No cycling this weekend...

I can't blame the weather. Alright, I can blame a week in Dusseldorf for taking it easy on Saturday morning, although I had planned to ride over Woodmansterne way to meet Bon. We hadn't arranged anything, but I could have called him or left a text and that way I would have committed myself. But I didn't call or text. In fact, sitting here now, at 1838hrs on a Sunday evening, Kylie Minogue performing at Glastonbury - "Put your hand on your heart and tell me" - I'm feeling a bit ashamed of myself for doing absolutely no exercise. I've slobbed about, I've taken the car over to mum's, eaten cake and biscuits, then changed a pair of trousers in M&S and there's not much else I can remember about Saturday.

As for Sunday, I had a golden opportunity to go cycling, but decided that a planned drive into darkest Sussex took preference and, ultimately, I kept the bike under lock and key. Once I'd abandoned the proper ride, which would have been to meet Bon on Woodmansterne Green, all that was left was riding the Woodland Trek. Well, I sent Bon a text, but he'd had a rough night and didn't fancy it. I texted back to say that I had some driving to do so perhaps cycling was a bad idea. Let's meet next Saturday, that seemed like the best policy.

Suddenly I felt 'off the hook'. I mooched around the house, still considering the aforementioned Woodland Trek, but time was ticking, time was running out. I didn't go anywhere, other than deepest Sussex in the car. On the way back I was feeling sleepy and had to stop in huge Tesco store in Pulborough where the shelves were empty in places. I bought a bottle of mineral water and a Bounty and miraculously I was able to drive again. This happened once before; I was feeling sleepy so I ate a Bounty and was instantly revived. Anyway, I got home otherwise I wouldn't be writing this. Kylie's still on and, to be honest, she's putting in a pretty lame performance. Even when Nick Cave joined her on stage, it was underwhelming.

Reading a great book at the moment, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs. Brilliant, but I'm only on Chapter Four so I'll keep you all posted. I'm also reading Another Fine Mess by Tim Moore, which is all about a journey across America, through Trump's America no less, in a Ford Model T.

What's happening in the world? The Tory party leadership battle continues with two contenders left in the race, the obese buffoon that is Boris Johnson and the slightly more palatable Jeremy Hunt. I don't want either to win, but if I had to make a choice it would be Hunt. Also in the news, a pregnant woman was stabbed and killed in Thornton Heath, near Croydon, Surrey. The baby is in a critical condition in hospital. I've mentioned Glastonbury. Last night's performance by the Killers was good, especially when the Pet Shop Boys and then Johnny Marr appeared, but I haven't really been watching it. Kylie is still on, getting emotional. Worse still, that awful Chris Martin has just joined her on stage. That bloke is always gate-crashing other people's acts and he's so boring, not very rock and roll is what I'm saying. Get off the stage, you cock! I can't stand him or Coldplay. One person we should all try to get out of heads and minds is Chris Martin, the cappuccino 'rocker', the skinny latte of establishment rock, the clean-cut nob cheese of popular music. Oh, I do hope Coldplay won't be performing, I really do.

Church bells are ringing out from the Glasto stage and Kylie's performance is now confirmed as absolute girly bollocks. Especially for you, I wanna let you know what I was going through...no!!! Anything but that song. I suppose Donovan will be waltzing on to the stage in a second, let's hope not. Look, I'm signing off, it's all too depressing.

18th and 19th May – Botley Hill and Longford Lake

Botley Hill.

A good weekend of cycling. We covered 46 miles in total having riden first to Botley Hill (on Saturday) and then to Longford Lake in Chipstead, Kent (on Sunday).

There were three of us on Saturday – Andy, Phil and yours truly – and on Sunday's run to the lake, it was just Phil and yours truly.

The weather was good on both days and, as last week, the pace was slightly quicker with a third person in the mix.

On Saturday, among other things, we discussed movie stars and how the greater publicity they attract (mainly through chatshows) the more diluted as actors they become. Ewan McGregor was a good case in point. His Long Way Round and Long Way Down programmes, his general popularity outside of his various film roles has, in my opinion, lessened his believability as an actor. I'd better explain myself: the more you see an actor in person on chat shows and documentaries, the more you associate them with themselves and not the character they're supposed to playing. I can't watch a movie starring Ewan McGregor without seeing Ewan McGregor and not the character he's billed as playing. This is, of course, very annoying.

It's not just Ewan McGregor and, let me make this clear, Long Way Round and Long Way Down were both excellent productions – especially the latter in which Charley Boorman seems to be visibly pissed off that McGregor brings his wife on the trip. There are many other actors who court the spotlight and, therefore, make an audience's ability to suspend belief, falter slightly. I was watching Jonathan Ross a few weeks ago when they had the actor playing the role of Spock in the latest Star Trek movie. So, we heard that he was gay (nothing wrong with that) and we heard that he plays the banjo (nothing wrong with that either) but if I went to see the new movie, as soon as I saw 'Spock' I'd be thinking about that gay, banjo-playing bloke that was on Jonathan Ross.

Alright, there's that thing about promoting movies and we all know that that's what actors have to do these days. In fact, Vin Diesel was on Ross's show recently and he was texting his daughter or sending her videos on his iPhone, showing us his tender side, perhaps, showing us that he, like us, was just a human being with a family. But we don't want to know that, do we? Now, though, if I watch any Fast & Furious movies, I'm going to remember Diesel being all soppy about his daughter and sending her videos from his iphone. This is not good and it's much more prevalent than it used to be: did Gregory Peck or Kirk Douglas constantly appear on shows like Saturday Night with Jonathan Ross or get involved in riding motorcycles around the world for a television documentary OR appear as the 'star in a reasonably-priced car' on Top Gear? No, of course not, They were proper actors.

It all reinforces my theory that, with the exception of advances in medical science, in most cases, everything is getting worse, not better. Movie stars ain't movie stars anymore; they're multi-tasking careerists (is there such a word) who are quite happy to discuss their career progression with a chatshow host. And then there's rock music; rock stars just ain't rock stars anymore for similar reasons, although talent (or lack of it) plays a greater role than with actors. In fact, take out that word 'talent' as it's diminishing rapidly in rock music where there will never be the great Rock Gods of yesteryear as we have to contend with bands like Coldplay headed up by the very sensible Chris Martin. I mean, he's not a rock star and the band's music is the sort of stuff you're likely to hear more often in a shopping mall than anywhere else. These days, rock stars don't rock, they don't drive Rolls Royces into swimming pools or throw televisions out of hotel windows, they don't even take hard drugs! I'm with Bill Hicks; I want my rock stars to rock! But they don't, not anymore, and film stars are not film stars anymore, as we've already discussed.

I'm sure it's the same in other spheres of life and culture – there are no more 'golden ages'.

Longford Lake

Longford Lake, Chipstead, Kent

On Sunday, Phil and I headed out to Longford Lake. The weather was good all the way there and back and we had a couple of chunks of fruit cake, courtesy of my mum. It's great riding to the lake for all sorts of reasons. Obviously, the ride itself is key. While being not that far from Croydon and, indeed, London, once we hit the Pilgrims Lane, we could be in the middle of rural Wiltshire or anywhere, despite the fact that, in reality, we're only a few hundred yards from the M25.

Chipstead village is lovely too. There's a Harvey's of Lewes pub and some nice houses, but also, of course, Longford Lake.

Phil and I sat on the bench enjoying the view and chatting about this and that before jumping back on the bikes and heading home. I was home just before 1045.