were no cars around (and to gain greater visibility of what was around the corner) I'd edge out into the middle of the road and then into Park Avenue without the need to brake or slow right down. Fine, you might think, but it's important to realise that hazards materialise out of the blue. On one occasion as I lined things up for a smooth left turn without needing to use the brakes, a woman in a motorised wheelchair on the wrong side of the road and right at the end of it (she could have been hit by a car turning into the road and wouldn't have been able to avoid it) appeared out of nowhere. What she was doing on the wrong side of the road and about to turn right on to the main road I don't know, but there was no problem, I managed to avoid her because I wasn't travelling that fast and it wasn't even a case of having to avoid her, more that I saw her (thanks to moving into the middle of the road) and took minor evasive action, which meant drifting to the right slightly and then back left and following the road down and round to the old church on the corner of Manor Avenue. Park Road sort of becomes Manor Avenue, the road bends right, it's a nice piece of road, pleasant houses, and only a short distance from the start of Whyteleafe hill except that this time, unlike on the outward journey, I'm riding downhill, which is fast and again there's a strong need to keep my wits about me as the road is full of sleeping policemen, the sort that cars can drive over, and a few left turns from where cars can emerge.

Chilling...

As the ride nears its end I feel elated. Elated that I've tackled the big hills and that all that remains is Sanderstead High Street and another downhill, this time Church Way, the first, or rather the second, climb on the outward journey. The sleeping policemen on Church Way stretch from one side of the road to the other so I tend to stand up as I ride over them. Cycling down Church Way is quite fast and again you have to watch yourself as there's a blind corner where parked cars conceal cars that might be coming up the road and then there's a left turn, Briton Hill Road, where cars suddenly appear. So the hazards never stop, they're always there, right to the end. I love Ellenbridge on the return as I can pedal hard and get up a fair speed before having to slow for the right turn that eventually takes me home. And the first thing I do when I get home? I make myself a couple of slices of toast and honey (it's my new thing, two slices for breakfast and two when I get back from the ride).

As I didn't ride today I'll be riding tomorrow, to Oxted, where I'll probably stop for tea. I'm planning on taking Philip Roth with me and will likely spend half an hour reading before riding home and tackling Titsey Hill. Believe me, it's nothing. It's long, yes, but it's not a problem ride. I'd rather ride up Titsey than White Hill Lane any day. Until then, I wish you all a good night.

Normalising the ride to work

I used to say that riding to work was a faff and that's why I didn't do it, but the truth of the matter is this: it's not a faff. In fact, it's quite simple. I fold a shirt, find a towel and a pair of trousers, throw in a tee-shirt for the return ride, put my glasses and phone charger in a smaller section of the rucksack and that's it. After that it's just a case of putting on cycling shorts and another tee-shirt, plus socks and trainers and then heading out into the garage to fetch the bike. That's the only moment of trepidation. I check the rear tyre to see if it's flat or soft and if it's not, then off I go, set Strava and ride off.

Sometimes I ride in and bus it back

I ride up Ellenbridge and on to Elmfield, then Morley, then Church Way, roads I know well and then ride a little of the Limpsfield Road having crossed the churchyard. Now it gets a little busy although right now, with the kids off school, the roads are empty, which is great. I turn right on to Wentworth, follow the road down to Warlingham School, hang a right, bear left and head towards the first real hazard of the ride (although, in fairness, when you're on the road, the whole thing is one big hazard that shouldn't be underestimated).

The first big hazard, then, is Tithepit Shaw Lane, it's a winding downhill road (on the outward journey) and it's important to keep a weather eye on the traffic, namely impatient people driving to work. It also puts a little wear and tear on the brakes. Another hazardous part of the journey is the Whyteleafe roundabout, which is next up: plenty of traffic on the A22 so invariably I stop, wait for a clear path and then bomb across, hoping that the railway level crossing on the other side won't be bleeping as that can mean a fairly long wait for a train to pass, but even if it is bleeping, it's not really a problem. Some say that Whyteleafe Hill - which follows straight after the level crossing, is a bit of a pig and in some respects they're right, it is a pig, but mainly because it's long, not because it's steep. It's a steady incline and to be honest I take it in my stride. Half way along (at the end of the 'hilly bit', if you can call it that) there's a mini roundabout and from there it's fairly plain sailing into Caterham. I take my time as there's some nice houses along that stretch and it's nice to see them in all their morning finery. There's also some interesting side roads on either side that I'd like to explore one of these days. For some reason it takes me back to when I used to do a milk round in the south Wallington area.

The Whyteleafe railway crossing

It's a short ride past Queen's Park (on my right) to a little short cut, I think it's Manor Avenue, a quiet road which leads to Park Avenue and joins the Stanstead Road which takes me all the way to White Hill Lane via Chaldon. White Hill Lane, in many ways, represents the halfway point in a sense, but it's dangerous, a 10% drop that curves left and right and isn't ideal if you have a car behind you, even if I do deliberately hog the middle of the road to keep the motorist at bay. The problem is speed, which picks up, and then there's a right turn that I need to take, so I slow, take one hand off the bars for a split second to indicate I'm turning left and soon I find myself on Springbottom Lane, a long road with huge houses, some sporting swimming pools on the left and right. There's even a steep hillside with goats grazing and I think of the lonely goatherd in the song from The Sound of Music, not a film I'd put down as a favourite, more a childhood memory of going to the cinema and seeing Miss Candy with her red light and choc ices.

At the end of Springbottom a T junction and I turn left and then keep going, down another steep (and fast) hill and over the motorway, it's either the M23 or the M25 but I find it an invigorating moment of the ride, suddenly riding, at speed, over a busy motorway and then calming down a little as I reach the end of Warwick Wold Road and turn right, heading through the council estate of Merstham. This part of the ride is fairly chilled as, indeed, is the rest of the journey. I pass a curry restaurant, a Co-op and then, after another mini roundabout I ride under a railway bridge close to Merstham railway station and turn left, where the road is a little uneven as it takes me through a row of shops towards another mini roundabout where I turn right and head towards another railway bridge, or possibly two, I can't remember. By now, of course, I'm almost there. A left turn under the railway bridge, then a right on to what I think is Frenchies Road, I might be wrong about that, but either way I pass the Jolly Brickmakers and head on down into Redhill. At this stage there are various options: ride down Lynwood Road or head up towards the A23 and either cross it or turn left on to it and ride towards the town centre. As soon as I engage with traffic the need to be alert is crucial, trying to second guess the intentions of other road users, but soon I arrive in Clarendon Road, I press the security code, a door opens and I arrive in the office car park, time for a shower and a day's work and then, as the day wears on, I start to consider the ride home, which, it has to be said, is a pig. Why? It's all uphill and all those steep downhills become steep uphills, a real work-out that's for sure, but ultimately it's a 24-mile ride, roughly 12 miles each way and, of late, certainly on the inward ride, I've managed to shave six minutes off my time. It used to take me around one hour and sixteen minutes, now it's around an hour and ten.

The motorway on a return ride...

I tend to ride three times a week and sometimes I split it, I might ride in and take the bus back and then the following day I ride home, having bought a single ticket on the train, which is only £4.80 compared to £9.40 for a return trip. This week I rode there and back on Monday, I rode in Wednesday and left the bike at the office, taking the bus home (it costs me nothing) and then yesterday (Thursday) I rode it back. Now it's Friday, I've got the day off so I can either ride nowhere today, but only if I ride to Oxted or Westerham tomorrow morning. The aim is four rides a week, so Sunday with Andy plus three rides before Saturday. So far I've done two rides, ie two complete rides (there and back). I'd be happy with another one today, but as I say, if I don't go today I must go tomorrow so as not to break the cycle, so to speak.

The other side of this, of course, is fitness. I've lost around 7lbs, or let's say 6lbs, and I'm kind of watching what I eat. I've got to be slightly careful, because there's also that thing about regular cycling and not needing to keep to a diet. I've bought into that a little bit along the lines of eating cake and biscuits, but it only works if the riding is kept up and even then it's a false economy; but on the other side I've not been eating in between meals (most of the time) and I've been having light meals. The danger is when the cycling slopes off a bit, which I'm sure it will do when the weather closes in, but all I really need to do (to maintain current cycling levels) is to ride on the weekends and then twice during the week. So Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday should do it.

The bike at work, probably prior to the ride home

You see much more of the world around you when you're on a bicycle. If you're travelling fast in a train, while you get to see the countryside and the fields at a distance, it's all over in a flash. In a car it's even worse, but on a bike you spot things you might have passed by, like the old church in Caterham built in something like 1039AD, there it is on the side of the road as I turn into Manor Road, see photo below.

The old church in Caterham

The above shot is taken while on Manor Avenue, which leads down to Park Avenue. I just saw it and thought it looked like a nice spot. That's the thing about cycling, you see lots of nice spots where you can imagine yourself chilling with a cup of tea or just lolling around doing nothing, what's not to like?