Lockdown, Part 11: Three more weeks ain't no hardship

This morning I headed out fairly early on my ride to Botley Hill, non-stop. It's unusual riding out somewhere and then coming straight back - round the roundabout and home - but that's the way it is at the moment. Andy does his own thing and I do mine. We both ride solo in keeping with the rules.

Today I had one close call on the 269, some bastard getting a little too close for comfort. There was also an impatient cock (well, alright, cunt) who rather than wait until the road ahead of him was clear to pass me safely, decided to sound his horn loudly, making me jump. I mouthed the word 'wanker' and then quickly forgot about him as the fields opened up and I took full advantage of the lovely weather.

After the ride I head for the queue to shop...

The ride back was uneventful and I stopped at Waitrose to get some milk and other stuff. I had to queue for around 45 minutes, standing there in the car park two metres behind the person in front of me. Fortunately it wasn't raining although later on in the day, when I called mum, she told me she was praying for rain. I rolled my eyes. "It'll be good for the garden," she said. Bugger the garden, I thought, I wanted more sunshine and blue skies, I wanted to be out on the bike, not stuck indoors looking out on the rain. What will be will be.

I did spend the rest of the day in the garden, sawing and cutting and putting stuff in the big, brown plastic container supplied by the council. There's more to do tomorrow, but not if it's raining. Lunch was a tinned salmon and mayo sandwich followed by a deluxe hot cross bun, something else I'd bought earlier. I ended up having two, which was a bit piggish, I know, but being under 'lockdown' I decided it was justified. I figured that all the sawing and cutting back plus the earlier 14-mile bike ride, would burn off any excess calories.

Dinner was an excellent chicken stew, a meal that made it into the pages of Suki & the Christmas Treasure Trove, a book I wrote ages ago and self-published. It needs rewriting if I'm honest, but I doubt I will find the time. I wrote it ages ago, under the influence of Lemsip. I think it has potential, but there are far too many other things to be getting on with, so I doubt anything will happen.

Graffiti close to where I padlocked my bike at the supermarket

I'm sitting in the conservatory writing this. It's dark outside (it's now 2053hrs) and we're all resigned to the fact that the lockdown has been extended for another three weeks. To be totally honest with you, I'm used to it. I quite like it. It would be a nightmare without the cycling, which is part of my routine. I make a point of riding once a day and as we're on week three I'm now cycling 14 miles per day. Not sure what I'll be doing next week, though. I'll try and maintain what I'm doing right now, 14 miles per day, as it's a good work-out and I've managed to complete the ride, from door back to door, in around one hour and five minutes. Initially it took me one hour and 15 minutes, so I've shaved 10 minutes off the time.

The Specialized Rockhopper needs something doing to the front brake. It's rubbing on the disc and I think I need a new shoe. Bike shops are open if I'm not mistaken so I need to run it down to the shop and get it fixed.

Surviving lockdown is all to do with routine and I've slipped into a good one. It involves music (currently listening to a lot of Johann Strauss) and the X Files after the news, plus a bit of reading (currently Uncommon People by David Hepworth) a regular cycle, good food cooked well and a fairly good night's sleep. I tend to hit the sack around 2300hrs and I get up around 0700hrs.

So three more weeks ain't no hardship, I can do it.

Lockdown, Part 10: The UK is the sick man of Europe!

So it turns out the UK really is the 'sick man of Europe'. While other countries come out of 'lockdown' and it is revealed that Germany never closed any stores, the British are looking a little foolish. What with Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister, bragging about shaking the hands of corona virus patients - and then ending up half dead in intensive care and later praising the very immigrants he's trying to keep out of the country for saving his life - it's all looking a little tawdry. What's more, there's still not enough PPE for 'frontline' NHS staff and our care homes have been thrown to the dogs based, no doubt, on the Government's plan to rid the nation of the old and infirm. I mean, who needs a load of coffin dodgers clogging up the economy and costing us all a fortune in pensions? Not a cuntry run by the Tories! And before you ask, when it comes to the United Kingdom, there is no 'o' in cuntry!

At Botley Hill on yesterday's blustery ride...

And yet, everybody has this misguided affection for Boris Johnson, thinking of him as not so much a lovable rogue, but a lovable, blustering old buffoon who represents the true grit spirit of a nation 'at war'. What a load of old bollocks! This country isn't at war. In fact, I found myself getting really angry the other day as I set off on a solitary bike ride into the sticks, when I heard the sound of Vera fucking Lynn singing We'll Meet Again. Who had the audacity, the stupidity, the ignorance, to put that tune on? No doubt somebody who watches Lorraine and reads Hello! magazine and please, spare me from the condescending Nick 'I'd be amazed if he owned one' Ferrari, every morning from 0630. This morning he was talking to some doctor or other and he kept addressing him as 'doctor' when he didn't need to; he was being provocatively polite and hoping somebody might challenge him, but nobody ever does. Why is my radio tuned to LBC? It's normally Radio 4's Today Programme, which is miles more civilised. I don't think I've ever referred to my GP as 'doctor'.

It's looking as if the lockdown will continue until May, although I reckon it'll go on until June and even then we won't be safe as there's no vaccine and they're claiming we'll have to wait 18 months for one, if we're lucky. Let's face it, the UK Government wants to kill us off and it's starting with the wrinklies lounging around in care home day rooms playing cards and smelling of gravy. They could turn those care homes into flats for non-EU migrants or detention centres for illegals or rehab centres for the drugged and disorderly, they don't need old people bulk buying Werther's Originals! Perhaps that's why there's a Vera Lynn revival, to coax them all out of self isolation so the Government can slip them a dose of COVID-19.

The Ridge, bank holiday Monday, looking North and ready to ride home...

Mind you, good old Piers Morgan gave one member of the Government a right old roasting on GMTV this morning. A female MP, whose name escapes me, had no idea about anything and couldn't answer any of his questions. She was given short shrift, I can tell you, and why not? Piers asked, among other things, why the Government was charging VAT on PPE equipment for care homes, but had waived the tax for the NHS. The answer? "Well, they can claim back the VAT." But why bother charging them in the first place if they can claim it back? No answer.

Chilling after yesterday's ride...

I went out early for a bike ride this morning, the first of my solitary 14-milers that will add up to 84 miles by the end of the week. The weather was slightly better than yesterday, not so blustery, not as cold. The sun was out, the skies were relatively clear and once I'd passed Knight's Garden Centre and rode up the hill towards the bit where the fields open out and all is well with the world, I must say I started to feel good. There was little traffic on the road, just a few joggers, the odd solo cyclist like myself and a few baby lambs grazing in the fields on either side of me. I rode to and then round the mini roundabout a few hundred yards from the Botley Hill farmhouse pub and then powered back along the 269 until I reached Waitrose where I stopped, padlocked the bike and bought some milk, a carton of hot chocolate and a Wispa bar for myself (which I ate outside the store).

The sun is still shining as I write this, it's going to be a beautiful day, in lockdown! But there are things to look forward to, like lunch and dinner and the X Files on Prime.

Lockdown, Part Eight: 'I hate tomorrow already'

"I hate tomorrow already," somebody said to me yesterday, and I know what they mean. It's the knowledge that tomorrow will be like today and so it goes on with no real end in sight. All I look forward to is a solitary ride into the sticks and fortunately the sun is shining. Cycling has kept me going physically and mentally, it's just being out there, on the bike, a warm breeze on my face, moving at a steady pace and not in any way reliant upon an engine, other than my own strength, pushing me onwards, but not upwards, this isn't ET and besides, my bike doesn't have a basket strapped to the handlebars.

"I hate tomorrow already..."

It's Saturday morning as I write this paragraph - the one above was written yesterday - and the newspapers are spreading doom and gloom as usual. The Daily Mail claims that we'll all be in lockdown for at least a year to 18 months when, hopefully, scientists will develop a vaccine. The Times, on the other hand, is a little more optimistic and believes a vaccine will be available in September. Either way is bad news.

Yesterday was shopping day and I had to queue in the car park, spaced two metres apart from the person in front of me as the store continues it's one in, one out policy. The weird thing is that once you're in the store, social distancing goes out the window, although everybody is watching everybody else and giving them space when they can.

Some people, like journalist Peter Hitchen, thinks the lockdown is a stupid idea. In many ways he has a point as we're basically killing our economy and it will take decades to get over it. We're not alone. Most of the western world is in lockdown, including the USA, and it's all getting a little frayed around the edges.

Things creep up on you...

"This is going to be a long journey - don't think it will all be over in a few weeks," says the BBC, loving every minute of imparting such knowledge to the populus. And as if to add insult to injury, adds: "We cannot simply return to normal after cases peak or even after they are reduced to very low levels." Fergus Walsh will be over the moon! We're all doomed and his highly paid colleagues will keep their jobs and their inflated salaries!

In fact, talking about the BBC, it's on right now, Charlie Stayt interviewing some goggle-eyed woman in Skipton, turns out she's the North Yorkshire Crime Commissioner, and she's moaning about cyclists. But she's not making herself crystal clear. Stayt asks for clarification. Is she saying cyclists are breaking the law? No? Yes? She eventually admits that the cyclists she's talking about are not breaking any laws, and then she says that they must understand that they're upsetting local communities - it's that loaded word again 'communities', loads of mice with bonnets and aprons and children in Victorian clothes rolling hoops down grassy hillocks - by what, by riding through them. Eh? So what is she saying? She's 'getting it out there' that cyclists are to be vilified in some way whenever they're seen on the roads because they're upsetting 'communities', they are the villains, and it goes without saying that all the nutters out there, the people with shaven heads, football shirts and calf tattoos, who believe every word uttered by Boris Johnson, the people who voted for the Brexit Party, the nobs who wave flags and have an unnatural obsession with the Royal Family - the 'British' basically - they will be acting as misguided vigilantes, assaulting, in this case, cyclists 'for the greater good'.

Keep 'em peeled!

People just need an excuse. It's amazing how thin a line we all tread. If you look at the world in general and think of all the bad things out there: extreme racial prejudice, anti-semitism, terrorism, rogue states, general thuggery, you name it; it's all still out there, nothing has been eradicated, we've somehow managed to keep a lid on it, like when rice starts to boil and you cover the pan but it still bubbles up around the edges, trying to escape; it's been held back for years and years, societies have railed against what religious nutters would call 'the forces of evil' but those forces are merely waiting it out, hoping that political change will go some way towards legitmising their actions, as Brexit did for racists. Watch out for empowered nutters.

And it's amazing how things can creep up on you. I was in my 'conservatory' yesterday looking at the book shelves. There's a book, Acid for the Children, written by Flea, the bassist of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. It was the last book I read before the lockdown and I remember, only days ago, it seems, reading in coffee shops, on crowded trains, in cafes, everywhere. Now, of course, all that has gone, it was another world in many ways, but it is no longer. It's unreal. But again, it's that thin line we all tread, dangers lurk everywhere and sometimes they bubble up to the surface, like now.

But what can we do other than scream at the television at journalists who will never ask the right questions, proving, perhaps, that they are part of the problem.

Lockdown, Part Six: Let's not normalise deadly viruses

I don't wish Boris Johnson any harm and I most certainly wish him a speedy recovery, but if there's one thing I can't stand, it's being told what to do by a tabloid newspaper. "He stayed at work for you, now pray at home for him". And what are you going to do if I don't, you sub-standard little red top newspaper?

Having Raab at the helm is very worrying so yes, Boris, get out of hospital as soon as you can and relieve the man of his duties, although, judging by the fact that Johnson is in hospital with Coronavirus might mean that he too is not really the guy that should be running the country during a pandemic. That said, what is the alternative? Michael Gove? The last thing we want is Orville running the show.

I started off week three of my lockdown exercise regime yesterday with a 10-mile ride to just beyond Warlingham Sainsbury's. I doubled back along Ledgers Road, it might be Ledgers Lane, can't remember, but it was longer than I remembered and I think it added at least a mile on to my distance, so I'm guessing I rode around 11 miles, probably just over.

Hopefully, Johnson will lead the charge against China's unhealthy practices

If the truth be known, I didn't want to go out. I was feeling a little tired, although I hadn't been out of the house all day. It might have a lot to do with staying up late watching episodes of the X Files. Even this morning I could have wished the radio further when it switched itself on at 0600hrs, so I need to hit the sack earlier. It's all very well thinking I'm doing myself some good by drinking a camomile tea before bed, but if I'm not getting enough kip, well, it's not right.

They're talking (on Radio 4) about an international response to the crisis, but as always nobody asks the right questions or deals with the real problem: China. They always skate around the situation, being careful not to leave themselves open to charges of racism. The World Health Organisation, it is being said, is too politically close to China, even Donald Trump is starting to get a little fidgety about the WHO, claiming that he's going to look into it as the USA hands over the most money.

Trump's bound to have something to say...

What we need is somebody to do an Emperor's New Clothes and say it out loud: China is to blame for this virus, nobody else, their bad practices in Wuhan, their cover-up - their fault! It's hard to believe that nobody is saying anything, but they're not and yet thousands of people are dying. There's a story on the BBC website: 'Message from Wuhan: Learn from our mistakes.' I found myself thinking, yes, Wuhan's mistake. If it wasn't for Wuhan's mistakes we wouldn't be in this position. I think the issue here is this: we can't be placed in this position again, it's not only killing a lot of people, it's damaging the economies of nations around the globe AND infringing on the personal freedoms of millions of people. Surely we need to ensure that such a tragedy doesn't happen again. I think if something like this raises its ugly head again, we need to stop it immediately, stop flights from the offending nation and keep our economies going. We can't afford to be politically correct on something of this magnitude. In fact, I'd rather be called a racist than be stuck indoors for months on end and having to socially distance myself from everybody. Unfortunately, I get the feeling that nobody's going to say or do anything, lessons will not be learned and we'll sleep walk into it again in the not too distant future. I'm hoping not, but unless somebody has the guts to say something and mean it, we can all expect our current lockdown situation to become the norm. So watch out for those who start trying to 'normalise' the lockdown - like the mass media, because that will lead to complacency and that's the last thing anybody wants at the moment. You would have thought that being in intensive care, risking his own death by foolishly shaking hands with Corona virus victims, Boris Johnson would come out fighting and determined to put a stop the Chinese doing whatever it is they do that can cause such massive problems for the rest of the world. But I'm doubtful. And if the WHO is politically aligned with the Chinese, well, perhaps things do need to change.

Tonight, the second of my 10-mile rides. Next week it'll be 14 miles. On the cycling front it's all good, although it's a shame I'm not allowed to cycle with anybody and by that I mean my pal Andy. He, like me, is doing the same, cycling alone and we're both missing the tea and the chat. Hopefully, things will improve, but right now we're in the thick of it.

* Photos courtesy of Pixabay.com

Lockdown, Part Five: It's getting on my nerves!

I don't know why, but there are a number of words that are used relentlessly by the media, especially in a crisis, and I can't stand them: 'community' is the worst as it conjures up a situation, in my mind at any rate, where people live like the animals in Brambly Hedge. As if we're all mice wearing Easter bonnets and aprons and living in tree trunks, bidding a friendly 'good morning' to our neighbours while our kids roll hoops down grassy hillocks. No! It's not true! We all hate each other, we all think our neighbour is a disease-ridden scumbag to be avoided at all costs. Stop deceiving us! We know it's not true!

Covid-19 - it's a global catastrophe!

The crisis rolls on, and so does 'lockdown'. Boris Johnson, our PM, has been taken into intensive care and we're all faced with the horror of having Dominic Raab on the bridge, steering us towards the iceberg. There are, as we all know, many nobs in our country, most of whom have been panic-buying groceries, leaving our supermarket shelves empty of bog rolls and pasta. They've now moved on to ignoring the Government's social distancing rules, congregating in parks, cycling in packs and ramming themselves into crowded trains. The big worry is that the Government decides to intensify the lockdown and stop us from exercising out of the home. I sincerely hope this doesn't happen because I work from home all day and I need to get out and take some exercise. I've chosen to ride the bike, alone, every day. My 'week' runs from Tuesday to Sunday, I have one day of rest and this week I managed to cover 60 miles, roughly the equivalent of riding to the lakes twice. I'm going to step this up to 10 miles per day as the default setting, last week it was eight miles, the week before was six, but the weekend enabled me to up the mileage by 30 miles. While out my first ride of the weekend I noticed groups of Lycra monkeys flouting the rules and it made me angry.

Let's hope it passes over soon

And now here we are on week three of the lockdown. I have to say that I've gotten used to it. I wouldn't say I'm enjoying it, but I kind of know where I stand with it. I work from home during the day, I break for lunch, I sit in the garden enjoying the sunshine - because that's the worst thing, the weather is good and we can't take advantage of it.

Keep clear of your disease-ridden, scumbag neighbours and fellow shoppers

In many ways, I've stopped watching the news and media reports. It's the same as Brexit, once I get the gist of what's happening, there's no need to watch GMTV or listen to LBC and even if I do, I find I'm not really listening. Obviously there are spikes in the story, like Johnson heading for hospital, that make me sit up, but other than that the story is simple: a virus, a deadly virus, we're all in lockdown, it's going to get worse, the media are going over-the-top (as always) and need to be listened to with a large pinch of salt, the Government's daily press briefings are a sham, questions aren't answered, and let's make one thing absolutely clear: the current situation is nothing like the Blitz, nothing at all. Imagine how bad it would be if there were bombs dropping on your houses? Imagine rationing and having loved ones conscripted into the army, fighting overseas, think about V1s (doodlebugs) and V2s, gas masks, air raid shelters. I just wish the media would shut up going on about fucking Vera Lynn, I wish the Queen hadn't used the phrase 'we'll meet again' in her address to the nation. Where are the barrage balloons? No! It's nothing like the Second World War! Get over it!

Don't forget to buy out all the toilet rolls from your local supermarket

Like everybody, I want things to go back to normal, I certainly don't want them to get worse. We must not forget, however, that things aren't as bad as we think they are; the media (both mainstream and 'social') is behind the panic. They LOVE the virus! They're ramping up the hysteria and we're all buying it. And don't you hate the way they throw in the cute home videos of people stuck indoors, singing and 'making the most of it'? It's cringeworthy. I can't stand the way television news reporters have been forced to perfect their 'serious faces', a constant frown as they speak as if they have a migraine.

The important thing to remember is this: it will end!

The important thing to remember is this: it will end, sooner or later; it's not THAT bad. I mean, think what it would be like if the virus was airborne and not simply transferable from human to human. I suppose it would be a little more like the blitz as the media could compare the virus with German Heinkels or Stukas. Imagine not being able to go out into the open air for fear of catching the damn thing, so it's really nothing to get overly concerned about and that's why it's not worth listening too much to the media. Fine for a bit of light entertainment watching Piers Morgan lose his rag with some politician or Emily Maitlis being annoyingly right about everything. Fine to sit there watching the press briefing having a competition with your nearest and dearest about when those behind the lecterns are actually going to address the questions asked, or laughing at the ignorance of the Scottish chief medical officer who, in my opinion, should have lost her rag and instead of saying sorry to the nation, tipped over said lectern and told everybody to fuck off. "I'm going back to my country retreat, you miserable fuckers, I don't need the money, so piss off!

COVID-19: It can be fatal, but in 80% of cases, expect only mild symptoms

And please, keep that Fergus Walsh away from me. I can't stand him. He's so smugly overly knowledgeable about everything COVID-19 and he too is enjoying every minute of the pandemic. All we need to know is that it can be fatal for some people and that it's best to self-distance when out and stay indoors as much as possible. End of.

All I can say is thank the Lord for Amazon Prime. I'm now embarking upon Season 3 of the X-Files having already watched Seasons 1 and 2 and on that front alone, I'm enjoying the lockdown.

There's going to be a pink moon tonight, don't miss it!

* Photos courtesy of Pixabay.com

Lockdown, Part Three: 'We're all doomed!'

There used to be a time when, occasionally, I had a strange feeling of being doomed. I could never quite put my finger on it, but it was there, nagging away at me, but never quite revealing itself. I would wrack my brains trying to find out what it was that was making me feel depressed and feeling like people tend to feel when they've had a great weekend and realise they've got to go back to work where there's loads to do, but I couldn't. It was hard, feeling downbeat and not really being able to say it was for this reason or that, sometimes it was just the notion that we're all mortal beings, the human condition basically, we're all going to die one way or another, and as a result everything seemed so pointless, we never really own anything, even our houses, everything is transient, here today, gone tomorrow and yes, it was (and always will be) depressing. But everybody feels this way at some time in their lives, possibly on a regular basis, I know I do. Not all the time. Most days I'm pretty upbeat about things, but not right now.

This time, of course, I know what's nagging at me. It's the same thing nagging at everybody. The coronavirus, lock down, uncertainty, curtailed freedoms, lovely weather but something wrong with the world: ignore that sunshine, ignore the blossoms on the trees (once a sign of hope as we pull out of winter and head for summer). Not any more. Everything is tinged with a sense of foreboding. It's all a little unreal, but at the same time real. It's as if the old days of fun and laughter have passed and now we have little to look forward to. I used to feel this way about Brexit and the Tories and Boris Johnson, but that was slightly different, all that leaving the EU, Donald Trump and what have you, almost a comedy, but the Coronavirus is a horror movie because it's Russian roulette. Yes, 80% only suffer mild symptoms, but who's to say I'm in the 80%? I might be one of the unlucky few who succumb to the disease and end up in the ExCeL Centre, better make that the Nightingale Hospital, but it'll always be an exhibition centre to me. In fact, with all the exhibitions I've been to, there would be a tragic irony to find myself there dying and wondering what exhibition stands had previously occupied my death space.

Today, Saturday 4th April 2020 and I escape the misery of coronavirus...

But I live in hope, of sorts. I've always believed in my own immortality, foolishly, perhaps. I like to think that by stocking up on zinc and selenium and cod liver oil, not to mention grapes and blueberries, porridge and everything else I stuff down my throat, I'll somehow survive whatever life throws at me.

Everything has been turned upside down and that includes the cycling. Andy and I are riding alone these days. No more tea at the bus stop, no more laughing about this and that, no more moaning about the European Union or the media or anything. We ride alone and that's a whole new dynamic. Nobody to share tea with, nobody to ride with, nobody to share the pain of the hills.

Today, much later than normal, I headed out for Botley Hill. It was a beautiful day and, probably because there have been no planes in the sky and virtually no cars on the road, the air was fresh, the hedgerows fragrant and the skies blue. In short, it was truly the most wonderful day and as I rode out of Warlingham and into the sticks I felt good. It was almost as if there was nothing to worry about, no virus, nothing, and it made me realise the freedom offered by the bicycle. I was cycling alone so I wasn't breaking any rules, despite what Chris Boardman was telling everybody on Twitter, something about staying local. Well, I suppose Botley Hill is local, it's a 14-mile round trip and it only takes around 27 minutes to get from The Ridge to my front door, which ain't bad. There were other riders on the road, mainly Lycra monkeys, but only groups of two and they were, of course, social distancing themselves from one another. But it could have been a normal day, a normal time without the virus and that's what I loved most about it. The bike offered me the freedom to be out and about and outside of the confines of the house. Not that being at home has been bad. As I've said before, the key is having a routine and now that I'm cycling daily, after work is done, I have a routine. That and watching the X Files, listening to music.

But I digress, let's get back to the ride. The daffodils were out, the sun was shining, the roads were relatively empty and as I headed back down the 269 a weight had been lifted off my shoulders: the weight of the coronavirus. The bike, I realised, was my ticket to ride, to break away and take in the fresh air. I was on cloud nine, so much so that I Facetimed Andy when I reached The Ridge. We chatted for a while and then said goodbye. Both of us are looking forward to normality, but when it's coming back is anybody's guess. 

Lockdown, Part One: How come China can bring the world to its knees?

Working from home isn't as bad as I thought it would be; the key is discipline. The official hours are 0800hrs to 1600hrs, which is not normally my bag, but because I don't have to commute any further than my conservatory - or 'lean to' as a colleague who has never seen the vast, brick-built extension on the back of my house called it - the whole thing is bearable. I break for lunch at 1300hrs and when I return to my desk an hour later I know I've only got two hours before I can sign off and do something else.

The UK is in a kind of lockdown. We're not allowed outside unless we're going shopping for essential items, travelling to work that can't be done at home or taking some exercise. I tend to go out for the latter (the exercise) but on Thursday I headed for the shops where the store I visit is operating a one in, one out policy. Everybody's walking around keeping their distance from people as if to say "Keep away from me, you disease-ridden pile of shit!"

And then there's that problem surrounding hand washing. When I get back home from the store I hump the bags into the hall and then wash my hands, but hold on, if I now unload the bags I'm going to have to wash my hands again as I'm not sure how long the virus hangs around, and what about touching the light switch? Doh! I've got to wash them again. And what if I then to decide to open a loaf of bread and make a peanut butter sandwich? Doh! I've got to wash them again! And on and on it goes.

Not everybody's cup of tea, but I love them!

Around 1730 every day of this week except Monday I head out on what I call 'the hill ride'. It's a six-mile jaunt around suburban streets on the Rockhopper, but it's like a roller coaster: an initial climb and then a refreshing down-hill roller that keeps up the momentum until I'm half way around Ridge Langley. The bike banks over left like a Pendolino before reaching another incline and slowing down. I stand on the pedals to get me over the hill, but there's more to come as I turn right out of Ridge Langley and head uphill again. I ride two laps and then home for dinner.

Once dinner is over I settle down for the evening. I'm currently wading through Season 1 and 2 of the old X Files, watching two or three episodes every night accompanied by a Spiced Apple & Vanilla with Camomile and Passion Flowers tea. Yes, I know, it sounds a bit airy fairy, but for some time now I've enjoyed these teas and this particular variety, part of Twining's Sleep range, although I'm guessing it's the only variety in the Sleep range, is rather nice. The worse thing about fruit/herbal teas is that they smell better than they taste, but I've got used to them.

Invariably, I fall asleep, normally at the start of the third episode of the X Files and nothing to do with the programme as I love the X Files. When I wake up (I've normally been asleep for about 10 minutes or so) I lock up the house and go to bed, listening to LBC, and then the whole process starts again, except for today, which is Saturday, the end of week one of being at home. During the week people were encouraged to stand on their doorsteps clapping for the NHS, but I felt it was a bad idea as I didn't want to stand there clapping and looking like a cock. I still appreciate their efforts.

Andy and I have decided not to ride out together today or for the foreseeable future because of the lockdown. The rule is that you can go out with a family member, but if you meet a stranger en route you have to keep your distance. So we're thinking about riding alone to a specific destination where there's more than one bench, choosing a bench and staying apart, although we'll still be able to chat and drink tea. But not this week. Today it will be the hill ride for me and tomorrow, well, I'm not sure yet. Perhaps a ride to the churchyard. There's door painting to be done, but there's no rides to National Trust properties, no teashops or cafes, no walks along the beach, no idle drives into the Sussex countryside, no coffee and walnut cake, so thanks for that, China.

I've eaten porridge with bananas, blueberries and black grapes, had a slice of bread with peanut butter and an Earl Grey tea without milk. I'm sitting at the dining table with my laptop and it's a wonderful day for a ride. Had these been normal times, Andy and I would have been at the Tatsfield Churchyard by now, sipping tea and chatting about nothing in particular, just enjoying the vibe and watching out for a Spitfire that flies out of Biggin Hill alongside a light aircraft. They mosey around for a while and then I'd imagine they head back to base and that's normally when we pack up our stuff and head home along Clarks Lane, part company at The Ridge and say something like, "Same time tomorrow?" But that's all gone, for now, and the whole thing is annoying, depressing and, to a degree, angering.

What bugs me is this: how can China be allowed to bring the world to its knees like this? And why is the UK still allowing in flights from Beijing? How come nobody's talking about that? It looks as if the UK is being run by the Chuckle Brothers (Matt 'Jiminy Cricket' Hancock and that buffoon Boris Johnson). They're expelling a lot of hot air telling us all to practise social distancing, but then we hear that Boris and Jiminy have contracted the virus. Buffoon had been going around boasting about shaking the hands of people with Corona Virus. He might as well have made videos of himself licking toilet bowls and then posted them on Facebook. What a cock! Seriously. What a cock! And now he has the virus and I feel like uttering those immortal words of Michael Douglas in the movie Falling Down when he runs on to the golf course carrying his holdall full of guns or the rocket launcher, I can't remember which, and says to the pompous golfer suffering a heart attack, who had tried to hit him with a golf ball, "And now you're going to die, wearing that silly little hat".

Two rides to the Tatsfield Bus Stop...

Great weather! It's now light when I get up and light when I go out, so there's no need for (ahem) lights.

Vintage cars gather at the Botley on Saturday

We met at the green, as always, and headed, the slow way, for the Tatsfield Bus Stop. We didn't see that many Lycra monkeys and this was probably because of the (yawn!) Corona virus. I'm bored of it already, but I'd better get used to it as we now live in a one-news-story nation where the media simply focuses on one thing. For the last four years, it's been Brexit, and now it's the Corona virus. We reached the bus stop, drank some tea, moaned about the virus - why is it that we are being told that most people will only experience mild symptoms and yet the whole country is being shut down?  - and then we headed for home.

As I passed the Botley Hill pub I stopped to take a photograph of what looked like the beginning of a vintage car get-together. My phone (as always) was low on power and I didn't think this shot (above) had been taken, but it had.

Sunday was a carbon copy of Saturday, but I think the weather was slightly better. We sat at the bus stop chatting about the virus (again) and now I'm home, sitting in the living room, it's 1634hrs and the BBC news channel is on. Guess what they're talking about? Yes, you're right, the Coronavirus. We're all waiting for Bojo to put on his 'concerned look' (well-practiced frown) and address the nation. As I write this, he's probably looking into a mirror back stage and trying to get it right.

"Shut up, Dom! Don't make me laugh!"
"Did you get it, though?"
"Of course I got it! Have you seen the mess that snails make".
"You don't get it, do you?"
"Yes I do, now stop making me laugh!"
"Come on, Boris, you've perfected it, you're the great con artist remember, don't worry."
"I'm not worried. I'm more concerned about remembering your silly joke."
"Comb your hair!"

Voice of BBC producer.

"Prime Minister, we're ready for you..."

Johnson will be flanked by who? Probably the chief medical officer and the chief scientific officer.

In total we probably covered around 34 miles over the weekend.