This and that...

At the Lookout Cafe, Biggin Hill, Kent

Last week I rode 60 miles, two 21-milers and 18 miles during the week, not bad going, I thought. The two longer rides were both to Biggin Hill, which is a funny old place. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's certainly the home of 'white van man' and there are plenty of England flags on lamposts, but that's not really it, there's something else and whatever it is, it depresses me, it always has. Riding up Sunningvale Road was tough, easily the steepest hill I've climbed. On the first take, I lost momentum because the gears weren't lined up properly. In other words I was in the wrong gear and had to dismount and start again. At one point the chain came off on the first ride, but I was a little more prepared on the second ride and managed to get all the way to the top even if I was half dead when I got there. I cycled across the road to the Lookout Cafe, which was right on the airport, almost on the tarmac. Next door there was a flying school and no, I didn't even think about it. 

The Lookout cafe is ok but again, it lacks something, there's no atmosphere, but the place itself is good, there's a decent menu, you can order toasted crumpets, for example, there are plenty of cakes too, but I'd advise you not to have the 'farmhouse fruit cake', its far too greasy and left a greasy residue on my plate. I ordered it on the first trip out and left half of it, but on the second trip I bought a London cheesecake and I love London cheesecakes. When I was a kid I referred to London cheesecakes as 'whisker cakes' because of the shredded icing on top. They remind me of being a kid and they are really good cakes, but I was glad, after eating it, that I had a good 10 miles of riding to do. You need something to burn the calories after eating a 'whisker cake'.

On my first trip to the Lookout, it was packed and I couldn't figure out why the people were there: were they going to have flying lessons, were they flying off somewhere, were they airplane spotting or, like me, were they just there for the cake and the tea? Without asking them, there was no way of knowing. 

Light aircraft behind barbed wire at Biggin Hill, Kent...

On the second trip, I met Andy. It was his idea that we visit the Lookout and I'm glad we did as the ride to Biggin Hill, especially coming up Sunningvale Road, made the trip a proper work-out even if Sunningdale was the most punishing hill I'd ever climbed, even more of an ordeal than White Hill Lane on the way home from Redhill to my house. I think if I go back at the weekend, which I might, there's a strong chance I'll go up Stock Hill (or is it Stocks Hill?) as, for some reason it's psychologically better for me; I get this way sometimes, it's a bit the ride to Godstone when we go through the golf course, there's a bit I simply don't like and I can't put my finger on why, it just depresses me in some way. While Stocks Hill is fine, Sunningvale isn't and there's no rhyme nor reason for it.

I like a decent cafe, mainly because I like to sit there reading a book and sipping a mug of tea. The pastry or the cake is a bridge too far and I always feel disappointed in myself if I weaken, which I often do, especially if I find myself in Coughlans in Oxted, all those delicious-looking cakes staring at me, it's hard not to order one. But that's because I'm weak, I can't leave them alone however much I try and believe me I try, but not hard enough. I tend not to eat cake in Sheree's in Tatsfield, where a cup of tea will suffice, but everywhere else I'm tempted.

I try not to eat cake but last week I enjoyed a carrot cake in Busy Beans in Redhill. At least it's a carrot cake that has real carrots in it, I don't think carrot cakes elsewhere are like that; and yet, oddly, it's the thought of a cake with carrots in it that puts me off carrot cake. There's a big difference between cakes and pastries and normally, if I'm sitting in Caffe Nero in Oxted, I order the apricot croissant, sometimes an almond croissant, but in all honesty, the best place for the latter is Coco & Nut in Sanderstead, it's the filling, it's to die for. In Coughlans I often opt for the Bakewell tart and elsewhere anything goes unless I'm in Costa where I'm tempted to eat their rather processed version of the Bakewell tart. For me, the biggest sin is the millionaire's shortbread. Whenever I have one I regret it in the same way that I regret ordering tiramisu for dessert in a restaurant. Where eating is concerned I tend to regret a lot. The other day I found myself in the village of Graffham in West Sussex, I'd driven out of nearby Petworth and found a general store. In I went and found that they offered food. I ordered a sausage sandwich, another mistake and even more so when they fill the thing with half a dozen sausages sliced in half long ways. I munched my way through layers of sliced sausage, enjoying every bit of it but also regretting it. I've kind of given up on being frugal with food and this has been going on since the pandemic, although I'm getting better. We tend to eat well and by that I don't mean we stuff our faces. The food in our house is light and healthy and my breakfasts are always on the money: porridge with cacao powder and milled flaxseeds, a few grapes and a segmented orange. If I'm going to let myself down it's at lunch time. Normally, if I take sandwiches (egg, or egg and avocado or turkey slices off the bone with mustard pickle) I might wander over to Busy Beans and order a tea and a slice of their aforementioned carrot cake. In fact, of late, they've added a coffee and walnut cake, which is pleasant. 

This week I haven't been on the bike as much as last week. Sometimes I just don't feel motivated enough, it's weird. Last week I was up for it every night after work, Wednesday through Friday, and then the aforementioned Biggin Hill rides. I think it was the weather. There was spring sunshine and it put a spring in my step too. This week I did nothing. Tomorrow will be my first ride, probably Oxted or Westerham depending on how I'm feeling, or the non-stop ride, who knows? Not me. Not yet at any rate, it all depends on tomorrow.

Work has been a bit stressful of late, so I took a half day today and went into town, Battersea Power Station to be precise. I bought a pair of trainers and what a palaver it was too. Not today so much as I'd learned my lesson from the previous weekend, the weekend when my week totted up to 60 miles of riding. 

I hate buying clothes and shoes

I don't know about you, but I really don't like buying clothes, that's probably why I always end up walking out of the store with the wrong-sized trousers or shoes that should be bigger or smaller than what I bought. I always look a bit of a mess. Last week I drove to Bluewater to look for a decent pair of trainers. It all started three years ago when I purchased (from Clarks) a pair of ATL boots made with Gore Tex. They were great and, give or take, I wore them every day for around three years. Recently, I noticed that they were starting to wear through so I figured it was time to go looking for a new pair of shoes. What I really wanted was the same pair of ATLs that I was replacing, but Clarks no longer sold them and it was impossible to get them anywhere else. The key to the ATL's success was the soles, especially the upturned bit at the heel, but it was all academic, Clarks didn't sell them and nor did anybody else. So, I figured a decent pair of trainers would be the next best thing, something understated enough for use at work. But would a pair of trainers do the job? Would I be wearing them for the next three years, daily? I thought not, but I decided to take the gamble and give it a go; it was just a case of getting out there and buying the right pair. Fine, you might think. I know my size (size 44) so it should be a doddle. But no, it wasn't. For a start, when I tried on a size 44 it didn't fit. Why? That's my size! But no, I'd have to try on a half-size bigger. Fine, so I'm 10.5, not 10, when it comes to trainers. I found myself in a shop called Snow and Ice and, for the first time ever, I found the best salesperson... IN THE WORLD! She said she had my interests at heart. Yeah, right, but ultimately, I think she did. She scanned my feet and to my surprise I wasn't a size 10 (44), I was, according to the machine, a size 9! That simply can't be true. If I try on a size 44 and they're too small, I'm definitely not a size 9. In fact I know I'm not a 9 (43) because none of the shoes I have ever worn were size 9, my feet are too big for a size 9, end of. And now it looks as if I'm not a size 10 either, I'm a size 10.5, when it comes to trainers at any rate. My brain was frazzled by the end of the day, probably because of all that cycling, and I left Bluewater with nothing. All I knew was that if I wanted a pair of trainers I was a half-size up on my normal shoe size. I am now, a week later, the proud owner of a pair of Adidas trainers, they're black and they're Gore Tex but whether they last as long as those ATLs, well, I'm sceptical. But think about it for a minute. I have my feet scanned and they tell me I'm a size 9, not 10, which ain't true. I'll say no more. 

After one ride to Biggin Hill and a drive to and from Bluewater, not forgetting the wandering around trying to find a decent pair of trainers, I think I tired myself out if I'm honest with you; I felt so weary. The thing is, I can't do everything, I'm not Superman. I rode 60 miles on the bike, drove all the way to Bluewater shopping centre and then, when I got back I lifted sections of a rotten tree trunk into the back of the car and took them to the dump. I was knackered basically. This week my workload has been less and that makes me more likely to get out on the bike. The trick is to be motivated enough to go early and not to forget things and have to come back, that's always very annoying, but it happens to me a lot, mainly because I've always got loads of things on my mind. I often leave without my rucksack, which I need if I ride the Kona as it doesn't have a crossbar bag in which to carry a pump and puncture equipment. The problem, of course, is if I take the rucksack with pumps and puncture kit one week because I'm on the Kona, I then take the other bike out the following week and forget that I don't have a pump or puncture gear in the crossbar bag. Sometimes I go back for it; most days I do, but sometimes I don't realise until it's too late and I end up gambling. Yes, there's a good chance I won't get a puncture, but if I do and I'm miles away from home and nowhere near a railway station then I'll have to walk and believe me, it takes forever, pushing a bike 10 miles takes hours which in turn ruins/wastes the day. So I have to get my shit together or at least remember what's where and when: if the Kona's coming out to play I need to take the rucksack with all the gear in it; if it's not and I use the Rockhopper then I must ensure that the pump and other stuff is in the crossbar bag. I often put a beanie hat on and then forget to put on my crash helmut. Whenever this happens I return to get it unless I've gone too far before I realise and then I just carry on (it's rare that that happens).

It's nice going shopping during the week when there's nobody around, less people, no queuing for the toilet, the restaurants have vacant seats and so do the trains unless you leave it until rush hour. Because we were all too tired to cook I went out and bought a few things (pasta, a vegetable samosa and other stuff that would be needed during the week). I bought a tin of Nutella. I'm sure it's not that good for you but if I'm determined to take a sandwich to work (and save money) sometimes it's good to have something like Nutella hanging around as it's easy to spread and I'm good to go. The downside is that it's great and that means it's addictive and even now I'm thinking about a Nutella sandwich, but I think I can resist.

I'm obsessed with Pellegrino sparkling mineral water, I could drink it all day and all night. I normally have a glass first thing in the morning with my breakfast and then another when I get home from work. I've always liked sparkling water. I remember drinking a lot of Badoit back in the day and now that I don't drink alcohol, it's been over eight years, it's a drink I can enjoy both inside and outside the house. Incidentally, on the not drinking thing, I don't miss it, never have, not once, and I'll never ever go back to beer or wine or anything. It is a poison, remember, and poisons don't do anybody any good. I just don't need it anymore, that's the key thing. I gave up overnight back in October 2017 and I haven't touched a drop since. In that way I have great willpower, but when I think about it, I didn't need willpower, I just stopped and never went back. It's one of the best things I've ever done outside of marrying my wife and having a son and a daughter. I often wish I'd stopped earlier, I'd have probably been a better person, who knows? Was I such a bad person? No, I wasn't. A bit boisterous on occasion, made a fool of myself here and there, got a bit of reputation, but now it's all gone, the whole damn lot of it. No hangovers, not many late nights, and I suppose that makes me a more sensible person. 

It's almost 2100hrs, 9 o'clock in old money, and I'm going to be moving to the conservatory to read. I've got two books on the go at present: Charles Bukowski's Ham on Rye (what a brilliant book!) and Geddy Lee's My Effin Life, also an absolutely brilliant book. I'm really obsessed with Rush at the moment. I've been watching interviews on YouTube, I know all about them touring the UK next year (I'm guessing they'll be at Glastonbury and if they are, I'd be tempted to go). Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson are great people, I envy their friendship and I like the fact that they're not rock and roll casuaautiful Booklties. One of these days I'm planning a post dedicated to them. I really want to buy Geddy's  Big Beautiful Book of Bass, it's a coffee table book and I must get it soon. Geddy Lee is a collector, he collects bass guitars and baseballs and he is the lead vocalist and bassist for Rush and they're a great band, enriched by Geddy and Alex's friendship. I won't go on now, I want to write something a little more meaningful and that takes time. Right now I'm too tired and I need to be in the conservatory reading, it's a new routine. Normally I don't read that much at home, I leave it for train journeys, plane journeys and sitting in cafes (my favourite place to read and write). I'm going now, see you again soon I hope.

Boxing day ride...

Riding on Boxing Day has been a tradition ever since this blog was established back in 2009. We've missed a few here and there, but it's always on our radar; sometimes we ride on the 27th December, or possibly later, and yes, sometimes we don't go at all, but it's always there, always discussed and invariably we aim to do it. Yesterday was Boxing Day and while we might have visited Sheree's Tearooms in Tatsfield Village, the place is always closed the day after Christmas so we have to find somewhere else. Back in the day it would have been an open air location, like Woodmansterne Green or the Tatsfield Bus Stop or churchyard, but since the pandemic we've been hiding out in coffee shops and there's no going back. That said, last week (last Saturday) I rode to Oxted and the Nero was packed so I had to sit outside. Fortunately, the weather was fine otherwise I would have decamped to Starbucks or Costa.

Inside Westerham's Esquire's coffee shop, Boxing Day 2025

We decided to ride to Westerham and visit Esquire's Coffee, a franchised operation diagonally across the road from the Costa and, I must say, a million times better. First, it isn't a chain operation, but second it's just better. I can get fed up with Costa, the tea seems to get cold quickly, you don't get more than one cup of tea from the pot and, well, a change is as good as a rest. I like it when the tea pot arrives with another pot of hot water to add to the teapot and make another cup or two, but these days it's not offered. I might start bringing a small flask and adding my own, wonder what they'd say to that?

The weather was fine, warmer than yesterday and, of course, dry, which means ideal cycling weather. The plan was to meet at 1000hrs so I left the house around 0900hrs, probably something like 0915hrs, and hoofed it. Surprisingly, I did it in under one hour, my record for this was set many years ago (52 minutes) but yesterday I managed 55 minutes or thereabouts. I padlocked the bike to some railings across the road, outside the barbers, and then checked my texts. Andy was running late (Garmin and hill issues) so I ordered a tea and sat there on a leather sofa (it probably wasn't real leather) and enjoyed a cup of tea, not in a paper cup as is often the case in Costa, although, as I've probably said before, if you order a large tea in a takeaway cup you get more than if you insist on a pot (or it seems that way) and the tea stays warmer for longer in the insulated cup.

When Andy arrived he bought me another tea and we sat there chilling and talking about what we did the day before (Christmas day). For both of us, it was a family affair and most enjoyable. The television hasn't been brilliant (it seems to be getting worse!) but there are good things if you look for them and steer clear of quiz shows and British celebrities. Mark Gatiss ghost stories are fantastic and can be found on the BBC iplayer if you missed them, there's quite a few of them. I watched a couple. I caught the tail end of The Great Escape (a festive classic!) and a couple of Nick Park animations (both Wallace & Gromit) and there was something good on Netflix, Retreat, starring Cillian Murphy, which kept us occupied. I'll admit that I find more entertainment these days on YouTube especially from the likes of Nomad Sam, Kyle Pidduck, Outdoor Boy, Simon Wilson, Tobe Explores, Homeless Kiwi in London and others (depending upon your own preferences), but YouTube stuff is over in the blink of an eye, there's nothing to 'get into' unless you watch a succession of short videos in one sitting, but these days it's difficult finding anything worth watching apart from the news and that can be tiresome, it often leaves me with more questions than answers, like why are we doing away with trial by jury? Why do we need digital (or any) ID cards? Why is the Royal Family and the rich above the law? Why can't we do more for the homeless, like housing them in four-star hotels?  What exactly is Trump up to in Nigeria? Why can't Putin get the hell out of Ukraine?

It's 27 December, the day after Boxing Day and the dilution of Christmas is well underway, or perhaps it's just started. Soon it will be the day after the day after Christmas Day and thoughts will turn to New Year's Eve (in my opinion, the most depressing day of the entire year). I say it often but both Christmas and New Year are a huge anti-climax. People shop around in the weeks leading up to 'the big day' as if their lives depended on it, shops are packed with people buying in food supplies as if the Government is planning to cut off our heating and power and leave us all with night lights and fires made in the middle of the living room using broken-up furniture; and then, the big day arrives, we have lunch round somebody's house (or our own) and then we're back home and it's all over until next year. New Year is the same but in a different way, there's that awful countdown programme on television, there's the fireworks and what have you, but then you wake up in the morning, on January 1st, only to realise that nothing has changed and everything is how you left it. Back to work, guys, as DJ Audits on YouTube might say. 

Last week's ride (to Westerham)...

Last week, that is the weekend of 21st and 22nd September, I rode to Westerham following the usual route and when I got there I parked up outside of Costa with a view to enjoying a large English Breakfast tea sitting outside in the sunshine. Having parked up, a man sitting outside advised me to lock up the bike as somebody had their bike stolen last week. He blamed local kids and pointed towards the church indicating where he thought the kids were coming from, not the church, of course, but the houses beyond the church. He might be wrong, he might be right, who am I to suggest either way? So I padlocked the bike outside Costa and went inside...only to discover a huge queue of people ordering, no doubt, complicated drinks. "Can I have two soya latte's with coconut powder sprinkled on top, plus two flat whites with semi-skimmed milk, a cappuccino, made with soya milk and sprinkled with chocolate..." so I left and wandered down to a place I hadn't visited for some time, the Tudor Rose tea rooms. While tempted by the cakes, especially an iced cherry Bakewell tart, I resisted and just ordered a pot of tea. I sat by the window looking out at my bike through the leaded panes and just chilled, knowing, however, that soon I'd have to be on my way, back to Sanderstead some 11 or so miles uphill, but no matter, that's what it's all about, I cycle somewhere and I have to cycle back. 

Tea in the Tudor Rose, Westerham

Talking of the ride back, I rode past the antique shop and then past the Velobarn (which has never appealed) and along Pilgrims Lane. I managed to get home in an hour, not bad going and then, after doing a bit of shovelling in the back garden, levelling out the detritus left by the fir tree we took out on 16 September, I crashed on the sofa. But then I realised there was no margarine or butter or whatever you call it and promptly got up, jumped in the car and drove to the supermarket to buy some. I really needed a shower after the ride and I noticed how sweaty I was once in the car. I rolled down the windows not wanting to leave the car stinking of sweat and resolved to roll them up again later on, but then I crashed again on the sofa and completely forgot. During the night there was heavy rain and the car was full of rainwater, there were even two puddles of water on the floors in the back and all the seats were wet through. Not nice. We managed to get the water out of the back and did our best to dry things out, but there was an unbearable smell of rancid carpets left behind. Annoying as we were driving to the Cotswolds. We had to place towels and plastic bags and God knows what else on all the seats to protect us from the damp but there was no protection against the stench of rancid carpets. Fortunately, we soon got used to it and all was well and now, a week later, after giving the car a good airing and taking it for one of those hand car washes, all is well with the car too. I, however, am kicking myself for letting such a thing happen. I should have rolled the windows up after getting back from the store, but I didn't and then, having made myself comfortable on the sofa I fell asleep and that was that. Very, very annoying and I hate myself for allowing such a state of affairs to have happened. But happen it did and that's all I can say about it. Fortunately, all is now well and I have resolved never to do such a thing again.

That bloke in the white shirt advised me to lock up the bike

Two great rides...to Westerham and Oxted

I've been meaning to ride to Westerham for some time and now I've done it. I had, however, intended to leave the house at 0700hrs, like in the good old days, but didn't get on the road until around 0830hrs. The weather was good. In fact, I was definitely over-dressed with a fleece and a high-viz top I'd bought for a bargain in one of those 'outdoor' shops in Redhill, £23 reduced from £60! Not a bad deal.

Bike with puncture, Costa Westerham

I followed the route of old, up the 269, turning left just past Botley Hill and heading down Clarks Lane, except that instead of simply following the road around and into Westerham I turned left on to Pilgrim's Lane and headed for the Velo Barn. I'll admit that it was on my mind to go there instead but there were so many people arriving from various cycling clubs that I pushed on into the town... and discovered that I had a puncture, the first one in simply ages. Fortunately, it was a front wheel puncture and not a rear wheel affair. The bike limped into Westerham and I parked up outside of Costa and went inside to order a large English Breakfast tea. I took it outside and sat next to the bike. The tyre had completely flattened and it was just a matter of time before I set about fixing it. The weather was amazing, bright sunshine and I spent an inordinate amount of time simply sipping tea and people watching until the moment arrived: I stood up, wheeled the bike to a spot where I had room to turn it upside and begin the boring job of fixing it.

God knows why but I discovered that I didn't have any tyre levers and felt even more deflated than my front tyre. I thought long and hard. Should I go into the Costa and ask for a teaspoon? Should I wander around the stalls of a summer fayre that had been erected on the green and ask somebody for something that might do the job, or...do I ask a fellow cyclist. I chose the latter option and was handed a tyre lever. The guy in question was going in for a coffee, he'd cycled from West Wickham and had been down in Sevenoaks. We chewed the fat about the various hills nearby, like Titsey Hill and White Lane and I think he was fairly impressed by the fact that I was able to do them both with relative ease.

Outside of Caffe Nero in Oxted on Sunday morning...

I fixed the puncture, handed back the tyre lever and headed for home via the antiques shop en route. In side I spotted two amazing-looking picnic sets from the 1950s, like something out of Enid Blyton, and a vintage hose reel, a little rusty, perhaps, but then rusty stuff is all the rage in gardens these days. I wandered deeper into the shop and spotted a 1930s policeman's bicycle, reduced from £450 to just £250. Quite a bargain. I even spotted a Tracey Island toy. 

The tree in all its glory...

The ride back was par for the course and on Sunday I rode to Oxted, going down White Lane instead of Titsey Hill. I stopped at Caffe Nero and ordered a pain aux raisin and a cappuccino and again sat outside people watching until it was time to go. My route home avoided riding up Titsey Hill which I simply wasn't in the mood for; instead I road along Pilgrim's Lane to Rectory Lane and then rode up the hill. In all honesty, the exertion was the same and I should have simply rode up the hill like I normally do. I sped down the 269, along the Limpsfield Road and home and then went out and bought a mower. 

I write this on Monday 16th September. I'm taking the week off, but today is a sad day as our tree in the back garden is coming down. We don't particularly want it to be felled but it's going to be. I really don't like taking out trees. In fact, I've never done it before but our tree is getting out of control and it can't really be trimmed. There are plenty of problems all to do with lack of sunlight, not so much in other people's gardens (or ours) but the tree is sapping the energy of everything in its vicinity; and while it's not a big deal in our garden either, the tree has expanded sideways, it's making the grass mossy and is simply has to go. It's sad.

It's now 1033hrs and all the greenery is off of the tree, the actual greenery was only a few inches in depth meaning that had we trimmed it, the tree would be brown and, we're told, would never green-up again, so it had to come down. Right now it looks like a huge magic mushroom leaning slightly to the right from where we can see it from the house. There's three guys doing the job and I have to say that I wouldn't mind being a tree surgeon. In fact, when I was a kid I used to want to be a tree surgeon. Why, I don't know, but there used to be a company called Pennell ('the tree people') and they must have been fairly active around where I lived in Carshalton, hence my desire to be a tree surgeon. It's actually quite a cool job, you spend all your time in the fresh air, up a tree with a chain saw, I love it! And it's quite cool to be able to say, if asked, that you're a tree surgeon. You could possibly start off just saying you're a surgeon and then adding the tree bit later, but hey, I love the idea of being a tree surgeon, I'd hate to be a medical surgeon.

The tree at 1047hrs on 16th September.

Any way, it's had to come down, more's the pity, but that's the way of the world, it's not down yet, but that'll be the next part of the job. They're having coffees and Jaffa Cakes at this present time, but work will resume shortly. It's 1041 and work has restarted.

It won't be long before all trace of the tree is gone; it's been part of the house for many years and we've really enjoyed it's company. We've watched it grow and we loved it and we still do but there comes a time when things have to be done and that's about all I can say. I'm now looking at rhododendrens and possibly even another tree, one that won't grown so high, but let's see. 

Yesterday I bought a new mower, it arrives on Thursday and the grass will need a jolly good cut after that, then we'll start looking at how we can improve the space vacated by the tree.

I wasn't expecting the garden to look very good after the tree came down and I was expecting to be exposed to all the neighbours in the next street, but no, thanks to other shrubs and bushes behind the tree we took down, it looked okay. In fact, it looked great. The garden was sunnier than before and there were no big shadows cast across the lawn that were there before. So, in reality, while we all thought it was going to be a mistake, it wasn't, and we're definitely going to make the area look better with a few new shrubs and bushes, but, as I say, all is fine and, when all is said and done, the tree should have come down a long time ago. Look, I hate taking trees out and I'm hoping I can put one back in now that I've actually had one removed. I'll leave it there for now, actually, I'll simply leave it there, it's done, it's dusted, the tree won't be coming back and on one level, yes, it's sad, but on another level we can fix the grass, the neighbour's happy and we're happy.

Two rides...one non-stop, the other to Oxted

For some time now I've been conscious that my blogging frequency has nose-dived. There's no reason really, it just slowed to a virtual stop and only came alive when I travelled somewhere. Perhaps there simply wasn't a great deal to say about cycling. I ride the same routes, they're all pretty much the same every week and I just no longer saw the point of writing about them. I am, of course, wrong, so today, Monday morning (not, perhaps, the best time to be writing a blogpost) I've decided to come back. The aim? To write at least one post per week.

This week I managed two rides. The first, on Saturday, was a non-stop excursion to Botley Hill along the 269 but taking Beech Farm Road on the return ride, diving into Washpond Lane and basically avoiding what I consider a dangerous bit of the 269. Besides, I feel better when I'm off the beaten track and not at the mercy of some of the nutters that populate that rather dangerous stretch of road from Beech Farm Road down towards Warlingham Sainsbury's.

Last week, Caffe Nero, Oxted...

I left late, wondering why all the discipline has gone. It used to be up with the lark (it still is) but then leaving the house at 0700hrs to meet Andy on the green at 0730hrs, but no more, the pandemic changed the way we rode and we started meeting at the destination, which was invariably a Costa or a teashop of some description. Lately, we've been meeting a lot in Sheree's in Tatsfield village. Today, however, was a non-stop ride, no teashops, just constant pedalling from the moment I left the house to the moment I returned.

On the outward ride I was constantly changing my destination in my head. I considered riding to Sheree's in Tatsfield village. I wondered whether I should head towards Westerham having not been there for some time, or whether I should go to Oxted, get a haircut. Biggin Hill sprung to mind as did a simple Washpond Weeble; and there were others, like the Slines Oak Slogger or the route that takes me to Botley and then into Woldingham and home. But no, I settled on riding to Botley and then back along the 269 to Beech Farm Road, then along Washpond Lane, Ledgers Road, Church Lane and back up towards Warlingham Sainsbury's where I turn right on the roundabout and head home along the Limpsfield Road. It was a good ride.

On Sunday it was Oxted, although again I was changing my route constantly, thinking again about Westerham and Tatsfield Village. I even considered the Tatsfield Churchyard as the weather was good, but I didn't have any tea with me so I rode to Oxted where a choice of coffee shops awaited me. Foolishly I went to Costa, which was annoying on many fronts, mainly because it was on the shady side of the street. I should have gone to Caffe Nero and ordered a green tea and an apricot croissant as I will in future because there's nothing nicer than sitting outside that Nero in the sunshine for a half an hour or so before the ride back, which involves Titsey Hill. I always dread Titsey Hill and often consider alternatives like riding into Westerham and then up the more sedate hill to Botley before rejoining the 269, a road that always features on my rides unless I cycle over to mum's, which I also considered but turned down.

I sat outside the Oxted Costa with a large tea and a Bakewell tart watching passers-by and generally chilling out, but with the thought of the ride home nagging me. When I eventually left town and rode towards the hill I started working out alternatives but then started saying to myself "no, you can do it, take the hill, don't butt out just do it". And do it I did. Nothing's ever as bad as you think it is. I rode down the 269 but didn't turn on Beech Farm and soon I was on the Limpsfield Road heading home, getting there around 1230hrs. After lunch I mowed the lawn and then drove over to mum's.

I escaped the rain

At first I dawdled. I wanted to leave at 0800hrs, or did I? I'd already looked outside and the scene that greeted me was one that said it was going to rain, even if the iphone weather app said no rain until around 1600hrs. I decided to put my faith in the phone, it had been right before and I was sure it wouldn't let me down. But where to go? A short ride was mooted, a Washpond Weeble, no tea, no stopping, just constant ride in the gloom. No, surely not, there has to be more to life than a non-stop ride to nowhere. Oxted was always on the cards, but the two people I'd hoped might be there both butted out. Not a problem. 

Costa Biggin Hill...very pleasant

When I'm riding alone or not meeting anybody it means just one thing: greater freedom. I could leave the house when I wanted to and that helped in a way. I set off with no fixed idea as to where my final destination would be, but I had started thinking about Biggin Hill. Now there's a place I hadn't been to for a long while. I had fleeting memories of the place, the modern houses that were seemingly stacked on top of one another, the Spitfire Cafe, Stocks Hill, Ozzie's Cafe where they only accept cash or are closed...so that's where I decided to go. Tatsfield and Biggin Hill are virtually joined at the hip. One second you're in Biggin Hill and then there's a sign that says 'Tatsfield'. 

On the outward route I rode along the 269 and headed for Tatsfield Village, the temptation there being Sheree's Tearoom, but it's poor value for money even if the surroundings on a decent day can be quite pleasant, what with the pond and that whole village green thing going on. But I bypassed it, heading down Lusted Hall Lane, which was far more twisty than I remembered - and a little precarious when cars are around, but soon I was there, in Biggin Hill, riding through the burbs, trying to get my bearings and soon I found Ozzie's, having forgotten they only accepted cash. I never carry cash and I wasn't going to start now. Imagine that, drawing out money from a cashpoint, say a tenner, and then just spending a couple of quid on a cup of tea and having eight quid of loose change in my pocket. 

My bike outside Costa in Westerham last Sunday...

Cash is dead money, it's already been debited from the bank account, it has to be spent when, of course, it never had to be before it was drawn. I know, silly argument, but it's the way I think, so I circled back on myself and headed up the arduous Stocks Hill, right to the top and then a right turn and a slalom on the pavement to avoid pedestrians. I was looking for the Costa. I knew it was there and I knew it was at the far end of the High Street. I passed the Spitfire Cafe and it was closed, which was good as the cup of tea you get in there is a small mug. I wanted the large Costa English Breakfast in a takeaway mug, because you get more in the takeaway cup than you do in the pot and the tea stays warmer for longer. I did consider a Millionaire's Shortbread but it was £2.50, just like the tea. In fact, it might have been £2.60 and I didn't feel that was particularly good value for money either, so just a tea. 

Andy's New forks...love them!

I sat outside underneath the gloomy skies, which got gloomier as time passed and soon a fine drizzle began to fall and it might as well have been October, not July. Suddenly everything was extremely depressing. I was sitting under an awning so I wasn't getting wet. I just sat there watching the rain fall and thinking about the inevitable ride back. The vibe was bad, there was nothing to look forward to other than a soaking, or that's what I was thinking. My bike was padlocked a little way from the Costa but I could still see it. A few women went past with dogs, well one woman. There was a couple sitting close by with a small dog and they eventually upped and left and then a thick set man with a bushy beard sat on an adjacent table drinking coffee. Not sure what he ordered but I think it was an espresso. When the woman with the dog walked by he asked if it was okay to stroke the dog, she said yes, but don't be upset if he doesn't want you to stroke him. Fair enough, and the dog seemed a little indifferent to the man. A man with a tattoo on his upper right arm walked by with his daughter and soon it was time for me to consider the ride back. 

The rain continued but it was fine, very fine, like one of those sprays you might use on delicate flowers. I unpadlocked the bike and headed off back down the high street, gliding down Stocks Hill, bearing left and finding my way to something like Ricketts Hill or Ricketts Road, which was a long and arduous hill but not anyway near as hefty as going back up Lusted Hall Lane. I always seem to meet women when I'm climbing hills on the bike and they always have something to say, like "Not far to go, you're almost there!" And I always respond in kind and then carry on up to the top. She was right, there wasn't far to go, but I always get into my stride on hills, I knuckle down if you like and just move forward without thinking. I'd gotten used to the rain and it was so light that I didn't really get soaked at all. In fact, the rain stopped and I reached home intact.

Near Rectory Lane on the return ride from Westerham recently

The rain all but stopped by the time I reached Tatsfield Village green and followed Approach Road out towards Clarks Lane where I turned right and headed for Botley Hill. Then it was just a straightforward jaunt along the 269, through Warlingham, into Sanderstead and home. The bike's been performing really well of late, especially the gears which have been changing up and down with ease. During the week I did two Norfolk Nobblers. I've been feeling so tired and weary and have been finding it hard to get my act together and ride the bike. It might be something to do with not eating a decent hot meal at lunch time. I've been living on sandwiches and to be honest it's been fine but I've noticed that I've been getting increasingly weary. 

Saving money by taking the bus home, not the train...

I've taken to getting the bus home and just buying a single ticket for the inward journey to work. This way I save £25 a week, although I've been spending the extra on tea and toast and mineral water, but it's still good. The bus means I have almost a two-mile walk from the bus stop to home and this is fairly pleasant, but when I get home the last thing I want to do is get on the bike... or rather that was the case on Tuesday when I did the first ride. As soon as I turned on to West Hill and an immediate incline I almost turned back, I was THAT tired, but I persevered and put in a time of around 38 minutes. Put it this way, I was glad when I reached home and logged the ride on Strava. But then, two days later, on Thursday, after having a hot meal at lunch time (chicken bap, apple pie and custard and two mugs of strong tea) I rolled with it and shaved around four to five minutes off my time. 

Having a hot meal at lunch time is good

The Nobbler is harder than you might think, it's like a roller coaster and if I put the effort in to it I really feel it is doing me some good. I've also been using a trim wheel that has been sitting in the garage for years, but I've brought it back into the house and have been doing around 25 reps or whatever it is they're called. It's supposed to be good for the core and the abs and stuff, but let's see.Right now it's Saturday night, it's 1936hrs and once again I'm watching the Editors at Glastonbury on the television (iplayer). They're such a good band. I'm now watching Alt-J, never listened to them before, but they sound very promising. Actually, I'm not sure they're my cup of tea, in fact I'm going to turn them off, I don't like the cut of their jib. I've switched to Pale Waves, an indie rock band from Manchester with a female singer, but they're not that good so I'm back watching the Editors again.

 

Heading home...

I awoke around 0600hrs. It was time to head home, but first breakfast. Alright, not a particularly healthy breakfast (cake, croissant, Coco Pops, ham and cheese rolls, a sugary fruit juice and a cappuccino) but I was accustomed to such fayre and was ready to head downstairs at just gone 0700hrs. I had set myself one challenge: to see if it was possible to get into the bathroom without activating the fan. I figured I would need to be on the floor, on my stomach, crawling along the ground like a commando, but it might be possible and, of course, I would need video evidence. I lay on the floor with a view to setting up my iphone video camera. The iphone needed to be placed against the wall and then I would proceed to crawl into the bathroom and hopefully the fan would remain silent. Well, the whole thing was a waste of time from the get go. As soon as I placed my iphone against the wall the fan activated itself, meaning that there's no way I would get in their without being 'noticed'. I gave up, there was no point. Was there ever any point?

Waiting for my cab outside the Villa Dragoni, Buttrio

A few more guests had arrived at the Villa Dragoni as there were now five cars parked outside and I heard people last night walking around on the wooden floors, coming up the stairs, going to their rooms. In fact, this morning I saw somebody leaving their room so I'm guessing it's almost a full house. There might be a function going on. One of the people I met at the conference told me she was married at the Villa Dragoni and perhaps things were being set up for the weekend. Today is Saturday and I should have been cycling to Oxted for a cup of coffee and a chill-out, but I can't because I'm still in Italy and I have a cab, a train, a bus and a plane to catch (and possibly another cab when I get the other end). But first, the cab from the Villa Dragoni to Udine railway station and a train to Venezia (that's Venice). I kept nodding off on the train but eventually alighted at Venezia Mestre just before noon. The area outside of the railway station left a lot to be desired. There were undesirables floating around, put it that way and the back streets were littered with graffiti and Chinese restaurants. I'd say this was the Chinese quarter, but that would far too grand a description.

Breakfast on my last morning...

I had two hours to fill before I needed to be at Marco Polo airport and the only real option was to find a cafe and sit there reading and eating. While it had been suggested that I check out Venice and the canals, once I'm locked in to 'getting home mode' anything else is added hassle; all that would happen is I'd miss my flight. So I pushed my luggage around the mildly dodgy streets around Venezia Mestre railway station looking for somewhere to eat. I settled upon the Bologna Hotel and sat in an empty restaurant until somebody presented me with a menu: spaghetti bolognese and a green salad plus a fizzy mineral water and then, when finished and paid up, I headed towards the bus station where I boarded a bus to the airport. It was a short journey and soon I found myself passing through security and passport control and hanging around awaiting departure. I was flying easyJet to Gatwick (far better than London Heathrow and nearer to home). The flight was good and I managed to finish American Pastoral before we landed. I was in seat 1a, right at the front of the plane and plenty of legroom. Strong headwinds slowed the plane down. The flight time was two hours and when we landed I completely forgot about the train strike. It was Saturday evening. I only remembered the strike when I got to the railway station at Gatwick and found it deserted. Taking a taxi was the only option so I called my cab company and then waited in the Costa on the South Terminal - another excuse to eat rubbish, this time in the shape of a cinnamon brioche roll and a cappuccino. I can't remember what time I reached home, it was probably around 2000hrs. Strictly Come Dancing was on and I couldn't believe that a whole year had passed since the last programme aired. For some reason I'm going off the whole thing, probably because of the BBC and their PC stance. Karen Clifton is dancing with another woman and I don't really understand why or what the Beeb hopes to get out of it, what do they want us all to be thinking? Oooh! The BBC is so right on! Most people don't care, I know I don't. We all know there are homosexuals and lesbians and it doesn't really bother us, live and let live and all that, so why does the BBC feel it has to ram it down our throats? If anything, rather than suggest that all is fine and two women dancing together - or two men - is nothing out of the ordinary, I would wager that it has the opposite effect. People are tired of having their consciences pricked, we know it goes on and we don't give a stuff. Get over it!

Breakfast buffet on my last day

I can't remember what happened after that, I sat around, not really watching the television and eventually, around 2330hrs, I hit the sack. I slept reasonably well and had aborted my planned ride to Westerham to meet Andy, I simply had to take things a little easy. But I'll be back in the saddle soon. In fact I'm planning a ride or two during the week if the rain holds off. I need to get back to some healthy eating. All week I've been stuffing my face with croissants, biscuits, cakes (for breakfast!) and it's not good. Don't get me wrong, I've loved it, but I need to get back to the way things were a few weeks ago: two to three mid-week rides, plus my weekend cycling. I need to get back to Alpen for breakfast and green tea and I might start making myself avocado sandwiches so I don't have to visit the caff. Looking at the photo to the left, however, I must say that I miss those extravagant, sugar-filled breakfasts and I was getting used to drinking cappuccinos instead of tea, but generally speaking I think I need to be indulging in healthy eating again and that's the plan for this week.

... and I did get out there! I rode to Westerham and there was no rain!

My last post was pretty depressing if the truth be known. I'd woken up and not really given any thought to riding the bike until I saw raindrops hitting the birdbath and that made me feel a little down. I almost resigned myself to not riding today (see previous post) but then things started to brighten a little and while there were spits of rain when I eventually plucked up the courage to get out there, the weather was fairly pleasant. It was warm for a start, which always helps, and while I did feel the odd drop of rain occasionally, the ride was perfect. 

Inside Costa Saturday morning

Having not riden since last Sunday I felt uncharacteristically energetic as I bombed along Ellenbridge in preparation for the climb of Church Way and when I reached the top I sailed through the churchyard, along a short stretch of Onslow Gardens and then right into Blenheim. A right turn and then a left and I was on the Limpsfield Road heading for Warlingham Green and then onwards towards the roundabout at Chelsham, just past Sainsbury's. From there I followed the country lanes which wound their way towards St. Leonards church and then I took the plunge and headed down Hesiers Hill towards Beddlestead where the ferns cascaded on to the road and where the occasional Lycra monkey whirred past me.

I take Beddlestead in my stride these days, but it's still fairly long and the whole thing is a hill. But soon it was over and I turned left on to Clarks Lane and rode downhill into Westerham. I noted that Pilgrims Lane was closed so I had to follow the traditional route into town and when I got there it was its usual self: lots of people milling around, queuing for a Costa, sitting on the green or looking in shop windows.

I know I was moaning about my diet in the last post, but that didn't stop me weakening and ordering an English Breakfast tea with a cinnamon brioche bun. I sat indoors, keeping a weather eye on the bike that rested outside and enjoyed my tea and bun. I could have sat there all day if the truth be known, but I knew I'd have to be getting back. There weren't that many people there: straight ahead of me two men were chatting. I think they were old pals catching up. To my right at roughly one o'clock was a couple, a man and a woman, who didn't seem to have much to say to each other. The woman had long blonde hair and the man a kind of grey/black Brillo pad. There were two young girls sitting at roughly ten o'clock and at nine o'clock a couple with a toddler who ordered some kind of breakfast bap each along with a drink. To my right, or at roughly three o'clock, a solitary man and that was it apart from those queuing.

Tea and a cinnamon brioche bun...

In the end I plucked up the courage to leave and found myself riding out of Westerham following the same road I came in on. The hill was fine and soon I reached the roundabout close to Botley Hill and had to debate whether or not to follow The Ridge into Woldingham. I decided to risk the 269 instead and soon I was in Sanderstead High Street and then back in Blenheim, Church Way, Ellenbridge and home. 

It never rained. Alright, there was the odd spit, but nothing more and now I'm home and penning this unusual second post in one day. Total mileage today was 22.21 miles, add that to the 12.32 and you get my weekly total of 34.53 miles. Not brilliant, but I'll improve on that next week.

On Sunday the weather improved considerably and I rode to Westerham again to meet Andy who was back from his holiday in Cornwall. We chatted again about Andy's 'dawn to dusk' plan and I started to warm to the idea myself. Once again, I decided not to ride home via The Ridge and instead risked the 269. I was home around 1100hrs and then got cracking on mowing the lawn. The weather was fantastic yesterday and the only disappointment was England losing in the Euro 2020 final on penalties. We scored first, making it 1-0, the Italians equalised and then there was extra time followed by the penalties and of course we lost, we always do. Better luck next time, England.

In Dubai, part two...

Tall buildings, there are lots of them in Dubai

Dubai is a bit like a city made up of all the duty free counters of every major airport in the world. Imagine it, all the perfumery, watches, expensive suitcases and top-end clothes brands, not forgetting the Toblerone and the Blue Man Group, all rolled up together and turned into a city, made ultra-comfortable by the temperature being hotter outside than it is inside. It's a glitzy, gaudy, glamourous place full of aspirations and tall buildings and I can't make up my mind what to think of the place. Do I like it? Or do I hate it? I'm not sure. Half of me says no, I don't like it. The other half begs to differ, although I would say that Abu Dhabi is more my style – quieter and a little more refined, perhaps, whereas Dubai is a place full of brands, even awful brands, like Nando's. But I've seen Pizza Express, Applebee's, Costa, Café Nero, Starbuck's; it's one of those cities that likes to make its visitors feel at home and if you're a Brit, well, all the brands you love and hate can be found here.

Dubai is defined by its tall buildings, its vertigo-inducing structures that loom up large from virtually everywhere, peppered with little golden windows that betray a hotel or black holes that identify an apartment block in which nobody is home. And why should they be? They're too busy out on the town enjoying themselves, marvelling, no doubt, at how wonderful it is to cover everything in Christmas lights, and gawping, wide-eyed, at magical fountain displays. It's the Vegas of the Middle East, a city that never sleeps with restaurants – some restaurants – open until 0300hrs and the heat of the night, which, at this time of year is not as oppressive as you might think, making strolling around after dark a pleasurable experience. All year round you can get away with shorts, flip flops and a tee-shirt, not that I've had the time to wear any of them, although I did bring the flip flops and the tee-shirts.

Dubai comes alive at night...

If there had been a swimming pool I would have used it. Put it this way, it's now almost 2330hrs and I would happily dive into an outdoor pool at this very moment, although, right now, I'm no longer outside but in the air-conditioned coolness of my hotel room. I can hear the air con system now as I write this and, believe me, I'm very grateful for it. And if I was going to sleep rough anywhere, here would be the place. It's so warm out there that I'd imagine it might even be a little uncomfortable bedding down for the night, I wouldn't need a sleeping bag, put it that way, although I'm guessing the temperature drops a little bit as the night progresses.

Today I checked out the metro system, which runs through the city in both directions. I think there are two lines, the red and the green, and today I was on the former, although, just like in London, probably even more so, it's jam-packed with people, so much so that in the end I didn't bother to take it and took to wandering around, checking out different restaurants as possible venues for my last dinner in Dubai, eventually settling for Le Pain Quotiden, which is also to be found in the UK (at St Pancras International opposite the entrance to the Eurostar terminal). I ordered salmon and quinoa risotto plus a couple of mint lemonades, a new experience for yours truly and worth every drop. I finished off with a mint tea, a Chia raspberry pudding, which was a bit like putty, although I managed to eat the lot. Later a Tiger beer and then a taxi back to where I write this.

I fly back to London tomorrow, but I don't have to get up too early, unlike today. I had to be in the Ritz Carlton for 0800, which was difficult after a broken night. When the alarm went off at 0630hrs I pressed the snooze button and then, 10 minutes later, resigned myself to getting up, going through all the motions and then heading downstairs for breakfast (Coco Pops, tea, scrambled egg, something akin to Bombay aloo, two slices of buttered toast and I think that was it). Then I jumped into a cab and headed in the direction of where I would be spending most of the day – the Ritz Carlton. Then, having spoken to the concierge, I decided to buy a metro ticket and head back to my hotel, which I did without too much grief (it wasn't until later that I found myself unable to get on the train due to the sheer weight of numbers).

Who left the vacuum cleaner in the corridor?

One thing I will say about Dubai, it's a safe city. Somebody told me earlier today that it's so safe you could leave an iphone on a table in a busy restaurant and nobody would steal it. I saw a decent-looking bike unpadlocked outside a shop, so I'm guessing it is safe as you wouldn't leave it outside a shop in the UK, and certainly not in London or Manchester or any town or city in the British Isles for that matter. Everybody seems friendly enough and life goes on: trains run on time, cars roar back and forth along the highway, people interact with people, meals are eaten, taxis hailed and people like me sit alone in hotel rooms blogging. I might watch a bit of TV as there are English language channels and then I'll drift off to sleep, pack my suitcase in the morning (after a hearty breakfast) and then head for the airport and my flight home.

My hotel is no more than a 20-minute cab ride from the airport, then it's the usual security hassles followed by a leisurely cup of tea and a read before boarding the flight and heading for London. Goodbye room 417 of the Ibis World Trade Centre, it's been nice knowing you, and goodbye sunshine as I'm heading back to an autumnal England full of cloud and rain and Strictly Come Dancing.