More tales from the Villa Dragoni...

I'm beginning to wonder whether I'm being assessed. For me, the big question is this: why was breakfast served in my room on day one and thereafter downstairs with, presumably, the other guests? Except there are no guests, it's just me; I know this because I asked. I am the only guest. I think the reason they got me to fill out a breakfast form was to assess my level of piggery ahead of inviting me down to mingle with the others residents, but of course there are none. When I reached 'the breakfast room', which was a dark and lonely space close to the front desk, I spied a table full of goodies. It was as if a buffet had been laid out, but little did I know at the time, it was all for me. There were four rolls, a solitary boiled egg, three croissants, two yoghurts, three offerings of cereal in plastic containers, the bowl of fruit from yesterday containing apricots, a pear and kiwi fruit and, foolishly perhaps, I assumed that because there were the four rolls there might be four other guests, although, apart from the table where I was sitting there was only one other laid out for use; and when I say 'laid out for use' I mean there was some cutlery on the table. Needless to say I helped myself. I ordered a cappuccino and enjoyed a fairly pleasant breakfast, washed down with a couple of glasses of fruit juice. The woman offered me another cappuccino and while I should have declined it, I didn't, figuring it would keep me awake later on.

En route to breakfast...

I had everything timed. I knew it took around 30 minutes to get to my location because I'd walked it twice yesterday. There was no rain so a stroll was just what the doctor ordered, although I had been prudent enough to buy an umbrella in Udine on Tuesday night ahead of dining alone in a small and fairly intimate restaurant. I had ordered pasta with gamberoni and tomato and later had tiramisu, it's one of those desserts that I love but always regret having once I've finished it. Outside it was dark and I had around a 15-minute walk to the railway station where I was hoping to catch a train to Buttrio and then walk the last 15 minutes to the Villa Dragoni, but it was not to be: a woman sitting in a kiosk at the station told me the next train was in 90 minutes and there was no way I was going to try and amuse myself in Udine for such a long period of time. There was only one thing for it, a taxi, so I waited at the rank and, like the night before, one eventually turned up. Once through the gates of the Villa Dragoni I trudged across the noisy gravel to the villa and of course there was nobody around. I went straight to my room and hit the sack.

My day went as planned and at lunch time, after cheese, ham and then risotto, I decided to walk back to the hotel to fetch my business cards. In total yesterday I walked roughly 8km and now it's another day and the bells of the nearby church are tolling 0700hrs. Last night I went out late in search of a restaurant. To be honest, I didn't want to go out, but all I had eaten was small amounts of food and the odd snack during the conference tea breaks. I found a place called the Parc, I think it was a hotel restaurant as I saw a colleague of mine, but fortunately he didn't see me. I was directed to a table and ordered bruschetta followed by roasted chicken breasts with cauliflower and roasted potatoes – a little bland it has to be said and while tiramisu was on the menu I wanted to get back to my hotel. The stroll down to the Parc  – which was a fairly nice place even if the service was a little slow – was blessed with rain so that umbrella came in handy, but on the return walk it only spitting so I didn't bother opening it out. Bored and with nobody to converse with I hit the sack and fell asleep, waking around 0400hrs for no particular reason and then drifting off until the alarm on my iphone sounded at 0600hrs. It's now just gone 0700. I'm showered and ready for the day and, more importantly, ready for breakfast.

Those two windows on the first floor look out from my room

I almost forgot: there are now more guests. I'm not sure how many, but I think three rooms have been taken up by the people I've seen. There were two women checking in last night as I headed to the Parc restaurant, and earlier in the day (I think at lunch time when I returned for my business cards) I saw two men. It might have been that one man was dropping the other off at the Villa Dragoni but short of asking I don't know.

Postscript...

I now know for a fact that there are four men and two women staying in the Villa Dragoni. This morning over breakfast I saw the men. That means there are seven people staying and only five of the 12 rooms still vacant. Oddly, I was rather enjoying being the only guest. There's also a new member of staff serving breakfasts – or rather tending to the needs of those having breakfast, which mainly means offering them a hot drink as everything else is laid out for them. My breakfast this morning consisted of a bowl of Coco Pops (my hotel treat, I never have them at home), two slices of cake (one apple, the other chocolate), some ham and cheese, two rolls, fruit juice and, of course, a cappuccino.

The Villa Dragoni, Buttrio, Italy...

The Villa Dragoni is arguably the strangest place I've ever stayed. It is a very grand, classical establishment set in some impressive grounds in Buttrio and is surrounded by quiet residential streets where it is possible to walk for miles without seeing a soul. Buttrio is the sort of place where you can walk in the middle of the road, safe in the knowledge that you won't be run over. In the villa (I have been here roughly 24 hours) I have only seen one other person and she is the person looking after the place, alone. I asked her if there was anybody else and she said no and for all I know, I might even be the only guest. It's hard to tell as I've not even come across other rooms. There are no corridors with numbered rooms on either side and my room (room three) is kind of on it's own with nothing on either side of it, I don't have an adjoining room in which I might find another guest. It's all very strange. This afternoon I found that I was locked in the place. The door that led to the staircase which leads down to the 'front desk' – if that's what it can be called, it's never manned by anybody unless they know you're coming, and only then if you call them. Last night my taxi driver pressed the intercom on the main gate and eventually the woman (that's all I know about her, she's a woman) opened the gate, presumably by pressing a buzzer. When I look out of my window when it's light there is nobody around, the villa itself appears empty, all the darkened rooms are echo chambers with no signs of life, there are tables without tablecloths or chairs, lights are off, nobody is home and yet I'm told there are 12 rooms here and with a convention in town you'd be forgiven for thinking that the place would be choc-a-bloc with guests, a full house even, but if it is, I've seen nobody.

The Villa Dragoni, Buttrio, Italy...

Today 'the woman' told me that tomorrow (Wednesday) breakfast would be served downstairs and not in my room, which means that if there is anybody else staying here I might see them. It's going to be an interesting morning. 

I've spent the day looking for the conference venue as I knew it was close by (2km away) but just needed to know in which direction to walk. After a fair bit of faffing around and using the iphone's SatNav (something I've been doing a lot over the past few days) I found it and it works out to be roughly a 30-minute walk through seemingly deserted streets. The well-appointed houses on either side of the streets are quiet and there is no sign of life, except on the Via Nazionale where cars travel in both directions going in and out of town. Restaurants are sparsely populated, similarly teashops, not that I've found many. In one of the latter – let's call it a café as they don't have teashops in Italy – I stopped for a cappuccino and a creme-filled croissant (my new delicacy) and asked for directions to the conference venue. There was a man wearing clothes branded with the name of the company hosting the event and he gave me rough directions which I eventually abandoned, but that might have been because I took the wrong left turn and ended up heading back towards the Villa Dragoni. With dogged determination I set out again this afternoon to find it and find it I did. As I say, roughly 30 minutes. An American woman I met at the location (she lives in Pittsburgh and flew in yesterday from London) told me I might need an umbrella if I'm planning on walking. Oddly, I don't think I have much choice in the matter as getting a cab around here is nigh on impossible, or certainly not at the time I need it. Best to put my faith in walking or even cycling. I know they have a bike for hire and I might take it, but perhaps not tomorrow. Either way, a bike in the rain is definitely off the agenda. Fortunately the event starts at 0930hrs, meaning I can get up early and enjoy a leisurely breakfast before heading off.

This evening I took the train to Udine. It takes all of 10 minutes, but there was no time to buy a ticket so I risked (foolishly) a 200 Euro fine. Fortunately there were no guards on board or they simply couldn't be bothereed to do ticket checks. At the station I met a girl from Albania who worked for the company hosting the event. She had been working in Buttrio for the past four months and I think she lived in nearby Udine. She was going to visit her parents, I was simply looking for somewhere decent to eat dinner and eventually found a really nice, quiet little restaurant where I enjoyed pasta with prawns and pomodoro sauce followed by (foolishly, but then I always fall for it) a tiramisu dessert. I ordered coffee but then realised it would be my fourth of the day. Fearing that I might not sleep I decided not to drink it and instead asked for the very reasonable bill (around 20 Euros). Not drinking alcohol makes all meals cheap although I'm told that some of the best wines in Italy can be found here in Buttrio. It was tempting, but I held my nerve and stuck with the sparkling mineral water. The last thing I want after nearly five years of abstinence is to go back on the booze, back to hangovers and the wrong attitude towards life.

Trains between Buttrio and Udine are few and far between. When I reached Udine station for the return trip I was told that the next one would be in 90 minutes. I couldn't wait that long so I waited (just like yesterday) for a cab outside the station. When I was dropped off outside the gates I fumbled in the dark for my key and eventually gained access, but as I trudged alone along the dark, gravel, tree-lined pathway towards the villa I started to wonder if I would meet 'the woman' or whether I'd have to use the telephone number (which she always answers) to enter the building. She wasn't there, she was nowhere to be seen but the the door was open so I went to my room, up one flight of stairs, and then across an exposed walkway reminiscent in so many ways of those fairground ghost trains where the train briefly reappears to onlookers below before plunging back into the darkness of the ride.

It is strange being here and wondering whether or not I'm alone. Tomorrow will reveal the truth of the situation. 

No thunder storms tonight so I guess I'll get a pleasant night's sleep. I must set my alarm to wake me around 0630hrs so I'll be in time for breakfast. At least being downstairs and (hopefully) with other people I'll be able to ask for milk with my cereal. I must say it feels quite weird being here in this huge old building surrounded by trees and lawns and with a freezing cold swimming pool still flaunting itself to those mad enough to consider a swim (there's a huge and very dead black beetle sitting at the bottom of the deep end). I did think about going in having braved the cold pool in my villa last week, but I'll be honest and say that this time (further north as I am) I didn't fall victim to temptation.

Far too cold for a swim...

It is now 2136hrs and unlike conventional hotels, I can't just go down to the front desk and ask for some peanuts or wander into the gym for a spin on a stationary bike; there's no ice machine in the corridor (there's no corridor!) and there's no elevator, nowhere I can bump into another guest and stand their self-consciously waiting as the numbers count down to the ground floor. The television works, but everything is dubbed in Italian and it's odd watching Ray Winstone in Great Expectations speaking in a gruff Italian voice or Clint Eastwood (ironically) in a 'spaghetti' western, a pasta western perhaps.

In Buttrio, Italy...

I have been in Florence attending a wedding and have experienced major problems with cars. I hired one at the airport, a rather nice Toyota Corolla hybrid, and for a short while it was fine. I drove from the airport out into the sticks and then, for a couple of days, drove to places like Siena and Greve and made a couple of small trips to a local supermarket. It took a couple of days to get used to my different surroundings, although I took naturally to driving on the right hand side of the road and didn't have any problems with roundabouts. But then I got a puncture and things turned to shit. First, the car hire company wouldn't replace the car with another one, leaving me (and those with me) stranded. It was lucky that the flat tyre was discovered close to the villa where we were staying as I managed to drive us back 'home'. It was then a case of calling the hire company who were anything but helpful. We spoke to their breakdown business who sent somebody round to retrieve the Corolla and that, effectively was that. No replacement car, we would have to rely upon unreliable taxis. Not only unreliable but very expensive. We had to pay 120 Euros to travel around 10 miles tops and later, when I asked for a receipt from Guido, our first taxi driver, he wanted me to part with a further 15 Euros. I told him I would write my own receipt. Virtually every journey cost us around 100 Euros and the costs soon mounted up. Eventually, of course, I lost it completely with the rental company, not that doing so achieved anything. In fact, on 'losing it' I appear to be doing it on a regular basis and put it down to needing a rest, a holiday, for example. That said, I've also considered anger management. For those of you thinking 'he's out in Tuscany, surely he's on holiday'. Well, no he isn't. While I wanted to de-stress and had the perfect place to do so – there was beautiful scenery (olive trees, rolling hills, the occasional low mist, blue skies and so forth) – I was not allowed to enjoy it. For a start I was really a cab driver waiting outside clothes shops and then, once the car was towed away to be repaired, I had the stress of Italian cabs, notably that they were few and far between and also that they were extortionate. My 'holiday' was one huge ball of stress as, indeed, is any 'holiday' I take. I'm never allowed to relax, there's always something to fret about (mainly money) and then I find myself back at work and in no way prepared for it having not really had a break. Note to self: always use a reliable car rental company, ie Hertz, Europ Car, Enterprise. 

Breakfast – in the end it wasn't ridiculously large

I write to you from the Villa Dragoni in Buttrio, Northern Italy. Yesterday I took the train from Florence to Venice and then changed to a local train for the penultimate leg of the journey (Udine – pronounced 'Oooh-der-nay'). From Udine I encountered more taxi problems, notably that there were no cabs to be found on the rank. I stood outside the railway station in the dark waiting and waiting and waiting. Fortunately for me a woman from Vancouver was in Udine visiting relations and her husband and cousin (both Italians) were the most helpful strangers I've ever encountered. They called a cab company and two of them miraculously appeared. Myself and a lady from Verona (as opposed to a gentleman) were saved from standing around waiting in the dark and watching buses that were 'not in service' as they pulled around and into the front of the station never to be seen again. I'll admit that I had considered a bus, but I'm glad I didn't follow up on the idea as Buttrio, my final destination, is small and sleepy and dark and I'm guessing there's no way I'd have found the Villa Dragoni. My taxi driver knew of it and after a little messing around on a smart phone we set off in the rain. A storm was brewing. With increasing frequency, the skies were lit up with lightening which later developed into a full-blown thunder-clapping storm. Getting into the Villa Dragoni proved a little problematic as it was, to all intents and purposes, closed and dark. Access was possible via a huge gate, but the gate was closed and my driver had to press an intercom button to talk to somebody inside the villa who eventually opened the gates and we were inside. At last, I thought, I can rest easy. Once inside there was nobody but me and a Villa Dragoni employee who handed over a small square piece of card, it was the wifi log in details and a code for access should I leave the building, which I fully intend to do. Then, she handed me a small rectangular piece of card on which I found a list of breakfast items. The idea was that I circled what I wanted and then, in the morning, at a specified time, my breakfast would arrive at my room. I started to wonder whether I was the only guest. I was led through the villa towards room 3, from where I write this note as I await breakfast, which is due to arrive in just under one hour (49 minute to be precise). I wondered whether I had ordered too much. I mean, I like a big breakfast and normally, with the usual self-service affair in conventional hotels, I could help myself, but here at the Villa Dragoni I found myself circling almost every item available: cappuccino (check); muesli (check); yoghurt (check); bread (check); boiled egg (check); fruit juice (check) the list went on and as I lay in bed awake at 0500hrs I wondered what it was all going to look like. Perhaps it will take two people to bring it all to me, perhaps there will be two trays, who knows? And what will they be thinking? That there's two mouths to feed? Probably. But there's only me. And then I started to wonder if there was room on the table. All very humiliating. I'd better make sure I eat it all so they can't say I wasted anything. And if you want any kind of justification for my piggery, perhaps missing dinner last night is good enough. The last thing I ate was a pineapple croissant at a café in Florence and that was around 2pm yesterday afternoon. Alright, I had a peanut bar and a cup of black tea on the train to Venice, but that was it.

View from Room 3, Villa Dragoni 

After last night's storm everything outside is now relatively still. It's light and cloudy and I'm surrounded by trees. In the distance I can see a train, presumably approaching Buttrio railway station. Originally, I had planned to train it all the way here, but it was a flawed plan. I was advised (wrongly) to take the 1920 train from Florence to Buttrio, changing at Venice, but this proved to be wrong. When I reached Florence station I was told to take a fast train to Venice and then to Udine and from there jump a cab. Buttrio station was tiny and there wouldn't be any cabs and the thought of arriving at gone 11pm and walking to the Villa Dragoni, dragging a heavy suitcase along the street, was not in the slightest bit appealing. Even though I had to wait a good 20 minutes for a cab at Udine railway station, the journey wasn't that long and I arrived long before my original arrival time of gone 11pm.

I am here all week. I fly back on Saturday afternoon. In all honesty, I could wish the whole thing further. It would have been better taking the week off and chilling at home, although I know now that I wouldn't be chilling, I'd be fretting about money and working out how much I didn't have and the spectre of work would always be looming in the background. But that doesn't mean I'm better off where I am as I'm working. In fact, I can't even remember if I'm working today or whether I have the day off. I'll need to check that. Oh, did I mention fruit? I also ordered fruit for breakfast and I'm not sure what I'll get. Hopefully not a huge bowl as there's no way I'll finish that along with everything else I've ordered. Sorry, I digressed, but there you go, I'm fretting about breakfast now.

A word about Italian trains: they're fantastic. The train from Florence to Venice was fast. A screen in the carriage told passengers that the train was travelling at something like 220km/hr. It departed Florence on time (1639hrs), there were free snacks, a man vacuumed the floor, it was perfect: clean, fast and on time, what more could one ask from a train? I arrived in Venice, on time, at 1842hrs, in plenty of time to catch the 1914hrs local train to Udine.

Local train to Udine...

The weather here in Italy was fine up until Saturday (the day of the wedding) when it started to rain around 1400hrs and now I guess the Italians, like the English, are settling in for the winter months. I know that in the UK right now bad weather is expected. I'm hoping it all dissipates before my flight home next week. I'm on an easyJet flight from Venice to Gatwick and I'm sitting in seat 1a, right at the front of the plane. Let's hope it'll be smooth.

Breakfast arrived on just one tray; there were four small rolls, a tumbler of fruit juice, two pots of yoghurt, cereal – but no milk – a small bowl of fruit (apricots and kiwi fruit), a boiled egg – no fingers – a cappuccino and a small plate of biscuits, tiny ones. I did well: I ate two of the rolls, used the natural yoghurt as a milk substitute for the cereal, ate all the biscuits, the other yoghurt was strawberry-flavoured so that was alright and I'm confident they won't be thinking anything bad of me, ie I didn't 'leave' anything untouched, I'm not a greedy bastard in other words, I ate what I ordered.

One note of criticism about the Villa Dragoni: all the hangers in the wardrobe are for jackets and coats, nothing to hang trousers on. A small detail, perhaps, but it's a problem nonetheless.

To the lakes!

I left the house this morning around 0809hrs, keeping a weather eye on my surroundings and looking out for patrolling police cars and royalists attempting to keep everybody indoors watching the funeral on TV, not that my television is working; it might well be we need a new one. There was little in the way of traffic on the roads and I didn't see a single cop car, let alone marauding royalists and Brexiteers sniffing out anybody with republican tendencies. But who was I kidding? Nobody was going to stop me from cycling, nobody was out to get me and nobody cares what I'm up to. I was, quite simply, in the clear. Today was a long one: a ride to the lakes in Chipstead, Kent. The plan was to meet Andy there at 0930 but there was no flask. Flasks are old money, pre-Covid cycling when we used to sit in fields, on benches, taking shelter from the rain at a covered bus stop. Not any more. There was no meeting point other than at our destination and if you need proof that things have changed in the world of No Visible Lycra just scroll back through the pages of this blog, pick a random year, a random month and you will see how things have changed. Now we meet at our destinations, be it Westerham, Tatsfield or the lakes at Chipstead village in Kent. In many ways, it's better the way it is now, it's simpler. We fix on a venue and we meet there and then we say goodbye until the next time. I think we both prefer it. But sometimes it's good to look back, as I did when we both stood on the small green opposite the pub with the lakes behind us, a lonely paddle boarder making their way across the big lake, presumably from Chevening Sailing Club. 

The Rockhopper on Clarks Lane, Monday 19th September 2022

We are less excitable about being out in all weathers, unlike in the old days. I recalled Twats of the Antarctic and other posts that saw us suffering in snow and rain and sleet and heavy winds, but who wants to risk injury? Not Andy. And who can blame him? Only months ago he almost had to undergo a hip replacement after coming off his bike thanks to black ice on the road. Best to use a turbo trainer as the nights get longer rather than risk another trip to the hospital and the pain of recovery. Andy and I used to boast of being all-weather riders, 12 months per year we were out there, wearing balaclavas and scarfs and heavy jackets, anything to keep the bad weather at bay as we rode out in the dark, past iced-up windscreens and frosted pathways, the grass verges frozen and ice-tipped as we rode towards Warlingham Green, which, to me, resembles a closed railway station. Similarly the Tatsfield Bus Stop, once our refuge from the ravages of winter, now little more than a piece of wood at the top of Approach Road that sometimes I see other riders using. I can't even refer to it anymore as 'our bus stop' because it isn't, and it never was, of course. Only the other day, sitting in the comfort of Sheree's Tearoom in Tatsfield village, I pointed out that the old wooden bus stop opposite the Ship pub, was also one of our 'homes', another of our shelters from the storm, but now we sit in the warmth of the cafe with tea served in china cups and possibly a slice of cake. In short, we prefer our comfort. Visiting the caff used to be a rare treat, something we savoured, but now it's routine, something we always do and let's face it we both like it; no, wait a minute, we love it! I can't think of anything better than visiting Costa at the end of an 11-mile ride to Westerham or a 10-mile ride to Oxted where I have the choice of Costa, Caffe Nero or Starbucks. And I know I've been going on and on about how great the weather has been, but it has, it's been wonderful. I checked today and ever since April I've been riding to places like Biggin Hill and Oxted on a Saturday morning and stopping for tea or coffee in the sunshine, relaxing in the open air. The sun has been shining all year and as the year has progressed the temperatures have increased. I've been riding to work, as you know, in the heat, and riding back, in the heat. Only now have things changed. There is a nip in the air, I'm wearing the gloves again and I'm putting on a hat under my helmet to keep warm... and it's only September. But listen, even now, mid-September, it's warm, but a little cooler in the early mornings.

Andy and our bikes at Chipstead lakes, Kent, 19th September

I rode the usual route to the lakes, along Pilgrims Lane all the way, turning right towards Chipstead Village and sailing into the village where, it transpired, I was first to arrive. I answered the call of nature behind a bush and when I stepped back on the stage of the green there was Andy. He too had followed Pilgrims Lane and was riding his mountain bike. Andy had bought a Thermos flask with enough water for a couple of cups of coffee. I bought some water with me, but opted for a cup of Andy's instant coffee, which did the job. We chatted about the instransigence of managers in business and how they have no idea of how to incentivise their staff to make money for the business. That and our reminiscing about old times and those extreme weather jaunts summed up our chat, we paid scant attention to the lake itself because there wasn't that much to see... and let's face it, we've seen it all before, although it's worth pointing out that for a very long time both of us have tended to visit the lakes alone, normally on a whim when either myself or Andy wasn't riding. I think the last time I was there was during the pandemic. I remember it well because when I reached the patch of green in front of the pub there was a honey monster soft toy on one of the benches and that might well have been the last time I was there. Andy's the same, sometimes he says he rode to the lakes alone. But there have been some great rides to the lakes, like back in April 2011 when we rode there with Andy's pal Richard and overdid the Nuptial Ale (in celebration of the wedding of Prince William to Kate Middleton).

The lakes - it's been a long time since we've been here together

The lakes has always been one of those far-off destinations for a regular weekend ride, it's that extra five miles beyond Westerham and it's always been rare to visit purely because we've all got other things to do. But not today. Today is the day of the Queen's funeral, 19 September 2022 and with nothing on television but that event and a lot of people staying in to watch it, a ride to the lakes seemed like a good idea as no coffee shops would be open and that's why we needed the flask. Last night I saw one in Sainsbury's, or it might have been the night before, but it was £28! That's a lot of money to fork out for a small flask, and, as Andy rightly remarked, there's little point as these days we rarely do what we used to do, ie sit at the Tatsfield Bus Stop where there is no Costa or Starbucks and, therefore, the need for a flask of hot water and some tea bags is very real. 

Crossing over motorways on the return ride out of Chipstead

I never checked my watch so I have no idea of what time we left, but I got home around 1145hrs. We rode out of Chipstead village together but Andy then bade me farewell and sped up; soon he was out of sight. You must remember that Andy is now super fit in cycling terms, he rides long distances and takes them in his stride, he's lost a lot of weight and he's certainly faster than I am. I don't want to hold him back. Don't get me wrong. I'm much fitter too than I was during the pre-Covid days. Remember that back then we tended to ride once or twice a week and only three times when there was a bank holiday. Today I'm trying to put in four rides per week, two of them to Redhill where I work as the ride back is a real work-out. Andy has a trainer in his garage and can be found on it virtually every day (if the weather looks iffy) and then he cycles with Oxted CC on a Saturday morning and can cover as much as 80 miles depending on the route taken. So things have changed, but for the best I think, we're both fitter for a start, which is a good thing, and long may it continue.

Corn fields on Pilgrims Lane on the return ride

On the way home...

A bad week, just two rides...

It is the day before the Queen's funeral. For the past 10 days or so the media in all its forms have gone on about nothing else. It's all been very boring and depressing. Some people have been really foolish, they've been queuing for hours on end so that they can walk past the Queen's coffin which, up until today, has been lying in state. Today is the last day as the Queen will end up later on at Windsor Castle, her final resting place, and the world will go back to normal. Here in the UK we'll have to endure Liz Truss, our new PM. Let's hope not for much longer.

On the cycling front, not a good week it has to be said. Rain (or the threat of it) stopped me riding in but there were other factors. My plan to ride on Friday was scuppered as I had to wait around at home for a phone call that never came and then it was too late to ride in so I took the train. I managed a ride yesterday to Oxted, which was pleasant, bringing my weekly total to just two rides, one last Sunday, one on Saturday. My new cycling week starts on a Sunday (yesterday) so today's ride is my second this week.

The Rockhopper in Westerham last Sunday...

It was a good ride, but it's important to point out that the weather has changed and it's much colder now than it has been. I wore a heavy fleece, which seemed to do the trick. The ride was pleasant as there was sunshine. In fact, the last couple of days have been amazing in a strange sort of way, very evocative of something, the past clearly, but evocative nonetheless. I rode along the 269 towards Botley Hill and then straight across the roundabout and down Titsey Hill towards my destination (Oxted). Riding down Titsey Hill is more unpleasant than riding up as the road is pitted and furrowed and shakes the bike, making me feel slightly nauseous. But it's short-lived and soon I am riding into Limpsfield Village, turning right and then left into Granville Road. There's something liberating about riding along Granville in the morning sunshine. I've been doing it all year, since around April, and sitting outside of either Starbucks or Caffe Nero drinking tea or a cappuccino or even a green tea. Yesterday I had an amazing brew: Jasmine Flames tea from Teavana, very nice. I sat outside of Starbucks having parked the bike outside Caffe Nero and walked down the high street. Oxted is such a nice place and it's fantastic in the sunshine. All summer I've been doing this, on a Saturday, riding to Oxted, picking my venue and then enjoying the early morning hustle and bustle of the town, people passing by on their way to the gym, mums with prams, dads with young children, middle-aged couples enjoying a coffee, solitary figures reading a broadsheet, all part of life's rich tapestry.

I tend to find myself in a charity shop next door to the Caffe Nero, just for a brief wander around and yesterday was no exception. I went in wearing my crash helmet and cycling gear and stood by a small carousel of paperbacks, picking one or two up and then putting them back on the rack. As I was doing this a young girl let out a loud scream as she passed me, presumably when I moved to place a book back where I found it. She made me jump. It turned out she thought I was a mannequin and was shocked when I moved, which is odd because the shop doesn't have any mannequins. Weird, but we all enjoyed a laugh off the back of it.

Andy's Kona in Westerham last week

I rode back up Titsey Hill (16%) and initially had trouble with the gears, but managed to crank the bike down to the lowest gears before the climb commenced. I find that Titsey Hill is really easy. It's long, but it's not difficult and the ride up the hill is pleasant as there are trees on either side and peace and quiet and then suddenly there's a road sign which signals the approaching mini roundabout and the B269. The rest of the ride is straightforward, past the Botley Hill Farmhouse pub and straight down towards Warlingham and then Sanderstead and home. I stopped off at the garage to give my bike a jet clean. The plan now is to clean the chain. I'm also getting a strange knocking, which is more pronounced when I stand up on the pedals. It's on the left hand side and while I expect everybody to say it's the bottom bracket, it can't be because I've only just had a new one installed (when I last got a service) and I can't believe it can go again that quickly, ie within a year.

I've just come back from a Washpond Weeble, which I managed in record time (1hr and 3 minutes). I've shaved 13 minutes off of my time and it makes me feel good. I whizzed round at a rough but constant 12 miles/hr and took all the inclines with ease (there are no hills on the Weeble).

Washpond Weeble: I shaved 13 minutes off of my usual time...

I had planned to ride to Biggin Hill this morning, but my plans were scuppered once again, this time by having to give people lifts to stations. The Weeble was an afterthought, a chance to at least get out and not have a Sunday without a ride.

Summer rides

The summer rides have been good. Ever since that first train strike back in June when I 'took to the streets' on the bike, I've been enjoying some amazing rides to and from Redhill in what can only be described as amazing weather. The 12-mile ride into the office is pleasant and mostly on fairly quiet roads, and the ride back is the same but uphill and it can be pretty daunting. I've worked out the trouble spots (the places where I need to be careful) and I think I can honestly say that I'm au fait with the route there and back.

Rockhopper close to Rectory Lane last Sunday...

As a result of the riding I've lost weight (I'm almost 12 stone). I've lost around a stone, which is good and I hope to keep it off, but I've started to lapse. Just a few minutes ago I weighed myself and I'm still just over 12 stone, but the lapsing has started. A bit of rain has kept me off the bike. This week I rode three times (if you include my planned ride today to Oxted) which is fine and I shouldn't fret about it, but ultimately I should be doing a minimum of four rides per week (two at the weekend and two during the week). So it's either Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday or throw in Wednesday too (actually, make that Friday). But last week I lapsed. Again, I shouldn't fret about it. What I should be fretting about is that I'm not regularly updating the blog as much as I used to, the whole thing has gone off the boil a bit. So, here I am, trying to get back into the whole thing.

At the moment, my bike sounds like a wood-burning stove and Andy reckons I need to clean the chain. There's also a problem with the gears (and Andy reckons I need to clean the chain). He's probably right and I will do it and that will (hopefully) save me the money on a planned gear service I was looking in to. I'm finding that changing down the front cogs often leads to the chain coming off and because it's so grubby I end up with my hands covered in thick, black grease. Invariably the problem occurs as I ride up White Hill Lane. I go to change down and the chain comes off or it doesn't come off but simply doesn't change down, leaving me to tackle the hill, the awful hill, in the middle cog at the front. It's possible, thanks to my improving fitness, but it's challenging to say the least. So that needs to be sorted. And yesterday I started to realise that if I'm going to continue into the winter with the rides to work I'm going to have to get some decent lights, something that has always eluded me. Lights that are USB-chargeable aren't the answer, although I have a particularly bright set of front lights that will need charging up as the nights draw in. I also need to sort out my brakes, or rather I will soon have to sort out my brakes. All that down-hill braking on White Hill Lane on the outward journey is bound to take its toll soon and I need to be ready. 

Another shot of the Rockhopper last Sunday

My fitness levels are certainly improving although, as I said at the beginning of this post, I'm starting to lapse a little. Let's talk about this for a while. My campaign to lose weight started when I was in Prague. I slowed down on the food front, ate a healthy breakfast in the hotel, started to drink green tea, and then, when I flew home I upped the ante a little bit. I tried to carry on my 'no bread' thing, which I started in Prague, and I succeeded and found myself weighing just over 12 stone. It was the cycling too, not just the lack of bread in my diet, but put the two together and I was starting to look a little lithe, which was good. One helped the other: the weight improved the cycling, the cycling improved the weight situation and long may it continue. The hot weather helped too as I found myself eating less, enjoying (heaven forbid) a salad, not eating loads of potatoes and so forth. But of late I've found myself back on my latest addiction: toast and honey. I need to slow down on that front. I've been reasonably good on lunches, and dinners have been fine, although the approaching autumn has prompted the odd roast dinner, I bought a packet of milk chocolate digestives at work last week and wasn't satisfied until they had gone, so little bad habits are creeping in. And I keep thinking that a combination of cycling less because of the poor weather and, perhaps, the odd chocolate bar and, of course, the hassle created by people celebrating birthdays at work (and bringing in tins of Celebrations, 44 calories per chocolate) are going to mess things up. But I didn't do too badly today: had a small cake and a cup of tea for lunch and a small slice of bread with half of an avocado on top and then for dinner tonight a vegetarian dish cooked by yours truly (aubergine, courgette, onion, garlic and a tin of tomatoes, plus pasta). It was fantastic, even if I do say so myself.

To Oxted for a cappuccino (and a pastry)...

Alright, I had a pastry this morning, a cinnamon swirl to accompany my large cappuccino, that's something else I've started up again, frothy coffees. Got to get back to green teas and nothing much else. I rode to Oxted this morning to meet my pal Garth. The ride was good although I'm not keen on riding down Titsey Hill as the road is so bumpy it actually makes me feel quite ill. The handlebars and the whole bike shakes and so does my body, but eventually, when the road levels and smooths out, I sailed into Oxted, rode up the High Street and there was Garth at the Caffe Nero. We chatted about this and that and after reaching a chilled out state we rode home again. I rode up Titsey Hill as always and got home just over an hour after I left.

The bike needs a clean, I need to get the rust off of the forks, I need to clean the chain and I might need a gear service, but not yet. Tomorrow (Sunday) it's Westerham to meet Andy so let's hope the weather holds, I think it will.

On Pilgrims Lane on the way home from Westerham

It's now Monday morning and I've got to go to work but just to say that the weather did hold yesterday, it was a very pleasant day although there was a little bit of mist at Botley Hill and as I descended into Westerham. Costa was closed until noon so we found ourselves in a small cafe on the other side of the street. I ordered a cappuccino and an almond croissant and found myself chatting to Andy about Duncan Bannatyne after two brand spanking new ice creams vans went by and I remembered that Bannatyne started off in the world of business as an ice cream man. We also reminisced about ice cream vans of old, the sound of Greensleeves on a summer's afternoon and, of course, Mr Whippy ice cream cones. I enjoyed a Mr Whippy at the Boathouse cafe in Felpham yesterday week ago and very nice it was too. 

Andy was on his racer so I knew he would be way ahead of me within yards of departing so I wished him well and continued on up the hill alone.