It's COVID time ... and that means no cycling!

When I looked out last Saturday morning at the frosty pavements and roads I knew that plucking up the enthusiasm to go out was going to be difficult. It was cold out there! But after breakfast and a little bit of hesitation I decided that I would ride the Weeble and get back in an hour. Out I went into the garage and what did I find? A puncture that's what! And to make matters worse, a rear wheel affair. I always have difficulty putting the rear wheel in place as I tend to forget how it works with the chain. I resolved to go out later and fix it, but when I did I realised something else: that I really couldn't be bothered for some reason. I found the whole thing tiresome in the extreme. The very thought of unbolting the wheel (thank heavens for quick release) lifting it out and then prising the inner tube from the wheel using levers was more than depressing. I normally use one lever to start the process and this I did relatively successfully, but I was feeling tired and seemed to be lacking energy. Eventually, however, I managed to free the inner tube and set about what needed to be done to fix a puncture. With the hole plugged, the culprit thorn removed and the inner tube back underneath the tyre and on the wheel, I pressed most of the tyre into place with my hands but wasn't finding it at all easy. I couldn't work out why I was feeling so tired, so drained, and after giving the bike a clean (a much needed one) I shut the door and quietly looked forward to my ride with Andy on Sunday morning.

Later that day I drove over to South West London and I felt shivery. Partly, this was because it was cold out, but also there was something afoot, although I knew not what. On my return I almost went to bed immediately, in the spare room, as I figured I didn't want to give whatever I had to my wife. Oddly, I felt strangely comfortable once under the covers, the curtains drawn back so I could see the branches of a tree illuminated by the lunar glow emitted by the streetlight from across the road. I developed a sore throat and a pretty severe one at that; furthermore there was a cough, a dry cough, and I figured that, for the first time in years, I had the flu. Although I think I suspected something more was up because I texted Andy early on Sunday morning, 0414hrs to be precise:

"Not feeling good: sore throat and dry cough. Will test later," said I, meaning I would test for COVID. I went on to say that I wasn't up for the ride. When I did test myself I was negative and this was a huge relief, but a day later I tested again and was positive. It wasn't a great surprise to be honest, but prior to that second test I was convinced I only had the usual flu-like symptoms of the standard variety. Once I tested positive my inner attitude towards my illness changed a little. I felt annoyed because somewhere along the line I had been careless, but also a little anxious about the course my illness might take, although I think I knew that things weren't going to change drastically and I comforted myself with the knowledge that things would only get better. As it turned out, they did. For three days, that's all, I had a sore throat and a cough. It hurt when I swallowed like all sore throats do, and that was really it. By Tuesday, things had calmed down. I'd been filling up on Lemsip (the blackcurrant variety, so Blacksip, not Lemsip) and I was off work, although I did answer a few emails in between reading chapters from Tenement Boy, Bobby Gillespie's excellent memoir on how Primal Scream came into being. I still found time to get angry with Boris Johnson, No-Vax Djokovic and, of course, "Prince" Andrew. So far, I thought, it's one down (Djokovic) and two to go (Johnson and Andrew). It was good to see that the Royal Family disowned him and had stripped away his titles. At the time of writing (1741hrs on 19 January 2022) Johnson is still in place, but David Davis told him 'for God's sake go', words that would have made me seriously consider my position had I been the buffoon.

So, exercise wise, everything has come to a stop. All that riding around the block hasn't happened for almost a week and during that time I've sent back a rear bicycle light, USB-chargeable, which kept cutting out mid-ride. My £40 has been refunded and now I can simply go out and buy another one, from a proper shop this time and not on Amazon. Forty quid is quite a lot for a rear light when you think about it, although I'm now thinking about buying a new helmet with an integral rear light, but let's see how it goes, perhaps I'll look at that later.

It's odd sleeping in the spare room. I'm doing so to protect my wife, obviously, although on Saturday, when I first started feeling shivery, we shared car journeys so perhaps it's inevitable that she'll get it, we'll see. So far, so good. Last night I took the radio to bed with me and awoke mid-morning to the dreamy sounds of BBC Radio 3, it all felt strange and surreal in the darkness, the lunar light from across the road illuminating the room, and I must admit that I liked it, especially being tucked up under two duvets knowing there was a while to go before I had to get up. On Tuesday morning, around 0430hrs, I got up and had breakfast (tea, orange juice, a slice of bread (or was it toast, I can't remember) and a glass of water before returning to bed and sleeping on. There have been strange dreams, one involving the Grosvenor House Hotel in London, which was dark and empty except for me. I walked around the Grand Ballroom in front of the stage remembering past extravagances and slipped off into a darkened side corridor. The rest of the dream is sketchy.

I've been house bound all week, no fresh air, no cycling, but I know that a clean bike without punctures awaits me in the garage for when I ride out hopefully this coming weekend. Today I was looking back lovingly on my coverage of the 2020 summer lockdown, and the more I read the greater it all seemed to have been: all that cycling, that lovely weather, and these were the pre-vaccine days when the only variants of the virus were the deadly Delta and Alpha varieties - or, of course, the Indian and Kent variants, which more accurately pinpoint where they originated. I wrote thousands of words on the 2020 lockdown and looking back I'm glad I did as it leaves me with a permanent record of what I was thinking and doing at the time. It wasn't a bad time by any stretch of the imagination: the heat for a start, the lack of cars on the road, even working from home took a while to lose its appeal. Home became a real home instead of just a pit stop between working.

Suffice it to say I'm alright. I've had the dreaded virus and thankfully the less severe OMICRON variant (at least I think that's what I had); and now I've just got to wait until the lateral flow test says negative. One thing I do know is that I can't wait for a cappuccino and a slice of cake...but it would be helpful if my sense of taste and smell returned.

Covid closes Costa and other stories...

Last week was arguably the best week of cycling in terms of the distance covered, a cool 143 miles, just over, but I didn't ride every day of the week as I did the week before, albeit shorter distances, ie many Washpond Weebles. Last week involved rides to Westerham, a ride to a place called Pratt's Bottom and a ride to Shoreham in Kent, which was kind of a mistake, but it worked out a better ride than the one I had intended to do. I set off with the idea of riding first to a place called Twitton and then riding a little further to Otford, but in the end, I turned left instead of right, then saw a sign for the HoneyPot Tearooms (in Shoreham) and the rest is history. In fact, the Shoreham ride is the longest undertaken on Strava, or so they tell me.

The end of Ivy Lane where I turned right...

I loved Shoreham. It's a very pleasant and quaint little village and the HoneyPot Tearooms was perfect. The ride, in total, was a tad over 38 miles, roughly 20 miles each way and, as I said, my longest ride on Strava. I followed the route I would take for Dunton Green (along Pilgrims Lane, past the turn-offs for Chevening Lake, on the right, and Chevening House, on the left) and then, just outside of Dunton Green, I took a left turn and once past the Donnington Hotel, I turned right on to Ivy Lane and followed what turned out to be a very narrow country lane that was perfect for bicycles, but I wouldn't fancy my chances in a car. At the end of what was a very pleasant roll I arrived at a T-junction and joined the Pilgrims Way. At first I turned right and then, unsure that I was travelling in the right direction, I turned around and followed the road in the opposite direction until I saw a sign for the HoneyPot Tearooms. Had I remained on my original course I would have found Twitton and then, of course, Otford, but when I saw the sign for the tearooms I thought, mistakenly, that it would be in the centre of Twitton, but it turned out to be Shoreham. Little did I know, but I had travelled further than I might have done had I gone to Twitton, but it doesn't matter. This all means that a ride to Twitton and Otford will probably be done next week, possibly Saturday, as I'm back at work now and won't be as free as I have been over the past fortnight (I was on holiday, thanks for asking).

Tearoom sign sent me to Shoreham

A few kind words about the HoneyPot Tearooms: I ordered a slice of lemon cake and a paper mug of tea. The weather was perfect for cycling, not too hot, but bright and sunny and warm and I enjoyed just sitting there, in the fresh air under a kind of canopy, but not in the main tearooms, which were closed off. There were other customers: a young couple with a small dog who had a couple of hours without their young children who were with their grandparents. They told an older couple about their plans to holiday in Tenerife over the next few days, just a week, but I'm guessing a much-needed break. There was also a dad with his two young children and a couple who stopped by for something, I can't remember what they ordered as I was too busy with my own tea and cake.

Soon it was time to head back home, but before doing so I rode through Shoreham and then turned around and rode out of town on the same road I'd arrived on, Filston Lane. I turned left on to Pilgrims Way and then right on to Ivy Lane and when I reached the Donnington Hotel I turned right and followed the road to the roundabout where I turned left and rode towards Chevening on Sundridge Lane, taking a right turn on to Ovenden Road and then another left on to the all-too-familiar Pilgrims Lane, which took me to the foot of the hill out of Westerham. The rest of the ride was a 'known known' and I must have reached home around 1pm, it was Saturday afternoon.

The Honey Pot Tea Rooms in Shoreham, Kent

Earlier in the week, I think it was Wednesday, I headed for a place called Pratt's Bottom. You might be seeing a theme developing: Twitton, Pratt's Bottom, and that was the idea, to visit places with funny names that I'd spotted on the map. Anyway, I rode the normal way towards Westerham for this ride, but instead of going down the hill I followed the off-road track that passes the Park Wood Golf Club, taking the left fork (not the right) and then being faced with a choice: crossing the road and taking either the left or right fork. I chose the former and rode along Buckhurst Road to Cadham and again found myself with a dilemma: do I turn left or right? Had I turned right I would have eventually found the place I was intending to visit (Knockholt) but as there was nobody around to ask and no signs, I turned left and rolled my way towards a place called Green Street Green. After a little faffing around I followed signs to Pratt's Bottom and initially stopped to buy mineral water, but a queue meant that I ditched both on a shelf near the exit and left, slightly peeved. I crossed the road and followed a road into Knockholt where I found a convenience store. There I purchased a Snickers and a bottle of Evian. By now the rain had started, but fortunately it was warm so it didn't really matter. In fact, it had started to pour down long before I reached Knockholt and continued for some time. I rode along Main Road and eventually took a left turn down Sundridge Lane, taking a right into Pilgrims Lane and then riding home the usual route. Coming back from Shoreham I had approached Pilgrims Lane from the other direction and turned left into Pilgrims Lane, but coming back from Knockholt I was on the same road, just travelling downhill and not uphill.

Lemon cake and tea at the Honey Pot

Another ride that will have to be done at a later date is Lord Chatham's Ride, which is near to Knockholt and Knockholt Pound; it's a track that runs through a wood close to Sundridge Lane and then sweeps round on itself and finishes at the back of Chevening House. I think it might be a pleasant ride through the woods, hence my interest. I returned home from my Knockholt ride around 1pm.

Other than Shoreham and Pratt's Bottom/Knockholt I made a couple of trips to Westerham. In fact, unlike the week prior when I rode every day of the week, last week saw just five rides and two days off, but the mileage was such that I managed a much higher weekly total.

The Costa Coffee in Westerham was closed all week and I found out on Sunday that it was due to four staff members testing positive for COVID. This meant that I had to drink tea and eat cake from the Tudor Rose and I think I might have mentioned in my last post that the value for money there is pretty poor, so I was glad when I found that Costa had re-opened on Sunday. Andy and I sat outside. I ordered large tea and a cinnamon Danish, but I messed up last week as I'd already enjoyed a home-made Biscoff Millionaire's Shortbread during the week at Flavours in Warlingham and the aforementioned lemon cake in the HoneyPot Tearooms on Saturday – not good.

I've yet to experience Lord Chatham's Ride

As for future rides, I'm going to have to work something out as I'm back at work three days a week from today (2nd August 2021); this means that I won't be able to devote so much time to riding the bike, certainly not on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. That said I'm considering riding to work tomorrow, but I've considered it before and not bothered, let's see. I know there might be rain tomorrow evening, which won't be very pleasant on the uphill return journey and those nasty hills (White Hill Lane and Tithepit Shaw Lane), but I might give it a go. But how to maintain a healthy 80 miles per week? Okay, there's Sunday's Westerham Ride (circa 22 miles) then there's my Saturday ride (which could be circa 30-38 miles) - what's that? A minimum of 52 miles plus 25 miles if I ride two midweek Weebles (Thursday and Friday) so 52 plus 25 = 77 miles, not bad, just three miles off of my magical 80 miles (for ultra respectability). Perhaps if one of my rides is the Beddlestead/Woldingham circuit, that would do it! So it's possible, but it wouldn't give me the satisfaction of not paying the extortionate train fares. I think I'll have to adopt a suck it and see approach, see how I feel, what the weather's like and then take a chance on riding in. I better shut up talking about it otherwise I'll start boring people when I continually don't ride to work and end up making excuses instead.

Twitton and Otford? Maybe next week...

I took Buckhurst Lane to reach Cadham

Shoreham in Kent is a nice little village

I'm slowly going mad...

I feel I have to say that I agree wholeheartedly with Piers Morgan on the issue of Harry and Meghan and their interview with Oprah. I can't believe that anybody seriously believes that they are in any way hard done by! I also can't believe that anybody who has been handed such wealth on a plate could be in any way suicidal or, indeed, mentally ill. I've just finished reading a book by Chris Atkins entitled A Bit of a Stretch, which describes his time inside HMP Wandsworth. In the book, Atkins writes that a lot of the people behind bars in the UK are mentally ill and I can believe that, but I can't believe the hard luck story of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex.

A sign seen in Grove Park, Carshalton...

What I find particularly ungratifying about their story is that here we all are in lockdown, many people are holed up in tiny apartments, many more have died or are dying of this awful virus and yet they (Harry and Meghan) are moaning about their lot. How can they sit there in their luxury mansion in the California sunshine, not having to worry about money in any shape or form and moan about their lot?

Their criticism of the British press is not only wrong, but unfounded. Nobody seems to remember that the main reason behind media attacks on the couple are based not on racism, but on the hypocrisy of the Royal couple: flying to climate change meetings in a private jet, knowingly wearing gifts from a murderous dictator who not only ordered the killing of a prominent Washington Post journalist, it is alleged, but is also responsible for atrocities in the Yemen.

Starting every morning like this...

We must also look at reports on the way Meghan Markle has allegedly treated her own family. She has, it is claimed by royal observers, alienated herself from her father and siblings and now, of course, she's doing the same for Harry and his family. And yet, there are people who don't see it. They have blind faith in the couple and won't have anything said against them. For heaven's sake, wake up!!! The argument is divided along racial lines because Meghan is identifying as 'a woman of colour', which immediately brings in to play 'the racist card'. You can't really say "Is it because I'm white" to answer what you might regard as a racially-motivated injustice, but to say, as Ali G used to in jest, 'is it coz I's black?" provides bags of scope to turn an argument on its head and brand those against you as racist. 

I've never believed in political correctness or 'wokeness' and I can't stand it when I hear people say, "You can't say that." Invariably, you can express your opinions on anything you want because we live in a free country (here in the UK) and we shouldn't be frightened by the 'woke' brigade. 

The UK is not a racist country. Yes, there are racist incidents, of course they are, just look at the so-called 'beautiful game', but you get racist situations in every country. If the UK is so racist why is it that people from African nations, and elsewhere in the world, are jumping into flimsy dinghies, risking their lives and making their way across the often choppy seas of the English Channel 'for a better life'?

The daffodils are out!!!

I wouldn't say that I was a royalist. I'm not one of those people who waves flags and buys commemorative mugs, I didn't even watch the Oprah interview on Monday night (I went to bed and listened to Radio 3). But that said, I don't think the Royal Family is racist. I agree with Meghan's old man on the issue of Archie's skin colour, when he suggested on television last week that an alleged remark made by an unnamed member of the Royal Family was probably just a dumb question.

For me, the biggest disappointment is that people are taking the Duke and Duchess too seriously, they're believing them because the racist card and, dare I say it, the mental health card, have been played to great effect, and now we have countless people from various charities bolstering their damaging claims about the Royal Family around the world. I'm looking forward to the moment when we all forget about them and they drift off into the obscurity they deserve.

Everything is grating with me, pissing me off, making me angry. First there was Brexit, which went on and on; then there was Trump and then Boris Johnson, and the fact that he's now our Prime Minister makes everything much worse. And then there is the virus, thanks to the Chinese. I suppose it's considered racist to blame the Chinese, but that was where it came from, that wet market in Wuhan. It's also annoying to note that nobody's doing much to ensure that such a travesty, disaster, fiasco, tragedy, whatever you want to call it, doesn't happen again. Add up all this crap and that's what's annoying me, along with a few other things. I sleep badly, I'm angry all the time and I kind of exist on a knife edge waiting, perhaps, for somebody to piss me off, worried about how I'm likely to respond. Somewhere along the line I'm going to explode with an expletive-laden tirade of effing and blinding at some poor person who challenges me on some issue or other, but let's get it out there: I voted remain, I think Brexit is a disaster for the country, I can't stand Boris Johnson and his Master Race haircut and his bumbling buffoonish manner, I'm not going to shy away from the fact that the Chinese are to blame for the global lockdown and all the unnecessary deaths caused by the COVID-19 virus, I can't stand the way they have tried to cover their tracks, or what they're doing in Hong Kong or their treatment of the Uighers. I'm glad Trump is out of power and that Biden won and I long for normality. All of this has certainly had a negative effect on my mental health and I find myself escaping by listening to Radio 3 and watching movies nightly, anything to take my mind off of the shite that is being slung at everybody. I don't trust the Government, I certainly don't trust the Chinese, and I'm so glad I have a push bike to keep me fit. Today I rode to Westerham in Kent and in total this week I have covered something like 60 miles, more than last week, but less (by around 10 miles) than the week before last.

Great food always available

I've got my jab on Monday. Can't say I'm looking forward to it. I feel a little aggrieved that I have to have it, but I'm not an anti-vaxxer.

And of course, let's remember Sarah Everard whose body was found in woodland in Kent this week following her murder, for which a policeman, Wayne Couzens, has been charged. What the hell happened? My sympathy goes out to Sarah's family.

And what's happening in Myanmar? The military have taken over (again) and now they're shooting (and killing) protestors who simply want to live in a free and fair, democratic country. 

There's nothing worse than injustice.

Oh, and lastly, not sure if I mentioned it in my last post, but my bike is fixed. The gear cable snapped so I got it fixed at Cycle King AND had a new tyre and inner tube fitted.

It's raining, Trump's gone to hospital and I need a haircut...

Donald Trump has been moved to a hospital close to the White House after testing positive for COVID-19. It's said to be a precautionary measure and that Mr President is only suffering from mild symptoms, but he's been seen wearing a mask for the first time and perhaps now he's going to take this thing seriously. Some commentators think he's lying. Documentary film maker Michael Moore, who seems to have it in for any US president who isn't a democrat, believes there's a strong chance that Trump is lying in order to delay the election and remain in power. It's possible, but surely even Trump wouldn't tempt fate and pretend he has a killer disease. The First Lady, Melania, isn't in hospital, although she also tested positive. There's a few people wanting Trump to die and we all know who they are. I don't want him dead. I didn't want Boris to die. Just because I disagree with somebody's politics doesn't mean I want them dead. Wanting people dead seems to be something 'of the left', but not me. Trump is an arse, of course he is, but that doesn't mean I want him dead. The world needs arseholes solely for the purpose of comparison and to know who isn't an arsehole.

We brave much worse than rainwater...

I'm listening to Blues for Allah by the Grateful Dead, in fact I'm going to play it again, it's good background and I like Jerry Garcia, ever since watching that documentary about him, the one produced by Scorsese, is that how you spell his name? I'll check later. The weather's been poor and you might as well know that it's moving towards that time of year when the light has to go in the kitchen in order to make breakfast. In fact, let's face it, that time is now upon us, it's October for heaven's sake and that means looking out the window to see if a puddle is forming on next door's flat-roofed extension. Yesterday it rained all day and I didn't manage a ride. I'm now thinking about braving the rain just to be out there. It's only when it's cold that rain is bad news and besides, I have waterproof trousers somewhere. So far this week I've managed 60 miles. Normally, today, I'd be riding to Westerham or Dunton Green to bump up the mileage. Theoretically, I can still do that - and I might - but the general view based on the weather, is that it's going to rain non-stop throughout the day, and for most of next week too if I believe my iphone. 

Setting out our stuff last week at Tatsfield village bus stop. Pic: Andy Smith

Tomorrow we're due to meet in Tatsfield village, me, Andy and possibly even Phil. We need to change venues from churchyard to village purely because the latter offers us cover from inclement weather. All we have to do now is bite the bullet and get out there and forget about the rain, but it's hard when you gaze out from the warmth of the house and note the puddles and the wet grass and the shiny roads and the stair rods. Still, after a summer of ultra-cycling and feeling a lot better for it, there has to be a way of doing this. I'm considering facing the rain today and riding the Norfolk Nobbler, a six-and-a-half-mile ride with a couple of hills thrown in. It won't be pleasant, but it's not impossible.

It's 0714hrs and a light still burns above my head. I need a haircut. My hair is now getting long and straggly and I'm looking a mess. It hasn't been cut since March and while there are situations where I'd consider just leaving it and looking, dare I say, a bit like Jerry Garcia, I'm at a point where I need to freshen up my look. A feel a number three crop coming on! The plan is to have a haircut today in Oxted. There's a guy coming round to check the boiler in the kitchen. It's old, but it's still going strong, although we've been advised to give it plenty of ventilation. In all honesty, we need a brand new kitchen, but it ain't cheap and nor is a new boiler. The kitchen needs to be done fairly soon as we have a situation where draws don't shut properly, hinges are broken and the whole thing is looking really tired. It's like going back in time when you set foot in the kitchen: the brown, oatmeal tiles, the artexed ceiling, the hopsack work surfaces and the disgusting extraction fan over the sticky old gas hob. It's amazing what people are prepared to put up with, but that's the problem, people put up with things until one day it becomes too much and they start saving up for stuff. I remember once, when we lived in a different house, we had a thing called Operation Kitchen underway. It basically involved saving money and that in turn put us into inferior hotels whenever we went away for the weekend, although we probably cut back on stuff like weekends away in the country until the kitchen was fixed.

The curtains have been drawn back and it's looking pretty grey out there. I haven't checked the birdbath yet for rain drops, but I will in a minute or so. Last week I headed for Woodmansterne Green around this time to see Bon, it was a great day, the sun was shining, I was wearing a tee-shirt and I loved every minute of it. Now, the weather conspires against me and because of the virus there's no other form of exercise. The swimming pools are closed or subject to social distancing measures and all that's left is a walk and these days I'm not doing a great deal of walking, unlike in pre-COVID days when I'd be putting in around 10,000 to 15,000 steps per day. Nowadays, my iphone likes to inform me that I'm not walking as much as I did last year. It's right, I'm not, but I'm cycling much, much more. I'm hoping to keep it up, I've just got to get over the rain thing and get out there.

I guess I'd better start my day. Starting my day means having that haircut. This will be great because it means I can go to Oxted, which is around 10 miles away, and check out the bookstore. I'd planned on cycling there, but I'd be soaked through and I don't want to sit there feeling uncomfortable and making small talk with a barber. In fact, now I am starting to think about it, going to the barber's means the hassle of queuing, or rather sitting, waiting for a haircut and flicking through old copies of GQ. Not that I've been to the barber in Oxted before; I'm only going there because it's not Croydon and hopefully I'll be able to socially distance a bit more. Whatever! By the end of the day I won't be able to sit watching TV whilst twirling my long hair with my fingers and I'll be able to see my ears again. The jury's out on whether my long hair suits me or not. My mum says it does. She believes it's far better than the convict cut I normally have. My daughter was hoping I'd keep it going until Christmas and a part of me thinks I should, but it really is getting to the stage now where I look disparagingly at myself when I pass a mirror and think: 'what a mess'. Who knows? There might be a lot of people in there and I won't feel confident about sitting with loads of diseased people. Perhaps I should get the clippers out and do it myself.

My second helping of the Grateful Dead's Blues for Allah album is drawing to a close, it's time to start my day. Hopefully the next post you read will be about me riding to Tatsfield Village to meet Andy and Phil.

Lockdown, Pt.42: Autumnal weather, The Grateful Dead, Phil's back, weird dreams...

Last night a strange dream. I was in a hotel and I think it was in Dusseldorf. Next thing I know I'm leaving the hotel dressed only in a duvet. I remember reaching a wall with a sliding door and when I opened it there was another sliding door and another and once through I found myself in a huge, empty, white space, like some kind of hangar. At that point I seemed to come to my senses. Perhaps it would be a good idea to wear some proper clothes and not a duvet, perhaps it would be best to return to the hotel room and collect my stuff before departing. And then, of course, I woke up. Actually, I'd woken up earlier, just before 0400hrs and debated going downstairs when the clock moved round an hour, but instead I just stayed in bed and eventually I drifted off until, all of sudden, I heard the sound of birdsong, my alarm. It was time to get up and make breakfast, listen to LBC's Steve Allen, eat some Alpen, drink some tea and start writing this blogpost. I can't remember whether I had the dream before I woke up at 0400hrs or after I'd drifted off. Why, I wonder, are all of my dreams fretful? The weird thing is that, in the real world, wearing only a duvet on the streets would seem less strange than it did in the dream. If I was stuck in a foreign city dressed only in a duvet, I'd see the funny side and do something about it and, of course, I'd go back to the hotel, I'd need my passport and my wallet, credit card and so forth.

Friday evening at the Churchyard

Anyway, enough of walking around wearing only a duvet. It was a reasonable week. I was working at home again so the cycling was in the late afternoon. I managed something like 82 miles, down on last week's 90 miles, but good enough. I only had one day off (Tuesday). The weather was good, but I've heard that summer is preparing to leave the building next week some time. The weather guys on the television are using the word 'autumnal' but they're not fooling me. There's going to be colder temperatures and rain as the country plummets towards winter and I'm sure it's going to restrict my cycling. Not that I can complain. If nothing else, 2020 has been great for cycling and, as you know if you've been reading previous posts, I've been riding up to 100 miles a week, sometimes more. And the weather's been great. The heat hasn't really let up either, apart from a few days of gusty wind and showers, but not much. So the fact that we're going to get some 'autumnal' weather, well, bring it on. 

Not sure if I've mentioned this yet, but I bumped into Phil as I was about to head into Westerham last week. He was riding a restored Honda CB750 that's around 40 years old. It looks good. According to Phil he was taking the bike on its inaugural ride. We chatted about this and that and how he's been getting on with his life and (surprise surprise) has had little time for cycling. We agreed to meet up the following week but nothing materialised, until yesterday (Saturday 19 September) when he arrived at Tatsfield Village on the Honda. We'd planned to check out Sheree's tearoom, but it turns out it's not open until 0900hrs and we were there at 0800hrs. I considered cycling into Westerham, but Andy and Phil were reluctant and besides, the woman in the store said there was a coffee machine. The weather was fine so we ordered a black coffee, a cappuccino and a hot chocolate, plus three Twix bars and sat outside on the tables close to the lake and it was fine. In fact, it was more than fine, it was great. It was as if Phil hadn't been absent at all and in a sense we kind of picked up where we left off. He told us about Fred, his new baby, and the new house that he was fixing up and we chatted about the vast amounts of cycling we'd been doing throughout lockdown. It looks like Phil might start riding again – he needs to, he claims he's put on two stone in weight. So the plan is to meet next week, on Saturday, but let's see what the weather will be like. Either way, it's great that Phil's back. The NoVisibleLycra committee met to discuss whether he needed to re-apply for membership, but it was okay, his existing arrangement had yet to lapse so all was well with the world.

Temporary lights in Woldingham

Around 0900hrs we headed home, Phil on his Honda and Andy and I on our bikes. I rode along The Ridge towards Woldingham with Andy, although he was heading for Ditchling Beacon (now that's a climb!). We parted company at the top of Gangers Hill and I suddenly remembered I had to ride up Slines Oak Road on to the 269. As it turned out it was easy, probably because of the all the riding I've been doing. Riding to the Churchyard and then heading home via Woldingham bumps up the mileage to over 18 miles so I did it again this morning after meeting Andy at the Tatsfield Churchyard where we drank tea and chatted about The Grateful Dead. During the week I watched a six-part documentary, produced by Martin Scorsese, on the band and it's members, including, of course, the iconic Jerry Garcia. The Grateful Dead is/was a peculiarly American band with international reach that embodied everything good about hippy notions of freedom and sunshine. Alright, the whole thing revolved around psychedelic drugs, but the guys in the band looked surprisingly good on it. Garcia, however, developed weight problems and diabetes and had started 'using' other more dangerous drugs. He died aged just 53 of a heart attack, which, while probably inevitable, is a big shame because, well, he seemed like such a nice guy. I've been watching interviews on YouTube and he's remarkably lucid and together when you consider the amount of acid he's taken. In fact, he's a great interviewee, somebody who answers the questions in-depth and has an enthusiasm that is infectious and life-affirming. When I was younger I used to think that The Grateful Dead was some kind of heavy rock band moving along similar tracks to the British psych-rock band Hawkwind, but nothing could be further from the truth. The music, by and large, is light and breezy and easy to get on with. I don't think the Grateful Dead would have been the same had they originated in the UK. The band had such a massive following. The Dead Heads – that's the name of Grateful Dead fans – used to turn up for concerts even if they didn't have tickets. Instead of watching the gig on the inside they'd simply congregate around the venue and have their own party outside. It's funny how the band and its lead guitarist Jerry Garcia took on almost religious significance for the Dead Heads, with Garcia a kind of Messiah figure. Interestingly, the band claims it didn't have a leader and nobody was allowed to tell other band members what to do. The egalitarian set-up seemed to work. I'm now thinking about finding the definitive book on the band and Jerry Garcia, who, incidentally, had a Ben & Jerry's ice cream named after him (Cherry Garcia). There are many many Grateful Dead albums out there. I remember buying Blues for Allah back in the late seventies, but 'the Dead' were a very prolific band and I'd like to know what albums are regarded as their best. There's an album entitled American Beauty and I'm wondering whether it had any influence on the film of the same name starring Kevin Spacey (something to Google later).

Phil's Honda CB750, Tatsfield, 19 September

Moving away from The Grateful Dead, there's always the fucking virus to talk about. As I suspected a long time ago, a second wave is upon us. I made three predictions: that Trump would get a second term, that there would be a second wave of COVID-19 and that we'd have a no-deal Brexit. Looks like they're all going to come true, although I'm possibly on shaky ground where Trump is concerned as the polls are predicting a win for Joe Biden. The problem with Biden, in my opinion, is that he's kind of the walking dead. He always seems on the verge of falling flat on his face, and when he talks he's often unintelligible. In a way I can't believe that Biden could ever be president of the USA or, if he does make it, he won't be there long as the guy's simply too old. I still think Trump will win and then we'll follow up with a no-deal Brexit (while a new lockdown has been imposed on the nation). You could say I'm a purveyor of doom and gloom, but in my world it's looking like a reality we all have to deal with. 

Andy's bike at the top of Ditchling Beacon in East Sussex

Right now there are regional lockdowns here, there and everywhere and we're no longer allowed to congregate in groups of more than six. Pubs are being told to close at 2200hrs and there's rumours floating around that people won't be able to meet members of other households. Bang goes my tea and cake round at mum's, although nothing's set in stone yet. The problem, of course, is the 'covidiots' who simply don't believe there is a virus and will probably refuse to be vaccinated when a vaccine becomes available. There are also rumours that the Government could force us all to take an unproven vaccine if it so wished, although that might have been an inflammatory story generated by a newspaper designed to pedal doom and gloom and incite revolution.

Jerry Garcia, The Grateful Dead...

Winter is coming and that means it's all going to get worse. The Government has basically lost control of the virus. It wants the kids back to school, the students back to university and the people back to work, but that will all lead to more infections. They can't have it both ways. They've made a fiasco of testing and all the while you must remember that Boris Johnson is, quite simply, a fucking arse. He's not to be trusted. He's not even 100% committed to Brexit. Remember when he wrote two articles for a newspaper, probably the Daily Telegraph, one being pro-leave, the other remain. In fact, there are rumours that he might resign, which would be great. I can't stand it when I hear people say, "Boris Johnson should take charge of the situation". Actually, that's the problem, he IS in charge and look at the mess he's making. He's a blathering, bumbling, obese man with a stupid haircut, but then don't they all have stupid haircuts? Look at Donald Trump! The problem we have here in the UK is that there's four more years of Bojo. At least the Americans can ditch Trump in just over eight weeks if they so wish. I better sign off before I go crazy thinking about what a mess the country is in. 

Lockdown, Part 36: No cycling all week - the shame, the shame!

It's Sunday morning, 0952, I've just got back from a ride to the Tatsfield Churchyard, the Churchyard Chuffer no less, not a Chuffer Bastard Womble, just a plain old Chuffer, a direct ride from here, my home in Sanderstead, to the Tatsfield Churchyard. It's a straight 16 miles, well, if we're going to be pedantic about it, 16.03 miles, and my moving time was 1 hour and 24 minutes, plus 48 seconds, not far off one hour and 25 minutes, with an elevation gain of 957 feet and an average speed of 11.3 mph. Not bad. I managed a maximum speed of 29.8 miles an hour, probably on that stretch of Clarks Lane from Botley Hill to the Churchyard, so I'm generally happy.

The Rockhopper resting at Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday 16 August 2020

What I'm not happy about is not cycling at all last week; it was just too damn hot! Until Thursday when we had monsoon rains and thunder and ever since then it's been cooler. On one ride, either last week or the week before, but possibly last Monday or Tuesday (although I think I've written about it so it might be a little further back) I got to the top of Church Way and thought, 'sod this, it's too hot' and then turned back, I just couldn't face it. So, a week of slobbing, doing nothing, not even walking and when you're working from home that means virtually no movement whatsoever. It can't be good for you, doing absolutely no exercise. But let's move on: today a healthy 16-miler got me started on this week's cycling and I'm just hoping I can keep myself motivated enough to put in, say three 20-milers during the week and then, perhaps, the churchyard on Saturday to round it all off or, of course, another ride to Redhill with a trip to the Pop Inn at the other end. It takes me an hour to reach Redhill from here, but around 90 minutes to get back, thanks to punishing hills all the way. The best thing about the ride to Redhill is the lack of cars. It's probably the most 'car-less' route I take and I'm amazed I haven't riden it more often.

There was a lot of mist at Botley Hill this morning. I had to stop halfway along the 269 to switch on my front and rear lights, and later Andy informed me that my rear light wasn't that strong. He had been riding behind me coming down Clarks Lane and we met by the stairs leading up to the churchyard. I think I'm going to invest in a decent rear light.

At the churchyard we sat and chatted about the bikes and the riding and generally chilled, drinking tea and munching a snack. One topic was my old Kona, which is currently resting in my garage, but for the sake of £300 could be up and running again. In many ways I should have fixed the Kona and not bought the Specialized, but I do like the Rockhopper with it's 29in wheels, even if I've spotted what I consider to be a design fault: the brake levers are quite sharp on the inside and recently I noticed one of my fingers was cut because I'd been placing it on the inside of the lever and not gripping it in the conventional manner on the outside. But this is a very minor problem and in many ways shouldn't even be mentioned, the bike's fine. It would, however, be nice to have a spare bike in the garage and don't forget, that Kona is a top-of-the-range mountain bike with expensive forks, even if it only has 16 gears to the Rockhopper's 27.

Our bikes, Tatsfield Churchyard, Sunday 16 August 2020. Pic: Andy Smith

Andy was on his road bike this morning, a Giant, and he still has his old road bike AND his Kona Blast. We reminisced about old times riding to Hunger's End in Merstham and Jon's old Kona Fire Mountain with its broken pedal. Both are now gone, Bon's bike and the caff. I reminded Andy that it was 10 years ago when we visited Hunger's End on a regular basis (remember Shaving Man?) and added how frightening it was to look back at old blog posts and see how young we both looked. "It was 10 years ago," said Andy. Yes, I thought, a whole decade, and we're still riding, which is good.

I can't work out whether the lockdown is over or not. We're all still queuing and now wearing masks to visit shops, I'm still working from home and they're now saying that if you're coming back from France, the Netherlands or Malta you've got to remain in quarantine at home for 14 days. So there was a big rush to get home before the 0400hrs deadline yesterday morning. I don't think I'd have bothered rushing home, what's wrong with 14 days remaining at home, the time soon passes. I wonder how many of those in quarantine actually go down with the virus? Probably none, but it's going to piss off the French who, no doubt, will retaliate in some way or other. The French, of course, are coming up for criticism for allowing so many migrants to make the short hop across the English Channel to the UK. Thousands have been coming in and it's annoying people like Nigel Farage and other right-leaning numpties, although I kind of get their argument. These people have already reached a safe country (France) so why risk their necks crossing the busy English Channel in a flimsy dinghy, I don't think I'd bother, although, apparently, the benefits system in the UK is too generous, according to some, and that makes the journey worthwhile. I don't think I'd do it, I'd rather stay in France and be part of the European Union. In fact, I might buy an inflatable and go the other way.

I must say a bit more about the storm on Thursday afternoon because it was fantastic. I'll be totally honest and say that I have never experienced weather like it, ever! There! I said it: EVER! Everything went dark and then the rains came, full on, full pelt, driving stair rods into the lawn like six-inch nails from a nail gun, and it went on for a long, long time and was accompanied by continuous rumbles of thunder from the grey skies above. There was something deliciously cosy and wintry about it. I was working, sitting at my computer, and all week I'd been sweltering hot, sweat soaking my tee-shirt, my forearms coated with a glistening sheen of wetness as if somebody had been sitting close-by spraying me with one of those bottles used to water delicate plants. But then there was the storm, everything cooled down and I remember feeling good about life as I stared out at the falling rain and yes, I was even thinking it'll do my lawn the world of good too. Avid readers will recall that I covered my lawn with 'weed and feed' and it's gone black, but I know that black lawns matter and that sooner or later I'll have to go out there and rake it and then put down some more grass seed, possibly in September. The garden is looking good, there are new plants in the beds, the lawn's been sorted out and the canopy over the kitchen window has been painted. We've even bought a new parasol.

But it's now mid-August and while the summer has yet to leave the building and we still have the August bank holiday to go, I'm kind of sad that we (and everybody else) haven't been able to take full advantage of the summer weather, which this year has been tremendous. In so many ways, it's wasteful. All those hotels and pubs that could have been coining it, all those live events that were cancelled because of the fucking corona virus. I hate hearing the words, either 'corona virus' or, worse still, 'covid-19', but also 'lockdown' and 'self-isolate' and 'quarantine' and I'm still wondering what the world is going to do to stop the Chinese from inflicting such misery on the rest of the world. What's wrong with them? Why did they initially cover it up? Why were they lying? People are now saying the virus escaped from a lab in Wuhan and had nothing to do with the wet market. But what was the virus doing in the lab, why were the Chinese messing around with it? I personally wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them, I wouldn't put it past them to be working on a virus, like COVID-19, that basically disables the world and allows them to benefit in some way. But what are we going to do about it? I bet that's the question on most people's lips because we've already heard experts warn of 'worse to come' and I can well believe it. Being in lockdown once is bad enough, but I wonder what people will be thinking if it happens again? I just get that sneaking feeling that it will happen again and that wearing masks and social distancing and all that comes with it will be internalised by all of us in future. It's not a nice thought and I just hope there's somebody out there with the balls to confront the Chinese and sort the whole mess out. Somehow I don't think there is anybody out there, we have shit leaders the world over: Trump, Johnson, Bolsanaro, you name it, they're all tossers. In fact the three people mentioned have royally messed up in their respective countries. The UK is the sick man of Europe, the US has many many cases and no real sign of leadership and it's the same in Brazil and Mexico and I'm sure elsewhere too. I also get the feeling that Trump's going to win a second term. I hope not, but I just get that nagging feeling about it. Is Biden any good? Every time I see him walk on to a stage he looks as if he's about to pass out or is walking tall, but very carefully as if the slightest move will see him keel over and not get up. His running mate is a controversial choice too by all accounts and I feel that people are going to vote for Trump again. I'd rather they didn't, but I see him getting a second term, unless the Republicans unseat him and put up somebody else, that could happen. Sadly, here in the UK we're stuck with BoJo, a right buffoon and as dishonest a politician as you could get. We've got over four years of his government to run and Keir Starmer waiting in the wings.

I do my best to try and avoid watching and listening to too much news. Oddly, since lockdown, I've switched from BBC Radio Four to LBC, although I can't bear that awful Nick Ferrari and tend to switch off at 0700hrs. Steve Allen in the morning is fine (brilliant, actually) and Nick Abbot on a Friday and Saturday night can be very funny.

I'm still in to box sets. Last night I watched The X Files, the night before a great movie, Back Country, both on Prime and it's good to avoid shit like The One Show with its severely overpaid presenters, specifically that terrible Alex Jones. Since when has she been worth £450,000 a year (or was that the equally awful Claudia Winkleman?). They're all bad and not worth the money. I prefer people like Dr. Alice Roberts (she presented a tremendous programme on wild swimming, which I know is fairly old, but still worth watching, they put it on the other day so I watched it again. Perfect.) On ITV I've been watching Julia Bradbury's series of programmes on the Greek islands. Not a great fan of Bradbury, but she's alright. In fact I'd say she's growing on me, but that's about it where television is concerned.

I'm warbling on so I'd better stop. I'm hoping to be able to motivate myself this week and try to exceed my 88 miles of the week before last. I've riden 16 miles today and now I need around three 20-milers under my belt and a trip to the lakes to put me on track for a good week of cycling. Here's hoping!