New Year's Eve ride to Tatsfield Village...

The weather app says 12 degrees, which is reasonably warm for this time of year, but what about that wind? It's not warm, I can tell you, it's cold and it went right through me as I pedalled along the 269 early on New Year's Eve. I left the house around 0813hrs and reached there about an hour later. The skies were dark and grey and yes, I did think about a possible downfall, but I didn't think too hard, mainly because there were encouraging signs in the skies above: breaks in the cloud, sunshine and potentially clearer skies. There had been overnight rain, I discovered, once I'd passed Sainsbury's in Warlingham and found myself on the more rural bit of the 269 that would take me all the way to Botley Hill and beyond. Roadside puddles were like black treacle, forcing me to take to the off-road path for a short while rather than risk straying into the middle of the road and being hit by a car. The wind was unpleasant, especially when I rode along Approach Road towards Tatsfield Village, but it wasn't long before I reached Sheree's and she knew my order. "Pot of tea?" I said yes and paid up. Andy had already ordered his latte and he had a few Biscoff biscuits in some silver foil, three for me, three for Andy, and a great snack it has to be said.

Library shot of Sheree's in Tatsfield village...

We chatted about Christmas and falling asleep in front of the television and then we moved on to talk about medical procedures, remembering Andy's hospital experiences when he broke his hip after coming off the bike earlier in the year. Was it this year or last? Catheters were mentioned and clearly overheard by Ken who came over to tell us all about his, not that we really wanted to know, and then he kept on talking about this and that ailment, eventually telling us that he was 82 years old and how he kept fit by walking, with professional-looking sticks he'd left outside. He was a nice guy and a regular at Sheree's, but I hope that doesn't mean we have to talk about end-of-life ailments every time we go in there; let's hope not.

I'll be honest. I don't want to hear about illness and poor health and catheters and the pointlessness of the human condition, or Mortimer and Whitehouse going on and on about it on television. Why talk it all up? I just don't want to. I'm not ready to be an old man just yet. I'm not old! I ride a bike, I walk a lot, I'm still working (and I love it) and I just don't want to hear anything negative or depressing. I used to like watching Mortimer and Whitehouse's Gone Fishing until I realised that eventually they will start whingeing about their aches and pains and ailments. I don't want to hear about 'your bad knees' or how you can't do this or that anymore, I don't want to hear it. I can't be bothered with it anymore, it's not funny, it's depressing, and it's made a lot worse at this time of year when it seems to me as if the grim reaper is working over time, killing off various celebrities so we all have to put up with 'people we lost in 2023'. I think I mentioned that bit in a previous post, but it seems to be inescapable at present, what with Mortimer and Whitehouse - yes, that's the third time I've mentioned them since I started writing this paragraph, and Ken at Sheree's. Andy and I have had our fill of it, it has to be said, and to be fair to us both, we never mentioned our own personal tragedies today (for mine, click here) In fact, I made a point of steering clear of the subject and I think Andy was doing the same. Perhaps our chat about catheters was ill-advised, not that we were to know that Ken would come over and expand on the conversation. I got the feeling we might have been there all morning, but Andy visited the bathroom, which set the ball in motion for us to start preparing to leave. I stood up, Andy returned and we headed for home. We're now on first name terms with Sheree. Andy introduced himself and so did I so it's all good. I couldn't tell you the names of anybody at the Costa in Westerham.

Taking shelter from a downpour...

A few hundred yards into the ride and it started to rain. As I reached the covered Tatsfield Bus Stop it was getting fairly heavy. So heavy that I decided to take shelter there, it was like old times minus Andy and the flask of tea. The rain and the wind combined and what was initially vertical rain became almost horizontal, forcing me to sit on the back rest of the bench and lean back against the rear wall of the shelter. I was there for around 20 minutes, watching the rain fall and fall and fall and then suddenly the sun came out and the rain stopped so off I went. While it did start again, it wasn't that heavy so I put up with it, deciding to take the off-road path rather than get drenched at close quarters by the passing cars. But I was mistaken if I thought I'd keep dry on the off-road path. Oh no, I got drenched by passing cars as they whizzed past, kicking up a shed load of spray. I might as well have asked somebody to throw a bucket of water at me at regular intervals. Even though I was a considerable distance from the cars, the water thrown up was like a wave and it hit me square on the side of my face every time. I wasn't safe until I reached Warlingham Sainsbury's and rejoined the road.

The bike sheltering from the rain...

I can't remember exactly what time I reached home, but as soon as I did I stripped off my wet clothes and made myself some marmalade on toast, just what the doctor ordered. The plan is to ride tomorrow, weather permitting, and visit Sheree's again. We like Sheree's because Sheree herself is an excellent person who brings that much-needed personal touch and some much-needed happiness. All of a sudden, Sheree's has become our go to venue for a weekend ride. Alright, it's not as far as Westerham in terms of fitness, but it's a pleasant experience and that's what it's all about at the end of the day, being relaxed, chilled and happy.

I've got a fish finger sandwich on the way and I can't wait, then it's another night of sitting in front of the television until I feel tired enough to hit the sack. Knowing me I'll probably watch Jools Holland, I always do, but the problem is it's so 80s, as indeed is Jools himself. I'm hoping not to see Ade Edmondson and Jennifer Saunders and also that self-proclaimed twat, Dawn French. How boring was Imagine? Very! Anyway, here's hoping there will be some good music and not all that obscure stuff he crams into Later... but I'm not holding out much hope if I'm honest. I'd like to see Glen Matlock playing bass so here's hoping!

It's past midnight now, so Happy New Year to all my readers. Guess what, Hootenanny was poor, no Glen Matlock, unless he's on now. If so I wouldn't know because I've switched to BBC1 to watch the fireworks. Bed beckons. Good night.

Chilling over Christmas...

 On Wednesday last week - the Wednesday before Christmas - I went down with a cold and cough. I remember feeling a little shivery on my way home from work and (fortunately) I was staying in what I call the Capsule (see previous post). Feeling unwell often messed with my sleep and anybody sleeping with me so I figured it best to be in the capsule until the illness was over.I think I timed things correctly (or I almost did). My cold was a little debilitating. I felt weary and I was coughing and sneezing and later blowing my nose too (a typical bad one if you ask me).

My first line of defence is always Lemsip and I'm glad to report that we had two boxes in the cabinet. All I had to remember was to stick with just four sachets in a 24-hour period. Not too challenging.

Andy outside Sheree's, we'll meet there on Sunday I hope...

I was in work on Thursday, feeling, it has to be said, a little down-in-the-dumps. There were a few people in and everybody was winding down. I managed to get done what I'd planned to get done, finishing an article that needed to be written. I felt good about that and left the office late knowing that it was all over for the Christmas break. I was feeling bad enough to ask for a lift from Purley Oaks and I was in no fit state to do the 2-mile walk from Purley station to Sanderstead that I'd been doing over the past fortnight. I got a lift from Purley Oaks and then embarked upon chilling out and trying to get better in time for Christmas. In all honesty, whatever I had made me feel down, very down and I felt as if I couldn't cope with the world. I certainly wasn't looking forward to any kind of interaction with other people. I did virtually nothing. In fact, sitting here now I'm trying to remember but can't. What did I do? I think we went out on Saturday, or was it Sunday, but I remember being in Sutton, in Starbucks and in M&S. My daughter had a haircut booked so we were simply killing time until she was finished and then we drove back home.

I've never enjoyed the commercialism of Christmas. In fact, I hate it. The greed, the pushing and shoving, those awful Christmas ads on the television and the fact that all we were doing was filling the boots of another Tory, another awful businessman. The family bit is all fine, that's what it's all about and, by and large, my Christmases (our Christmases) are family oriented. We have a big family get-together on the 'big day' round at Natalie's mum's and Boxing Day we tend to go to a pub for lunch and throw in a shortish walk, this time around Shere, the Surrey village where they filmed The Holiday. We found a great pub, The Bray, and I had what was arguably the best steak pie, mash and gravy in the world, all very filling, all very nutritious too. In the evening we played Trivial Pursuit, and I was fine but tired out, probably because I was still a little under the weather. 

Triggers by Glen Matlock is brilliant...

Today, the day after boxing day (it's amazing how quickly Christmas is diluted by the passing of time) I went over with the family to Sutton to see mum. We bought M&S sandwiches from a nearby BP garage and made small talk with mum and my brother who drove up from Petworth. We drove home and now we're chilling again, watching Tom Cruise in War of the Worlds. It's great chilling out as I never seem to relax and soon, within a few days in fact, well, after the New Year, the job starts again and it's a busy month of travelling, one trip I have to do and others I can take or leave (although I'll probably do one of them). But the last thing I want to do now is think about work. 

I haven't been in a fit state to ride the bike. The plan had been to go out on Boxing Day but there was no way I was fit enough. Hopefully by the weekend I'll be back in the land of the living. I'm hoping for a ride next Saturday and then on Sunday I'll go see Andy at Sheree's in Tatsfield.

I'm reading a great book. Triggers by Glen Matlock, a former Sex Pistol, although you could always say that once a Sex Pistol always a Sex Pistol. It's a great read for so many reasons, one being that his early years were very similar to mine, there are things he talks about that I remember too, like Sunday roast on Sunday and then cold meat on Monday (normally, in my case, served with tinned spaghetti and mashed potatoes). Then he worked in a department store. I did too. I was known as a 'mobile porter', somebody who could do any job in any department. My best job was operating the lifts. I knew how to get them stuck so I could spend time alone between the floors reading until the electrician winched the lift to the next floor. I also worked in 'small electrical' fitting plugs on to kettles and had a stint in the heavy electrical department shifting fridge freezers from the warehouse to the lorries. A great job it has to be said and here I am decades later, still working, still earning, although the job is a little more sophisticated and in line with what I'm capable of doing.

The best steak pie, The Bray, Shere, Surrey

It's now just turned 1900hrs and I'll stop writing for now. Alright, I'll continue. Somebody asked me the other day if I was still writing my blog. I am, I told them, but I'd slowed down somewhat, which is annoying. I used to write about every ride I took, but now I kind of amalgamate a number of rides into one post, but if I'm travelling, I always write up what happens each day I'm out of the country. It's my way of remembering what I did and when I did it, photographs thrown in for good measure.

Tomorrow we will be out and about visiting people and I'm really looking forward to it; there's a guy called Julian, I haven't seen him since this time last year and I'm looking forward to meeting him again. Perhaps this time we'll exchange numbers and try to meet up again some time in the new year.

Anyway, time to sign off and watch some television. At least I'm chilling, that's the main thing. I don't do enough of this, and I need to do more.

The Capsule...

I've entitled this post The Capsule so I'd better explain myself. It's not really a capsule, or rather it is in my mind, it's a space ship, a silent one. No roaring rockets, no dangerous re-entry procedures, no nothing, just the peace of outer space. In reality it's little more than a room at the back of the house, Max's room. There's a bed, a wardrobe, a table, curtains, a huge picture window, everything you might expect to find in any bedroom, but after dark when things are quiet and I'm feeling sleepy it's a place to go if I want to get a good night's sleep and if I fancy a journey into outer space from where I can see the stars up close. I travel light, it's the best way, but I do take a small digital radio with me, tuned in to BBC Radio 3 and if I board my spaceship around 2300hrs I can catch Night Tracks, a magical programme of music designed for space travellers solo or otherwise. Once airborne and in outer space I press a button and, in addition to being transported into deep space I am treated to some of the most amazing music, sometimes magical, other times miraculous and mesmerising but never maddening or malodorous. When I gaze out of the window I can see two stars which accompany me on my journey and eventually I fall asleep, but the stars are still there in the morning. The stars are streetlights, outer space is the night time and I awake feeling refreshed as the day slowly dawns. The spaceship is only there during the winter months when it's dark around 1600hrs. In the summer it is nothing more than a room with blue curtains and bedroom furniture, just like any other bedroom on the planet, but as winter approaches strange things start to happen and it probably happens in other bedrooms around the world too, but only select people get to experience outer space and glowing stars, even if they're only streetlights. I need to return there soon.

To Tatsfield...

Sergey Rachmaninov's 10 preludes Op. 23 (no 6 in e flat major) as short as it was, started off my Sunday morning breakfast, although, if I'm really honest, it was a boiled egg and soldiers. I'm off on a ride to Tatsfield Village to meet Andy at Sheree's, which is shaping up to be our new venue. It's almost Christmas and I guess the reason is, well, not really festive, but just cosy and friendly. The people who run the place make the whole experience welcoming. The place is festooned with impossible teapots and scented candles and other fripperies; it's also a shop selling newspapers and groceries, but it looks out on to Tatsfield's village green and pond and the whole thing is very English - and the perfect place to chill after a shortish eight-mile ride in the winter air.

As I write, there is around 30 minutes until take-off and I'll be riding the usual route. There is no rain. At least I don't think there is as yesterday's weather forecast had a sunshine icon blazing out from the computer screen, which was extremely heartening. I need sunshine and brightness and so does Andy. We have both experienced loss in recent days: my sister and Andy's wife and I would say for both of us we need distraction and the best diversion, perhaps, is cycling. Andy said he was using cycling to keep his mind intact and I've said many times in previous posts that there's much more to cycling than fitness. It provides time to think and to zone out and deal with the problems life throws our way.

Sheree's Tearooms - a place to take things easy

I've lost my sister and Andy his wife and my thoughts go out to a man who has been selfless, considerate and self-sacrificing. He is a kind, decent and noble human being who right now is having a tough time of it and while grief is a hard one to beat, it can be alleviated. I know that my sister would not have wanted me or anybody else to be unhappy and I'm sure Andy's wife Marcia would be the same. Life goes on as they say and life is for the living, but let's not forget those who have passed, their memories must be kept alive.

Tchaikovsky's Symphony Number Six is breaking the silence as I contemplate the ride ahead. There's around 15 minutes before take-off and soon I must don the fleece and the snood and head out into the garage to find the bike and then head towards Church Way and the hill that will take me to the churchyard and beyond. As I speak church bells are ringing out from the radio and they remind me of my childhood when the bell ringers of St. Philomena's broke the morning silence as I lie in bed awaiting breakfast cooked by dad and it would have been similar to what I've just eaten: a boiled egg and soldiers and tea with the accompaniment of Radio Four's Today Programme coming from dad's tiny transistor radio.

The ride was good, but windy on the outward journey and while I was wearing a heavy fleece and a jumper and tee-shirt, so three layers, it still penetrated and made me wonder if I'd bothered with the jumper. I checked when I reached Sheree's and yes, I had it on. But the weather was good and that hard headwind that had hindered me slightly heading out, was gone for the return journey. I followed the usual route along the 269 and all was well and now I'm home and feeling exercised, which is good.

Andy and I chatted for over an hour over a couple of soya lattes and two pots of mint tea with a couple of Biscoff biscuits thrown in for good measure. Sheree's, we've both realised, is a great place. It lacks the corporate tinge of Costa and it's far more relaxed and friendly. There are no queues for complicated drinks and the vibe is slower and far more cosy than any of the national coffee chains. Remember, you can't beat an independent operator. Andy visited Sheree's on Saturday much to her surprise. "I thought I'd got me dates wrong!," she said, as she normally expects to see us on the Sabbath and that's what's great about this fantastic teashop, they expect to see us! They know we're going to be there and, of course, we are. I asked if she's open on Boxing Day and the answer was no, they're not; had they been we would have been there, but as it is we'll he heading for Westerham and the corporatism that is Costa Coffee.

My sister has passed away...

Saturday, 2nd December: My sister passed away today. We all knew it was going to happen. On Monday she would have been in hospital for five weeks. She's not been well but she hasn't been in any pain and she died peacefully. We'd all taken turns visiting her and now she is gone. I stood by her bedside with my brother, we'd both missed her passing by around 30 minutes. She looked rested, she looked at peace, and I'm glad to say that she loved the bear I had bought her some weeks earlier. We are left with our memories, nothing more.

Crissy - or Criss - or Cwar as I called her, was a good person and right now I'm feeling a little numb. It's quite hard to believe that she is no more, but it's true and there's nothing anybody can do to change the situation. 

I'd been on a bike ride, just a short one, but on my return, around 1230hrs, I found a text from my niece and jumped straight in to the car and headed for Epsom General, its around 10 miles away. Seeing my sister lying in bed at peace was sad and strange; it was just Jon and I on either side talking about old times with Criss in the middle, lifeless and still. We went to the cafe on the second floor and had tea and an almond croissant and sat there reminiscing and trying to be upbeat about things and then, when Jenny arrived, and after she had seen her mum, we drove to our mum's. We told her the sad news and she took it reasonably well. Jon offered to stay the night but she said it was okay. Jon and I considered a curry but then realised it wouldn't be right so I dropped him at Carshalton station and then drove home, feeling a little jittery, my stomach fluttery as it had been most of the day since I heard that Criss didn't have long. I had to take my mind off of things so I listened to Radio 2, Rylan Clark's show was on and, thankfully, it calmed me down, especially when he called his mum and there followed a humorous exchange which was, by nature, mundane but funny nonetheless as I drove through the freezing streets towards home. Listening to a CD would have been a pointless exercise as this wasn't a moment to pretend I was in my own movie (as I normally do when I'm driving alone) and I preferred the music from the radio as it carried no baggage. There was a quiz involving members of the public, easy questions most of them. Lots of traffic. Too much. It characterises driving these days it seems. At one point, a car had broken down and I had to turn left instead of driving straight ahead as planned. I turned around and all was fine and naturally my thoughts were with my sister and her premature exit from the world. I sat in front of the television for most of the evening trying to keep things upbeat and eventually went to bed in what I call the capsule (it's Max's room, but add a radio playing classical music, draw back the curtains and look out at the night sky and it's like being the only passenger in a small spaceship bound for nowhere).

I awoke Sunday morning still feeling empty. I'm thinking about another short ride, hopefully I'll pluck up the motivation to get out there and do it.The key is to remain upbeat.

A strange but vivid dream...

I was due to board a large jetliner, possibly a 747. I didn't know where I was going, just that I was due to be onboard. I entered the plane from the back and made my way along the fuselage noting that my seat, in row 36, was some way to go. I passed through the plane (and other passengers preparing themselves for the journey ahead) and the numbers of each seat decreased the further forward I ventured. No sign of row 36 until I noticed that the number sequence reversed itself and there was seat 36, it's back up against the wall of the fuselage. I took my seat, which faced the opposite side of the plane. Then, for some reason, I was not on the plane, but looking for it. I found it moving slowly along a suburban south London street with Victorian terraced houses on either side of the road, the wings of the plane barely missing the frontages of the houses. The big question was how to get back on board, but there were no answers to that question. I met some shadowy figures as I tried to figure out what to do, but the plane disappeared and that was the end of the dream. 

Beware the fat man...

It was the fat man who bothered me. He stood an easy 6'5" and resembled a barrel from the waist up. I found it hard to believe that he was a cyclist; he certainly didn't possess the frame of somebody accustomed to riding a bicycle. We were both admiring an electric bike. "A bit pricey," said I and the fat man smiled. "It's on offer," he replied and again I found it quite at odds with his appearance, his stature, that he was even working in a shop selling bicycles. It was clear that the man wanted an electric bike, he even went as far as to say that such a machine would be his next purchase. "I'll need it with all the cappuccinos and cakes that I put away," he said with a smile. Hearing that he was a cake and cappuccino man I was taken aback. He drinks cappuccino and eats cake and he's huge, massive, built like a brick shithouse and in urgent need of a diet. But hold the bus, my world began fall apart and soon I fell into a Dickens novel, A Christmas Carol no less. I was Jacob Marley staring face-to-face at the ghost of Christmases to come, a future where I and not the fat man before me was fat and barrel-shaped and in need of some serious exercise. I kept hearing the words 'cappuccino' and 'cakes' and thought of my weekend, that Millionaire's shortbread, the cheesecake dessert on Friday afternoon, the cookie on Thursday, those Bounty cookies in the office and that Ritter Sport chocolate bar that sits at this very moment in the bottom draw of my desk, awaiting my attention on Monday morning. What was to become of me I wondered. I seemed powerless to change my destiny, tomorrow belongs to cakes and cappuccino and me, a fat bastard. Surely there was something I could do about this awful state of affairs. Well, of course there was, I'd have to stop eating shit and start exercising. One ride a week was no longer enough and simply walking from Purley Oaks to home every night was insufficient. I'd have to double up on the walking and try my best to ride the Nobbler in the evening, perhaps not every night, but at least three. But words are one thing, actions another and the key to my success in this venture, which always comes at Christmas time, I hasten to add, is simply to get out there and do it. I won't go on anymore about my options, you know what they are and so do I. I'll simply have to make my decisions and act, there's no other way.

It's got to stop!

The wrong mindset...

The ride to Tatsfield village was par for the course. Fortunately, there was no rain, although I half expected it at any moment. The skies were grey but there was hope as I could see the sun, or rather the effects of the sun, illuminating the heavens and that meant (perhaps) that I wouldn't get a soaking, not on the outward journey at any rate.

It was Sunday and I'd missed a ride on Saturday for no reason other than my own indecisive nature. I even got ready and was standing around in my cycling gear until around 0900 when I decided I wouldn't bother. What a travesty! A perfectly decent day and I simply didn't go out. I should have struck while the iron was hot and left the house around 0800 or even 0700. 

Tatsfield village pond in the summer time

On Sunday, then, I rode to Tatsfield village to meet Andy and the weather held out. When I reached Sheree's I noted Andy's bike was already there – I spotted his bike parked outside, but to be fair, I had already seen the orange forks of the Kona Blast from a long way off. Judging by the fact that his latte was untouched, however, I knew he hadn't been there too long. As for me, well, I was running a little late, possibly around 15 minutes, and noting that Andy's coffees were untouched I knew I'd still managed to keep a reasonable time. I wasn't slacking in other words. Or, to be clearer, I hadn't really lost any of my 'fitness' even if I have been fretting about it for some time. I'm always fretting about it – and other things too. I'm a worrier and I wish I wasn't one, but I am. I keep things on my mind, silly, irrelevant things in the greater scheme of things, when I should confine them to the waste basket, and there lies my problem. There are many things on my mind, constantly, and I never seem to resolve them, they just stay there, nagging away at me. In short, I need to resolve things. But let's make no mistake: these are what is known as 'first world problems', which is shorthand for 'none of my problems have any real substance when compared to those, for example, of the good people of Gaza who are being shelled by the Israelis and there are people much closer to home who have bigger problems than I do, including my own sister, so let's get that straight from the get-go.

My current big fret is how to maintain a level of fitness during the winter months when the rain will inevitably stop play. There are many solutions:-

• Buy a bike trainer from Evans Cycles, hook up the old Kona to it and enjoy hours of cycling in the garage. But first, fix the Kona's rear wheel.

• Join a gym and use their exercise bikes AND combine with a swim (get that upper body back to what it used to be).

• Rely entirely upon riding the Norfolk Nobbler during the week, rain or shine, light or dark. Combine this with more walking, i.e. from Sanderstead to Purley in the mornings and from Purley to Sanderstead in the evenings.

• Buy an exercise bike and put it in the garden room (it's not a conservatory).

Well, starting from the top, Andy's preferred solution to my problem is the trainer from Evans Cycles. I'm not keen on this option because I don't fancy being the garage, alone, working out in the cold. In all honesty, I'd rather ride the Nobbler fives times a week and be done with it.

Joining the gym appeals as I'd be in the warmth on a decent exercise bike and then I can have a swim afterwards and a hot shower. But will I keep up the hard work? Or will I simply get bored and eventually find myself forking out £40 a month for nothing?

Relying 100% on the Nobbler is the cheapest option as there's no financial outlay; I'd just have to grin and bear a bit of cold and rain should it occur and that shouldn't bother me too much as the ride lasts around 35 minutes and surely I can take a soaking for that minuscule length of time? There are downsides, like would I feel like doing it in the dark after a hard day at work? Probably not, but that's where mindset comes in to play. I've simply got to bite the bullet and stick to it rather than wimp out and do nothing other than fret about not doing any exercise.

Buying an exercise bike and putting it in the garden room appeals, but a decent one will set me back a few bob and I've never got any money just floating around.

So, all of the above (and other matters I won't bore you with) are constantly harassing my mind, normally when I want to get a good night's sleep – something that eludes me a lot these days – even if, of late, I've taken to sleeping in outer space with BBC Radio 3 for company. This has worked a treat and only came about when I decided that I didn't want to catch a heavy cough and a cold which had invaded the household. I speak to you today as somebody who has managed to avoid illness through sleeping in a different room to the person infected and (I'd like to think) my daily intake of oranges, grapes, blueberries, bananas and an orange sliced into segments, not to forget Omega 3 fish oil and multivits too. It all seems to have done the trick and even if I've felt a sore throat brewing now and then – the tell-tale sign of coming down with a cold and a cough – I've somehow managed to avoid it. That said, I mustn't get smug about it.

Back to today's ride and when I arrived at Sheree's I ordered myself a tea and went to join Andy who, as I said earlier, had a latte and shot of espresso too. "I'm knackered," he told me and I can imagine he was considering the amount of mileage he puts in on a daily basis using his garage-based trainer and taking into account all the other things going on in his life that add stresses and strains to his existence.

We chatted about hills and cycling-related stuff and Andy quite rightly said it's all about mindset, it's about not feeling miserable and despairing as you reach the bottom of the hill, it's about, possibly, cranking the bike into a higher gear to see if your fitness level can be improved and it's about not feeling depressed at the very thought of a hill. To be honest, hills don't depress me. Fine, I think about an approaching hill if I know it's coming, I psyche myself for a big hill like Titsey or White Lane or White Hill Lane or Tithepit Shaw Lane and I get on with. I can't remember the last time I took a hill and gave up, unless it was one of those situations where I selected the wrong gear or didn't change down in time or lost momentum or a car came the other way and I had to dismount, but generally I'm fine with hills. Gone are the days when I can't handle them.

We finished our tea and readied ourselves for the journey home. While it didn't rain for most of the return journey, there was a light dusting of rain as I left Sheree's, but by the time I reached Botley Hill it was over and the rest of the ride was plain sailing.

It's 1437hrs on Sunday afternoon and I can hear the rain outside the window. There's been a lot of rain of late but so far it hasn't affected the Sunday ride, which is good. As avid readers will know, I did get absolutely drenched not long ago.

It's now 1853hrs, I've been watching the Robbie Williams documentary on Netflix (which is good) and I've been to see mum, she's fine. On 23 November she'll be 94 years old; at some stage I'll have to think about what to buy her.

It rained throughout the night. I remember being awake at 0400hrs listening to it. It was still raining in the morning but then it stopped and now, at 1159hrs on Monday 13 November, the rain has stopped and the sun is out... let's hope it stays that way.

To Oxted and Tatsfield Village

Sunday 29 October: The weird thing about writing is that I dream up ways of starting something and then I forget or I think of a different way of beginning a blogpost and then I realise that the same old themes are coming up again and again. I can't remember how I considered starting this blogpost, but it's not the way it's appearing now. In fact, talking about how I'm going to start the post was never the plan. I was probably going to start by discussing today's ride to Tatsfield village. There's been a lot of rain. I think it rained overnight because there were plenty of puddles. It's been like that of late: overnight rain and then puddles in the morning. Puddles to dodge on the 269, being careful not to drift out into the path of a car. Best, perhaps, to get wet legs. So, look, here I am talking about today's ride so I might as well continue with it. We'd decided last week that we'd be visiting Sheree's Tea rooms, not only because we've decided we like Sheree's Tea Rooms, but because the woman – perhaps she's Sheree herself – told us she'd have some vegan cake next week. I'm talking now about last week because the reason we were going this week is to sample the vegan cake she'd promised to order. Fortunately, she was on the money, she kept to her word and there was a vegan cake for Andy this morning when we arrived around 0900hrs. I opted for a non-vegan Victoria sponge. The weather had been good. Not even cloudy. The skies when I stepped outside were that sort of blue/grey colour with wispy clouds and patches, dare I say of blue. 

Last week, myself, Andy and the Illustrious Illustrator (Geoff Althoff) went for a curry in Whyteleafe. It was the place where, back in 2006, Andy and I first decided to start cycling on a regular basis – and we haven't stopped since. But things had changed. Not Geoff, not Andy, not me, not our rides, but the Indian restaurant.They conned us, over-charged us (quite considerably): three guys, nobody drinking, just one dish each, some onion bhajis, Bombay Aloo, nothing over the top, but the bill was a hefty £139. We won't be going back. Geoff and I figured that Andy got the short end of the stick (by a few quid). He'd not had the no-alcohol lager. I told Geoff not to worry about it and that Andy wasn't going to lose any sleep. I said I'd buy Andy a coffee on Sunday, which I did, and to be honest, all was well, but I understood where Geoff was coming from. During the week Geoff called Andy to discuss the matter and, to be frank, there was nothing to discuss, all was fine, all was well, it wasn't a problem.

Sheree's Tearoom where Andy enjoyed a vegan cake

But all WAS well. Andy had his vegan cake and his coffee, I had a pot of tea and some Victoria sponge, we sat and chewed the fat, it was really pleasant, talking about food and drink and stuff. I told Andy I could happily spend the rest of the morning sitting there chatting, we almost did order another drink, but just before 1000hrs we headed home. The rain had stayed away, it was still a little overcast, but I figured I'd get home without a soaking. I was almost right. All was well for most of the 269 but when I reached the Beech Farm Road area there was a short-lived shower. I remember thinking it was pretty light, nothing seemed to be getting overly soaked and by the time I approached the downward slope ahead of Slines Oak Road it had all but stopped. I carried on along the Limpsfield Road and still it was not a problem, but once I'd hit the back streets approaching the church it started. Full-on rain, a big downfall. I took shelter under a tree in the churchyard for all of five minutes and then started thinking (as it eased off a bit) that I'd head down Church Way and all would be fine. It wasn't. The rain intensified, God had turned up the volume and it started to hammer down, huge stair rods, as I rode down the hill. By the time I reached Morley, turned left and then right on to Elmfield and then left into Southcote, the rain was getting extreme, it never let up and I was completely drenched. Even when I reached my driveway I was still at the centre of the storm, soaked through and standing there fumbling for the key to the garage and getting wetter and wetter. I rolled the bike into the garage and stood there for a few minutes looking out at the raging rainstorm before deciding to just get out of there, lock the garage door, stand under the shelter of the porchway and then get in the house, get changed and chill. 

Later I texted Andy, told him I got soaked through and then set about doing Sunday stuff, except that it was too wet to really do anything. I took a drive to the shops and there were huge puddles forming everywhere. I wasn't gone long, but later went to Starbucks for a very enjoyable half an hour or so. There 's a new Starbucks in Oxted and it was there that I had an English Breakfast tea and a small bar of dark chocolate (it's good for you apparently). If there was rain, it was drizzle, but here and there it might have got a little heavier, I don't know. Apparently there's going to be a lot of rain over the next few days.

On Saturday, while I thought I might have taken a soaking, I didn't. I rode to Oxted and sat in Caffe Nero with a small cappuccino (51 calories) and an apricot croissant or pastry, I didn't know what it was if I'm be honest. Is it an apricot croissant or just a pastry with a couple of apricots in it? Who knows? Who cares? I spent about five minutes in the charity shop next door looking for a clockwork or battery-powered toy motorboat and then jumped on the bike and headed home, up Titsey Hill. The whole ride was good, all 20 miles of it.

Later I drove to Sevenoaks, had a snack in Soprano's and then just hung around for a few minutes before heading home again. It was to be the usual Saturday night: Strictly on the box, I cooked (which is rare these days) and I messed up a bit. I never cooked the aubergine for long enough, but all was well in the end and then I slobbed out and watched a weird (but good) movie, The Raven on the Jetty.

The cakes have to stop, but they don't. The cappuccinos need to stop, but they don't. I was telling Andy earlier today that I'd kind of cut out the spuds. During the week I had two meals (both fish fillets with brocolli) but no potatoes. Andy said (quite rightly) that I shouldn't have stopped the spuds. He said I should have had spuds, brocolli and butter beans. Nice idea, I thought. But listen, I'll stop there. 

You'll never guess what? I forgot to post this blogpost. It was written on Sunday 29 October and I probably left it in order to find a photograph. Well, clearly I forgot all about it. Anyway, here it is, I hope you enjoy it.

The Washpond Weeble and other stories...

21-22 October: Mid-October and for the first time since God knows when, it's started to feel like October. The summer has been strange. June was good, July and August were okay and then September – and October up to now – were wonderful. I flew to Stockholm early in September and the weather was amazing. When I flew back to the UK and stepped off the plane it was like arriving in Greece in July. It was hot! And the decent weather continued. Last weekend was good, but this morning there was a definite nip in the air and I seriously started to wonder why I wasn't wearing long trousers. Admittedly, last week I was wearing a fleece, but this week, in addition to the fleece, I think I needed longer trousers. That said, once I'd been on the bike around 30 minutes I warmed up and things were pleasant enough. 

The Lobster Pot is getting more sophisticated...and pricey!

I rode the Washpond Weeble, something I haven't done for a very long time, and all was well. I rode along the Limpsfield Road, turned left at the roundabout just past Sainsbury's and then followed the road for a bit until I needed to hang right and ride past The Bull pub. The roads were clear. I never saw much in the way of traffic once I was off the main road and let's not forget, this was a non-stop ride, no Costa, no Caffe Nero, no Starbucks, no Coughlans and that meant no biscuits, no cake, no nothing. It was just a ride and that was good. In total, 12.45 miles, an elevation gain of 742ft and a time of one hour and 17 minutes. I was even given a 'local legend' accolade by Strava (meaning I'll have to avoid the tabloid photographers for a few days).

Another good thing about the ride, apart from it being non-stop, was that it was fairly flat so I probably rode faster than I might have done. Aerobically, therefore, it probably did me some good. I reached home feeling great so we drove to the beach, walked from the Lobster Pot to Old Point and back and then rounded it off with a cup of tea in the Lobster Pot before heading home. We'd had lunch there before the walk. 

The Lobster Pot has changed, it's no longer the seaside caff I remember, although it's been getting more sophisticated for some time. I would probably argue that it has an identity crisis and that customers are witnessing the changing face of the place every time they pay a visit. It's as if it's shedding its old skin slowly. It's open in the evening now, it's licensed and there's some interesting dishes on the menu, some of the main courses costing over £24. Hardly 'caff cuisine'. And yet the caff bit lives on as there are plenty of people who, like us, drop in for a snack rather than a poncy meal prior to a bracing walk along the promenade. Today, I noticed that banquette seating had infiltrated the caff space. It's as if they're doing it slowly and by stealth in the hope that the customers won't notice. Either that or they can't afford to kit the place out in one go and need to do it piece-by-piece. Perhaps if I go back in about a month the whole place will be banquette seating and the old pine tables will be stored away somewhere. I remember when the Lobster Pot was called Perdido's! They've covered up a considerable portion of the outdoor seating area too so you can sit 'outside' without fearing the rain. For me the problem they'll have to deal with pretty soon is the bathrooms. When it was little more than a hut, the two small toilets at the back were more than enough, but now there are plenty of customers (we were lucky to get a seat) I think they'll have to look at adding more restroom space.

The food's not cheap either! Over £30 for a smoked turkey sandwich, a kid's portion of sausage, chips and beans and a bowl of soup with a roll, plus three mugs of tea. That's quite pricey. But hey! We haven't been this way for a long time and it was good to see that things were more than thriving, so I say good luck to the people running the Pot.

It was good to look at all the lovely houses on the seafront too. We covered 3.5 miles in total and deserved the additional mug of tea on our return to the Pot. We drove home around 1735hrs but it took us over two hours and I can't figure out why so long. We didn't encounter any problems, no jams, nothing. Normally it's around 90 minutes tops. Anyway, we reached home around 1930hrs. There was time to chill before dinner and then I sat down with a large mug of Sleepy Time Bear Extra tea. I'd bought it on Amazon, two boxes.

Brass monkey weather!

The next morning I was up just before 0700hrs eating my usual breakfast (Alpen, fruit, tea). I headed off around 0800hrs and this time I was wearing jeans over the cycling shorts plus a jumper underneath the fleece. Yes, it was cold. Very cold. I was heading for Westerham to meet Andy at 0900hrs at Costa. The journey was just the same as it always is except that when coasting downhill, especially heading down Clarks Lane, brass monkey conditions ensued that I hadn't experienced since last winter. Not nice. Andy was there when I arrived but he still had plenty of black coffee in his cup, meaning he hadn't been there too long before my arrival. I ordered a large English Breakfast tea and that was it and then joined Andy. 

I was telling him how, earlier, I was riding along as normal when I was passed by an elderly gentleman on a pushbike. "Good morning," he said as he passed and I thought I'd try and keep up with him. What kind of annoyed me (it always has annoyed me) was that I was pedalling like a madman, he was cycling at a more sedate pace and yet he soon pulled far away from me and I just couldn't figure out why.

"He probably cycles more than you do," said Andy, matter-of-factly. 

Yes, he probably did, I thought, realising that I needed to up my game somewhat.

"Remember that time last year when we were cycling out of Westerham and I was doing a good 14 miles/hour?"

He did remember and he put it down to me being fitter because I was cycling more than I am now. In essence, I'd just have to get my act together, I knew that... and cut out the cake and the cappuccino while I'm at it.

"I need to add another ride during the week, possibly two rides," I said.

"Or push yourself a little more, tackle the hills in a higher gear," Andy advised.

He was right, but I couldn't help but feel a little inadequate and as if I had a lot of work to put in before I could even hope to stay abreast of the old man I'd met earlier.

"I'm thinking of taking up swimming," I said, thinking a few weeks ahead when the days are shorter and I won't exactly fancy riding up White Hill Lane in the dark. In fact, there's a few things on my mind. I'm going to check out membership of the local gym so that I can use their exercise bikes, possibly two one-hour sessions on a Tuesday and a Thursday, and then possibly a swim on Friday. I'll need to work something out. Park Run appeals too, but I've been injured running in the past so perhaps not. All I know is that the weight falls off when I run.

Andy left before me as I needed to answer the call of nature, but the bogs in the Costa were out of order (for the second week on the trots). There was a disabled toilet but I spotted a fellow cyclist nip in there and not come out for ages. I envisage a later conversation. "I'd leave it 10 minutes if I were you." I headed over the road to the King's Arms hotel and used their facilities and then I embarked upon the ride home resolving not to change the gears to a low setting. Before heading off I dropped into the antique shop, Castle Antiques I think it's called. I like wandering around antique shops and charity shops too, but this was the former. I found a Westclox Baby Ben for £18 and an old suitcase, both of which would have looked good on a business trip, I thought, as they might bring a touch of Miss Marple to the proceedings. There were old books, long forgotten model cars, old watches. I really did go back in time for the brief period I was in there, and then I headed for home, past the Velo Barn, along Pilgrims, up Rectory Road and back on to Clarks Lane, keeping in the same gear I'd travelled down in. Yes, I did puff myself out more than usual but it wasn't impossible. The effort was worth it and when I reached Botley Hill I felt both relieved and satisfied.

When I reached home a slice of toast and marmalade (without vegetable spread as we'd run out) was most welcomed. I made tea then had a shower and we drove over to see mum before heading east to Sevenoaks where I enjoyed a coffee and a prawn and mayonnaise sandwich in the M&S cafe while waiting for my wife and daughter (they'd eaten in Wagamama, but I didn't fancy a full-blown meal).

We drove back and now it's almost 1800hrs. There's work tomorrow, but the stress is off (for a while). I say 'a while', it'll be back very soon.

Oxted and Westerham

I left the house at 0700hrs. It's almost mid-October and the weather is still fine, really fine. It wasn't cold, put it that way, almost tee-shirt weather. In fact, forget 'almost', it is tee-shirt weather. I was headed for Westerham to meet Andy around 0800hrs. It's been a long time since I left the house at such an ungodly hour. I was going used to the 0800hrs start, but today it was out of the question, I had things going on, it wasn't one of those nothing days that allowed me to lol around, but it suited me fine. The 269 was quiet. I forgot how quiet. Leave an hour later and there's cars to contend. Leave early and they're few and far between. There were a few cyclists around, there always is and the journey was plain sailing all the way.

A mile or so out of Westerham on the return ride today...

I turned on to Clarks Lane and coasted downhill and into Westerham. I got there just after 0800hrs and Andy was still queuing. I joined him, although he was ahead of me and didn't spot me until he'd received his order and was heading for the table by the window. We acknowledged one another and then later, armed with a large English Breakfast tea, I joined him and we chatted. We talked about bikes, about Andy's stationary bike and his 10 miles per day routine, except for weekends when he rides a real bike. I spoke about Park Runs and how I was thinking about doing one. A 5k run in the park, but do I want to risk injury like last time? Every time I take up running I injure myself, either my back or my knee.I escape injury when I'm cycling so perhaps if I'm going to take up something else, perhaps it should be swimming. I used to swim a lot and was recently listening to a podcast about the health benefits of swimming, something to do with blood vessels, I can't remember the details.

The journey home was uneventful. Andy left first and then I followed as always. I take a different route, past the antique shop and up towards the Velobarn. Andy rides through the high street and then follows the route I took on the way in. Today I decided to ride Pilgrim's all the way to Titsey Hill and then all the way up. It's easy enough and reminded me of another part of Andy and I's conversation back at the Costa Coffee. We were talking about nills and some guy on the internet had posted a video about challenging hills in Surrey. Andy said he focused on Chalkpit Lane, claiming it was one of the big inclines. In a sense it is. 20%, but only at the very top. Andy and I thought there were worse, like Succombs, and the hill heading into Knockholt from the other end of Pilgrim's Lane.

I rode up Chalkpit yesterday (Saturday) after spending a little time in Oxted, in a Caffe Nero, sipping green tea and enjoying an apricot something or other, I can't remember what it was called. A pastry of some sort. It was a good ride but I wasn't looking forward to the climb. Before I left town I stopped at the charity shop, for all of five minutes and then I headed home. Chalkpit isn't easy but I just keep going, it's the only way to deal with hills.

I managed two rides, Oxted and Westerham, around 40 miles in total. The rest of the day was fine, as was today, and as I said, the weather held too and apparently it's going to be good for a few more days. Right now, it's 2305 and I'm watching Reptile with Justin Timberlake, it's quite good but I'm not staying up much longer as there's work tomorrow. That's the great thing about Netflix, you can stop and start movies whenever you wish.

At Vienna Airport...

As soon as I engage with the mechanisms of travel, I start to get angry. And I'm not always right. Well, to be fair, I didn't get angry, just mildly and inwardly annoyed and it turned out that he was right and I was wrong. And by 'he' I mean a taxi driver who hailed from Ankara in Turkey. The thing is, I just couldn't remember as there was so much going on and it had been a few days since I last engaged with Austrian trains. To be fair, I've had other things on my mind; I'd been in Linz and from Linz I'd arrived at Wein Hbf, the central station, and for some reason, when I hailed a cab with a view to travelling to the airport, I thought I'd have to go back to the main station to pick up the so-called CAT train. Turns out that the CAT train goes from Wein Mitte. In fact, I remember, on the inward journey from the airport, that I couldn't figure out how to get to the central station from where I would pick up a train to Linz. I had to ask for information. So, on my arrival at the central station from Linz on Tuesday evening, I took a cab to my hotel, the Intercontinental. Fast forward a few days – five to be precise – and there I was sitting in the aforementioned Turkish gentleman's cab insisting that he takes me to the central station when, in reality, he was right, I needed to go to Wein Mitte. But could I be told? No. "Take me to the central station," I insisted until I realised he might be telling the truth. He was telling the truth so we went to Mitte, although he was angling for me to go all the way to the airport by cab, which would have cost me 45 Euros. Perhaps that was why I was reticent to take his word for anything – I thought he was after my money (he was, of course). But why should I take a cab to the airport when I had already purchased a return CAT ticket (roughly 12 Euros each way). So he dropped me at Wein Mitte and I walked straight on to a CAT train. Within minutes it left the station and soon I was at the airport. And that's when it got worse. 

Cafe Franzel at Vienna Airport

I tell you what I can't stand: I hate it when we're given all the work to do but the price doesn't come down. It happens in supermarkets with the self-service check-outs. Why do I have to do the job of the check out assistant? And if they expect me to, why can't I get money off? The answer is simple: capitalist greed, pure and simple. I reach the bit where I'm supposed to check in, one of those ribboned off slalom affairs, so I figured I'd save time and just duck below the barriers and make a b-line for the bag drop. Except it wasn't that simple, I needed to use the auto-check-in terminal first. I was determined not to play ball and decided instead to be lazy and let the assistant teach me how to use the auto check-in terminal, got to keep him employed, I was thinking. He did a great job and soon I was humping my bag on to the conveyor that, hopefully, would take it to the plane I'd be travelling on and I'd pick it up at the baggage reclaim in the UK.

The gate changed to G36

It all ran smoothly and so did security. I was through in minutes and then wandering around, as always, through the Society of the Spectacle ignoring the goods on offer. I bought nothing, but I was extremely angry to find that Jamie Oliver had capitalised on the catering facilities. Jamie's this and Jamie's that, I got out fast and then found myself walking alongside the automated walkway in search of somewhere decent to eat and drink. There was hardly anything.

Cafe Franzl raised its ugly head. There were hardly any seats available (and not enough seats in my opinion) and there was a queue. All I wanted was a green tea, but I couldn't be bothered to queue for it, so I walked on by and now I sit opposite said café without a drink.

Earlier, I had taken a long walk of 4.41 miles. I mooched about, went through a park, went down to the river, crossed the bridge, crossed back, found a restaurant for lunch, had some pasta and a Pellegrino and then headed back to the Intercontinental to pick up my luggage and head for the airport. That was when I met the taxi driver who insisted I needed to go to Wein Mitte. As you know, he was right. And now I wait. It's 1523hrs, my flight takes off at 1715hrs so that's almost two hours and there's not much to do here. I'm going to check out Cafe Frankl in a second to see what they have to offer, but I don't fancy much. But then they changed my Gate to G36, a hike and a half, but I got there and the first thing I saw was a bar/café and a man behind the counter shouted: "Big one?" holding up an empty beer glass. "No, I'll have a green tea," I said, grabbing a bottle of Evian. "Fancy an apple cake, Austrian, very good for you?" I couldn't be bothered to argue that the cake was probably not good for me, but I thought I'd have it anyway and I sat, but not for long, I had a plane to catch.

At last somewhere decent to chill out...for all of five minutes

I finished up and paid and then wandered towards gate G36, which was a fair hike. I didn't use the automated walkway because I figured I needed the exercise after all the sitting down I've been doing. When I reached the gate there were loads of chattering young girls and I guessed it was a school trip. I boarded the plane, took my seat (17F, a window seat) and then off we went. Not only did the girls scream as the plane took over, there was also a crying baby that didn't stop for the entire flight. There were mild bits of turbulence, but nothing to get upset about, but I couldn't really settle as a result. I enjoyed the free chocolate (which I remember from the flight out) and I'd brought on board my own bottle of Evian, that was all I had. The skies weren't clear, but there were patches where it was possible to see the ground below and soon we were making our descent into London Heathrow. Once below the cloud all was clear: the Millennium Dome, Canary Wharf, the Gherkin, the Cheese Grater, the London Eye, Waterloo railway station, the Thames winding its way through the city and then the light industrial buildings in the hinterlands around the airport. The landing was fairly smooth, there was a long wait (or a longish wait) for baggage reclaim but soon I was through customs and on my way towards the Elizabeth Line, no more extortionate trips on the Heathrow Express, I thought. Hayes and Harlington, Southall and eventually Paddington where I jumped off and took the tube, the Bakerloo line and then the Victoria Line, to Victoria where I found the 2021hrs East Grinstead train. I was home before 2100hrs. 

Shabbily-dressed people at Victoria station, London

What struck me when I reached the UK was how shabby it all looked; not only were the underground trains creaking and shaking about as they ferreted their way through the tunnels, they were dirty and unkempt... and so were the people. Everybody, including me, looked shabby in old jeans and trainers, dark grey or black anoraks, the complete opposite of Vienna where the women dressed smartly, the men were well turned out and, of course, the architecture and, needless to say, the culture, was way above the level found in the grim UK.

Back at London Heathrow...

When I reached home, the house was cold and so was England. I'd been used to the 28 degrees of Austria, I'd been lying on top of the duvet all week, getting bitten by mosquitoes, but now I found myself underneath it. 

And now it's Sunday morning and the house has been rearranged, lights have been moved around and the dining table too. I'm not sure, it's all a bit gloomy-looking at night, but I need to be a little subtle about it. God! We need the fireplace sorted out as a matter of urgency. Yes, I'm back to the realities of life and it always takes some getting used to.

From Linz to Vienna...

I went back to Bäckerei Danecker for an English Breakfast tea and this time ordered an almond croissant. I sat at the same table as yesterday and simply relaxed after what you could describe as a 'hard day at the office'. In the process I finished Climbers by M John Harrison, arguably (in fact there's no argument about it) the best book I've read in a long time. After I finished reading I people-watched. 

Bäckerei Danecker to finish Climbers by M John Harrison

I awoke early that morning and kept pressing the snooze button to prolong being in bed and then, around 0700hrs, I had breakfast downstairs.  

"Is it worth changing trains?" No, it wasn't...

My 'day at the office' began around 0830hrs and finished around 1530hrs and that's when I took a stroll to the centre of town (or what I regarded as the centre of town, although I think it was). 

There's a first time for everything – waiting on Linz station

While I wasn't too keen on Bäckerei Danecker's high chairs yesterday, I grew to like them and the idea of going anywhere else seemed churlish. What was foolish, however, was the almond croissant. I could have done without it, and the chocolate heart I purchased later, it wasn't that nice. I've simply got to stop eating rubbish, but then I've been saying that for a very long time. I'm hoping to get a walk in at some stage, but who knows? I've got the trim wheel with me, a cumbersome device that resembles the petrol tank of a motorcycle with two handles protruding from each side. I intend to use it daily (as I have been at home). I can't say I've noticed much difference, but that might have something to do with my cake fetish, although generally I haven't been doing too badly. Yesterday, for example, I had very little to eat all day. For breakfast I had granola with yoghurt and berries, then lunch was a ham sandwich on Vienna Central Station followed by dinner here in Linz (stroganoff, salad and beer) without dessert, so if I transferred one of my indulgent treats of today to yesterday things would even out a little bit. Rob Peter to pay Paul. That said, I'm always too willing to start making up little scenarios that let me off the hook, like 'half a dozen Miniature Heroes equals one chocolate bar' and stuff like that designed to make me feel better about my over-indulgence. In truth though, it really must stop. Either way, I'll be on the trim wheel later tonight.

On Viennese streets after dark...

For some bizarre reason, my hotel closes at 2000hrs, but I have a key to get in so it shouldn't be a problem except that the keys have been an issue. Locking or unlocking the hotel room door has been a real hassle, requiring glasses to be worn and my own sanity to be questioned. Part of it is remembering which of the three keys open the door, although that problem can be narrowed down to two keys as one of them is for the minibar and it's very distinctive. If you so happened to be passing by while I was outside of my room trying to get in, you would see me, glasses on, trying to fit the key in the lock and having many problems in the process. You might think I was trying to break in to somebody else's room.

I enjoyed a burger with a colleague in a restaurant called Glorious Bastards and then I went back to my hotel and straight to bed. The following day, more work, but the day wasn't as hard as the previous one and soon I was back at my hotel, collecting my luggage and taking a taxi to Linz station. I wanted to ensure that I reserved a seat as I didn't want to be roaming up and down train carriages looking for a vacant seat or sitting waiting for somebody to turf me out of where I was sitting. I was offered the 1617 train to Budapest, but it was delayed until 1706 which meant I had to find somewhere decent to sit and wait. I chose a bakery and ordered just a cup of green tea. I spent the time messing around with my phone and then moved on to, of all places, a McCafé, which was a first for me; there I met a hairdressing student waiting for her boyfriend. She was from Northern Italy but was now living close to Linz. We passed the time of day and then I went to platform 7 to wait for my train, which rolled in slowly around 1710. I was in coach 22, seat 91 and soon settled in to a journey punctuated by bouts of sleep until the train reached Wein Miedling (the stop before the central station). I jumped in a cab to the Intercontinental Hotel, checked in and then went in search of my colleagues. We worked until late and then headed off by cab to a restaurant close to the fairground.We tanked up on food (much needed) and then took a cab back to the Intercontinental and hit the sack. Or rather I worked and in the process had plenty of office equipment hassles down in the hotel's business centre. I eventually went to bed around 0200hrs and then woke up at 0600hrs, pressing the snooze button until 0630 and then having the most rushed and uncomfortable breakfast ever (a bowl of muesli and a cup of tea in double quick time).

Stepping out...

Work beckoned and continued all day until around 2100hrs when I found myself back in the room contemplating hitting the sack. It's now Wednesday evening on 20 September. After using the trim wheel I reconsidered hitting the sack.

After work a walk along Johannesgasse to an Italian restaurant, IL Cavalluccio on Göttweihergasse. It was very pleasant and I rounded things off with a cappuccino, but not the huge fuck-off variety you get in Costa Coffee, a far more polite cup with a tenth of what you might find in a UK coffee retailer's 'bowl' where even a medium sized beverage is large enough to bathe in. That's one of many things wrong with the UK. It's now 2317hrs and time to hit the sack again. I've spent most of the day in the Hilton Vienna Park Hotel and only managed to get out briefly with a walk through the Stadt Park. The weather here is good, very good, 28 degrees good. Bright sunshine, people sunbathing on the grass – and it's late September, let's not forget that. 

Hotels invariably mean a lack of sleep. I don't know why. Unfamiliar surroundings probably. The worst occasions follow transatlantic travel and possibly the fact that I often sleep with a light on, but not a glaring light, just a jagged, arrow-like shape of it that barely intrudes on the night scape of the room. Sometimes, like in Linz, the need for light is scuppered by a glass-walled bathroom or, like in Brazil a few years ago, Rio to be precise, a toilet observation window (as I called it). A bit like a hide in a wetlands centre except that those doing the looking wouldn't need binoculars. Sometimes, too many thoughts keep me awake, looking at my surroundings in the dim light of the early morning. Because it's always the early morning, something unfathomable like 0354hrs when I think it's too early to get up and end up just lying there looking at the blank screen of the television on the wall or the tiny slit I'd left in the curtains that was beginning to let in light, even if there was a long way to go before I could call it daylight. "I find myself in that position now, Jim, and I'm asking you to report for a medical examination."

Enjoying the delights of the city...

I've often (of late) been thinking about the way we all lead our lives, like rats in a man-made maze of brand names running around aimlessly from one piece of concrete to another and never seeing much of grass or big skies. Life is characterized by shopping malls, the interior of supermarkets and multi-storey car parks, open-plan offices and auditoriums, not to mention eery hotel corridors and hotel rooms, trestles on which our suitcases rest; glass tables, desks, ironing boards and mirrors, all impassive and, unlike us, clinging to the side of the bank as we, motionless, are nonetheless swept away by the tides of time. We could sit in that hotel for years in front of a mirror and watch ourselves wither away into nothing only to be replaced by somebody else, someone we don't know. The hotel is a very transient environment. "Radio, live transmission. Radio, live transmission...". Sometimes I have to listen to Joy Division, and fortunately I have them on my iphone.

I often wish I could open the front door of my house and be greeted by nothing but wilderness, mountains and the sea and weather drifting past indifferently instead of seeing the house across the road, the parked cars, solitary commuters on their way to the station, leaves caught in the wind scuttling past, chatting amongst themselves. Not that there are many brand names where I live, although I suppose there are many of them hunkered down in the gutters, their doors closed, their windscreens iced over – perhaps no ice, not for at least another month. Cars. Vans. Motorcycles. Reminders of our subservience to capitalism.

Oftentimes I don't think I'm achieving a great deal. Other times I feel that I am but to what gain? And then I wonder whether there needs to be a gain, why should one thing lead to another? Perhaps recognition is the best gain. We all want to be loved and we probably all think we're not loved enough. 

You're supposed to do this!

I can see daylight out of the window and that means I can legitimately head down for breakfast in this corporate of corporate hotels. It's a strange place. From the outside, the Intercontinental Wein looks like the sort of building you might find on an inner London housing estate. In short, it's ugly, but once you travel through the large revolving door and into the lobby, its grandiosity will take you aback. There are uniformed men and women behind the front desk, rich looking carpets and rugs, a large tapestry on the wall, the dim but unmistakable sound of lounge lizard piano, making everybody feel a little bit James Bond – shaken but not stirred as they make their way towards the elevators that ping as they arrive on the ground floor. The hotel offers 12 floors of fairly luxurious rooms with big lampshades and gleaming bathrooms, huge beds and massive desks. Behind most doors is somebody living the transient life, the hotel life of suitcases and razors, shaving foam and toothbrushes, unpressed shirts, receipts and upturned glasses guarded by bottles of mineral water. An angle-poise lamp.

It's 0703hrs, time to get ready for breakfast. This is the only hotel where I haven't almost flooded the bathroom floor. The shower, in other words, has been good and not out of control like most of them. I've stepped on to the little mat on the bathroom floor and found it dry for the first time in living memory. Why that is I don't know, probably because it's not a fixed shower head and, for some reason, it's easier to hold the 'telephone' in my hand rather than simply stand there under it. Anyway, I'm showered and dressed and ready to have breakfast at 0800hrs.

"A great bloke, he's Intercont!"

Catherine and I took a wander around the city, through a botanical gardens where we spotted a red and a black squirrel and a little kid feeding them, and then to Gerstener for a coffee and a slice of cake in true Viennese fashion. My two colleagues leave today, I'm leaving tomorrow. Later I went for a mooch around town alone and found myself on the other side of the river bank with nothing much to do. There was little to look at so I made an about turn and walked back to the hotel, joining throngs of tourists as they made their way through the thick treacle of consumers who were window shopping or holding bags containing their purchases or taking photographs on their iphones or queuing (unbelievably) presumably to buy the latest iphone from the Apple Store, I'm not sure. I found it all rather sad and depressing as I peered inside and saw the regulation light wood tables displaying the Apple watches, the iphones, iPads and lap tops. There was absolutely nothing I wanted, nothing whatsoever. I had no interest. No watches, no clothes, nothing. In truth a good sleep would be good. I never sleep well in hotels and it leads to feelings of tiredness later in the day. I won't lie down in case I fall asleep and miss my meeting planned with a colleague later on. I wish the minibar was full. It's really just a mini fridge, but there's nothing in it. A bar of chocolate would probably do the trick. I skipped lunch and I'm holding out until dinner time, but a bar of chocolate would go down a treat and might liven me up a little bit.

Crossing the Danube...

Tomorrow I depart for London Heathrow in the early evening around 1715hrs and arrive home some two hours later. I'm already thinking about the Elizabeth Line rather than a taxi, but let's see how things go. I wish it could be Gatwick, but it isn't. I need some time off and I think I'll take Monday. Right now, while tired, I might do the trim wheel exercise, but then again I might leave it until later. I might go in search of a chocolate bar.

Except that I didn't bother. Instead I went to the opera and listened to Mozart and Strauss performed live by the Vienna Mozart Orchestra, which was founded by musicians from the most prestigious and famous Viennese orchestras and from various chamber music ensembles. In short, it was absolutely amazing and an uplifting experience. Many thanks to my pal Illka Hiirsalmi.

It's nearly midnight so I'd better get some sleep. "Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer. Count the headlights on the highway." Another great song I've found on my iPhone!

As is customary, I awoke early, sometime around 0500hrs or shortly after. Rain had been promised and sure enough when I peered out of the window the roads and rooftops seemed mirror-like and damp. Typical, I thought, just when I have to fly home, bad weather, I just don't need it. There's nothing to do except have breakfast and then mooch around although I need to check all the flight details. I won't be doing any mooching if it's raining.

The Intercontinental, Vienna: it looks better on the inside...

I left my room and headed down to the breakfast. I was unshaven and wearing an unpressed shirt because, quite simply, I was now a conference refugee, the last man standing, no more clothes to wear. I walked to the elevator, pressed the button and when the lift arrived I jumped in and as the doors closed I listened to the musak being played. It was the same old lounge lizard piano music that had been with me all week and I started to feel as if I was alone in the hotel. Nobody had joined me in the lift and when I arrived at the ground floor, for a moment it seemed as if I was right. Everybody had gone home. And then I heard American voices. There were lots of tourists here from around the world and there were two women who had clearly just finished breakfast and were heading back to their rooms.

I made my way to the breakfast room and gave the waiting attendant my room number, 810, and then I found a table and went to the self-service buffet where I loaded up with my usual muesli, yoghurt and fresh fruit. I ordered a green tea and later fetched myself two fried eggs, mushrooms and potato wedges and I ordered another green tea. I sat there for a while, messed around on the phone and then realised my time was up. The last man standing was going to head to back his room, take a shower and then check out, leaving his bags with the concierge and then stepping out for one last time on to the cultured streets of Vienna. Perhaps a coffee, possibly just a wander around. Either way I'll be bored and preoccupied with the thought of getting home or rather getting to the airport. I have a return ticket for the CAT, the airport train, and then I'll be back with security and passport control, the Society of the Spectacle and, ultimately, the flight home. Soon I will be at Heathrow airport, waiting at baggage reclaim and then heading home, another trip over.