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.