Another mild morning and we met at the green as usual. We headed for the Tatsfield Bus Stop the slow way. Weatherwise everything was damp and wet and glistening and there was a fog looming, hanging in the trees, so we thought the slow way would be safer. There was a few Lycra monkeys on the road, and even more when we headed back along Beddlestead towards Hesiers Hill. This time, as I approached the climb I changed down and managed the gears properly. I stayed in a low gear for the second hill before things levelled out and we headed for the green where we parted.
There's always something musical that keeps me moving along. The other day it was a Christmas carol, the Sans Carol, but today it was Misty Mountain Hop by Led Zeppelin, I know not why. My in-built Walkman kept playing it over and over. "Walking in the park just the other day..."
We reached the green at 0930hrs and I got home 20 minutes later. A good ride.
We ride our trusty bicycles most weekends. This blog charts our adventures and records our thoughts as we ride through the rural lanes of Surrey and Northern Kent – and there's some world travel thrown in too
Showing posts with label Led Zeppelin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Led Zeppelin. Show all posts
Sunday, 30 December 2018
Sunday, 24 April 2016
Those were the days of miracle and wonder...
Last weekend it was Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven. This week it's Paul Simon's Boy in the Bubble on my in-built sound system that seems to be playing something, constantly, like musical tinnitus, whenever I'm conscious. The reason for last week's tune was the fact that Zeppelin were in court over the opening chords to their mammoth anthem – a band called Spirit from America's west coast was claiming that the heavy rock band powered by Page and Plant had 'stolen' some chords from a song called Taurus.
I like Spirit. When I was a hopeless teenager – and in my equally hopeless early twenties – they were constantly playing in my head and I'd advise all readers to check out The Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus and an album entitled Future Games. Very strange, but very good too. There's also an album called Spirit of 76, which is well worth listening to if you veer towards the strange, as I've always done.
The reason for Paul Simon's Boy in the Bubble was probably Jools Holland's BBC2 show, Later. Paul Simon was on the programme – I'd imagine he's been recording some new stuff – but all you have to do is mention the name Paul Simon and I immediately think of Graceland, an amazing album that I never bought, but one I heard a few times. Boy in the Bubble has a great, flatulent bass line that carries the song, so it was playing loud and clear as I rolled down West Hill on my way to mum's yesterday morning.
While the sun was out and the skies were blue, there was a chill in the air, albeit a mild one, as I headed towards mum's house, following the usual route and stopping, as always, when I reached the Purley Playing Fields, this time to take a shot of a blossom tree in full bloom. That's one of the great things about this time of year. When the blossom trees are out there's hope in the air and a mild scent of the summer to come.
The ride to mum's, as always, was uneventful, and while I was hoping to see my brother's Cannondale parked up outside mum's house, it wasn't there and he later texted me, following my text explaining that I was on my way, to say he woke up late.
I had the usual fantastic breakfast: boiled egg with fingers, some soft, white bread, a few chunks of fresh orange and some tea. In fact I had two, possibly three mugs of tea and a small Kit-Kat from the Kit-Kat House (see photo right).
As always, mum has plenty to say about what's going on in the road.
"Next door's having another baby, Math! That'll be three little babies living next door and she's such a tiny thing [the woman who will be giving birth, not the babies]."
They're doing a lot of work to their house, knocking down walls, pulling down garages, adding this and adding that. "He's the project manager, Math, but he's a trained electrician, he's ever so good."
It's at times like these that I start to feel inadequate when I consider my complete lack of DIY skills and the fact that a little bit of painting – or anything for that matter – is a big deal for me.
"The curtains are drawn down the road. I think Elizabeth has died, Math."
"Elizabeth? Dead? But why?"
"Something to do with arthritis, I think."
"That's a shame, she was only young, " I said, remembering the family when I was kid and living at home. I can see them all clearly now as I can the whole street, back in the days when the sun was always shining and Billy Wheeler, who lived across from us, was building a boat – a big boat – on his front drive.
But just because the curtains are drawn doesn't mean somebody's died. Don't most people draw their curtains? Perhaps they simply forgot to draw them back. I can't believe she's dead just because she didn't draw back her curtains one morning.
We started to speak about other people in the road, now long gone or long dead, like the Bottomleys. I might have related to you the tale of the Best Wishes chocolates and it was odd that it didn't come up as it normally does, but it passed us both by. In a nutshell, when I was a child, probably under 10 years old, the aptly named Mrs Bottomley handed me a large box of chocolates and I, quite rightly, thought they were for me and me alone. The occasion was a trip to the cinema to watch Mary Poppins. Having decided that the chocolates were mine, I proceeded to scoff the lot of them, palming others off with some Opal Mints that I happened to possess. The end result? I was ill. My arse was on fire and I was pebbledashing anything in sight, including the inside of my uncle's mini van. It was a family story that ran and ran and even today, when the words 'Best' and 'Wishes' are uttered together on family occasions, eyes turn towards me and smiles break out on the faces of family members. I still feel I owe my uncle an apology for that day.
I started to wonder again whether drawn curtains necessarily mean that somebody has died, but mum was adamant. "The husband has come back from Canada," she said.
"What was he doing in Canada?"
"Elizabeth came back, she didn't like it there," mum explained.
"Perhaps he's over here for a holiday," I suggested.
We started talking about our old neighbours: Mrs Bottomley, Mr and Mrs Lee, the Morrisons – Mr Morrison looked like Boris Karloff – Mrs King, the Conquests (Bill and Betty), Mr and Mrs Elliot, the Tillmans (including Elizabeth), the Clarkes and, of course, Mike and Sonia, who moved into Mr Dale's old house. I'll always remember Mr Dale, an old chap who we always invited in for a drink on Christmas morning. He was sit quietly in the corner, smiling occasionally while sipping Harvey's Bristol Cream.
We never spoke about the people on the other side of the road – the bit leading down to Westmead Road to the right of mum's – as they were rarely part the mainstream goings on and were only occasionally part of the story. There was Mr Hooper the alcoholic – I recall him doddering around drunk at our Silver Jubilee street party – Mr Doyle, the former Mosquito pilot – who once shouted out 'too early!' in his west country accent when we were carol singing early in December – the Spaldings, the Barringtons and, of course, the Reeves, who threw the occasional flamboyant party.
"Would you like to look at my cherry tree?" asked mum.
We went into the garden and then came in again as it was a bit chilly. I had another cup of tea and then put on my hat and gloves and said goodbye to mum. Halfway down the road I realised I'd left my mobile phone, glasses and camera behind and so turned around to retrieve them.
The traffic was heavy on the ride back, but not until I reached Wallington. It started to spit with rain too, but never got any worse and I escaped a soaking, arriving home around 1040hrs.
On Sunday morning there was rain so we aborted. It was dull and grey outside and I vowed to go on a short ride later. And by 'short' I mean the Woodland Trek. Then I set about finding Boy in the Bubble on Spotify, but in vain. Later, perhaps.
I like Spirit. When I was a hopeless teenager – and in my equally hopeless early twenties – they were constantly playing in my head and I'd advise all readers to check out The Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus and an album entitled Future Games. Very strange, but very good too. There's also an album called Spirit of 76, which is well worth listening to if you veer towards the strange, as I've always done.
The reason for Paul Simon's Boy in the Bubble was probably Jools Holland's BBC2 show, Later. Paul Simon was on the programme – I'd imagine he's been recording some new stuff – but all you have to do is mention the name Paul Simon and I immediately think of Graceland, an amazing album that I never bought, but one I heard a few times. Boy in the Bubble has a great, flatulent bass line that carries the song, so it was playing loud and clear as I rolled down West Hill on my way to mum's yesterday morning.
 |
| The blossoms are out at Purley Playing Fields |
The ride to mum's, as always, was uneventful, and while I was hoping to see my brother's Cannondale parked up outside mum's house, it wasn't there and he later texted me, following my text explaining that I was on my way, to say he woke up late.
 |
| A house full of Kit-Kats. |
As always, mum has plenty to say about what's going on in the road.
"Next door's having another baby, Math! That'll be three little babies living next door and she's such a tiny thing [the woman who will be giving birth, not the babies]."
They're doing a lot of work to their house, knocking down walls, pulling down garages, adding this and adding that. "He's the project manager, Math, but he's a trained electrician, he's ever so good."
It's at times like these that I start to feel inadequate when I consider my complete lack of DIY skills and the fact that a little bit of painting – or anything for that matter – is a big deal for me.
"The curtains are drawn down the road. I think Elizabeth has died, Math."
"Elizabeth? Dead? But why?"
"Something to do with arthritis, I think."
"That's a shame, she was only young, " I said, remembering the family when I was kid and living at home. I can see them all clearly now as I can the whole street, back in the days when the sun was always shining and Billy Wheeler, who lived across from us, was building a boat – a big boat – on his front drive.
But just because the curtains are drawn doesn't mean somebody's died. Don't most people draw their curtains? Perhaps they simply forgot to draw them back. I can't believe she's dead just because she didn't draw back her curtains one morning.
 |
| Typical of the things you'll find in mum's garden... |
We started to speak about other people in the road, now long gone or long dead, like the Bottomleys. I might have related to you the tale of the Best Wishes chocolates and it was odd that it didn't come up as it normally does, but it passed us both by. In a nutshell, when I was a child, probably under 10 years old, the aptly named Mrs Bottomley handed me a large box of chocolates and I, quite rightly, thought they were for me and me alone. The occasion was a trip to the cinema to watch Mary Poppins. Having decided that the chocolates were mine, I proceeded to scoff the lot of them, palming others off with some Opal Mints that I happened to possess. The end result? I was ill. My arse was on fire and I was pebbledashing anything in sight, including the inside of my uncle's mini van. It was a family story that ran and ran and even today, when the words 'Best' and 'Wishes' are uttered together on family occasions, eyes turn towards me and smiles break out on the faces of family members. I still feel I owe my uncle an apology for that day.
I started to wonder again whether drawn curtains necessarily mean that somebody has died, but mum was adamant. "The husband has come back from Canada," she said.
"What was he doing in Canada?"
"Elizabeth came back, she didn't like it there," mum explained.
"Perhaps he's over here for a holiday," I suggested.
 |
| Another breakfast at mum's... |
We never spoke about the people on the other side of the road – the bit leading down to Westmead Road to the right of mum's – as they were rarely part the mainstream goings on and were only occasionally part of the story. There was Mr Hooper the alcoholic – I recall him doddering around drunk at our Silver Jubilee street party – Mr Doyle, the former Mosquito pilot – who once shouted out 'too early!' in his west country accent when we were carol singing early in December – the Spaldings, the Barringtons and, of course, the Reeves, who threw the occasional flamboyant party.
"Would you like to look at my cherry tree?" asked mum.
 |
| Mum's garden – she spends a lot of time keeping it neat and tidy... |
The traffic was heavy on the ride back, but not until I reached Wallington. It started to spit with rain too, but never got any worse and I escaped a soaking, arriving home around 1040hrs.
On Sunday morning there was rain so we aborted. It was dull and grey outside and I vowed to go on a short ride later. And by 'short' I mean the Woodland Trek. Then I set about finding Boy in the Bubble on Spotify, but in vain. Later, perhaps.
Thursday, 7 May 2015
Wandering around Cleveland's downtown...
As I write this it's just gone 10pm in the UK and it's just gone 5pm here in Cleveland, Ohio. At home voting in the General Election for 2015 is over. I voted by post prior to coming over here and when I wake up in the morning I'll know who's in charge of the country for the next five years. I won't say who I voted for as it would ruin the whole idea of the secret ballot that we British have enjoyed for so many years.
The weather here – especially today – has been wonderful, although I'm told that this part of the USA gets pretty rough winters with snow and ice being commonplace between October and March and sometimes the temperatures going down to minus 30 degrees. That's cold. However, the people living in and around Cleveland tend to get good summers. Right now there are blossoms on the trees, the skies are blue and today the sun shone brightly. All week I've been walking to the Cleveland Convention Center in my shirt sleeves. Alright, I was also wearing trousers (otherwise I might have been arrested).
With my work done and after having lunch with a learned gentlemen I'd met earlier in the day who was connected to my line of business, I decided to take a walk around town and started walking in the direction I've been taking all week along St. Clair towards Louie's Bar, where the burgers are cold, incidentally, and the food, in my opinion, not that brilliant. On the same block, however, there are some excellent establishments including a Lebanese restaurant and a place called Johnny's, which is next door and which I visited the last time I was in Cleveland back in 2013. I headed up St. Clair then turned left along West 9th Street, left again on to Superior Avenue and then along Prospect Avenue, turning left on to East 9th and then joining Euclid Avenue and walking up towards Green Square and heading back towards the Convention Center where, I remembered, there was a Starbuck's in an office building. It was just what I needed and the fact that it was dark and shaded from the heat outside made it a good place to stop for tea and a biscuit and a read of the New York Times which I found rather boring and I got annoyed with the fact that All The Words In The Headlines Started With A Capital Letter.
It was tempting to walk down East 9th Street to the North Coast Harbour on Lake Erie but I decided to head back to the hotel instead from where I write this post. It was equally tempting to just sit on the grass and take in some rays.
The area around Euclid and Prospect Avenues is different from the main downtown where office buildings dominate. Instead the architecture is very much like that depicted on Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti album cover.
The 18th floor of my hotel offers a great view of Cleveland looking east. There's the Burke Lakefront airport (designed for small jets), there's Lake Erie and there's the railroad track along which some very long freight trains wind their way through and out of town. What you can't see, of course, is the FirstEnergy stadium. For the past few days my colleague and I have enjoyed relaxing on the 18th floor in the early evening with a glass of wine, but now that he's gone to Buffalo for a meeting and I'm alone here on Lakeside, I'll probably give it a miss as being alone is something you can do anywhere, although I might take another look at that view as I'm flying home tomorrow night.
I get the impression that Cleveland has more than it's fair share of crime and I've been told to avoid going East from the hotel and to keep West. The downtown is pretty safe but you do occasionally get the odd feral-looking person talking to himself and it's best to avoid making contact with them. I've also been warned not to use the trolley (a free step-on, step-off bus service that makes circuits of the city). Generally, though, it's okay and not dissimilar to Indianapolis in terms of the downtown, although I'm guessing that a lot of American cities look the same downtown and are surrounded by suburban areas that are either good or bad in terms of crime. That said, crime, in its various guises, can turn up anywhere.
Going back to office buildings, something quite odd is the office block I can see from my hotel window. All night and day there are lights on but I never see anybody in there, just empty desks. Last night the only sign of life I could make out was a wall-mounted television that must have been showing the basketball game between Chicago and Cleveland (a grudge match that obsessed the entire city – and no, I don't know the score, but I think Cleveland won). Anyway, today (about five minutes ago, in fact) I saw life in the building. There was some kind of meeting going on, but it's ended as the room is now empty, just the like the rest of the place. Where is everybody? Ah! I've just seen somebody in there, so it's not completely devoid of life.
I thought there was a bike share scheme going on here in Cleveland, but I've not seen any bike stations and had there been such a scheme I was walking through the right parts of town where I might have expected to find the bikes, but there was nothing. Prior to coming here I read about Cleveland's bike share being the only privately-owned scheme as most are run by the local authorities – that might have something to do with the lack of bike stations and, indeed, the lack of bikes.
I arrived here late last Saturday and on Sunday morning the roads of Cleveland were empty. So empty that it would have been possible to simply lie down in the middle of the road and read a book – it's a similar story in Montreal and in San Antonio and Indianapolis (a luxury we can only dream of in the UK).
 |
| I love this art 'installation' near Cleveland's City Hall |
The weather here – especially today – has been wonderful, although I'm told that this part of the USA gets pretty rough winters with snow and ice being commonplace between October and March and sometimes the temperatures going down to minus 30 degrees. That's cold. However, the people living in and around Cleveland tend to get good summers. Right now there are blossoms on the trees, the skies are blue and today the sun shone brightly. All week I've been walking to the Cleveland Convention Center in my shirt sleeves. Alright, I was also wearing trousers (otherwise I might have been arrested).
With my work done and after having lunch with a learned gentlemen I'd met earlier in the day who was connected to my line of business, I decided to take a walk around town and started walking in the direction I've been taking all week along St. Clair towards Louie's Bar, where the burgers are cold, incidentally, and the food, in my opinion, not that brilliant. On the same block, however, there are some excellent establishments including a Lebanese restaurant and a place called Johnny's, which is next door and which I visited the last time I was in Cleveland back in 2013. I headed up St. Clair then turned left along West 9th Street, left again on to Superior Avenue and then along Prospect Avenue, turning left on to East 9th and then joining Euclid Avenue and walking up towards Green Square and heading back towards the Convention Center where, I remembered, there was a Starbuck's in an office building. It was just what I needed and the fact that it was dark and shaded from the heat outside made it a good place to stop for tea and a biscuit and a read of the New York Times which I found rather boring and I got annoyed with the fact that All The Words In The Headlines Started With A Capital Letter.
 |
| One of many empty streets on Sunday |
The area around Euclid and Prospect Avenues is different from the main downtown where office buildings dominate. Instead the architecture is very much like that depicted on Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti album cover.
The 18th floor of my hotel offers a great view of Cleveland looking east. There's the Burke Lakefront airport (designed for small jets), there's Lake Erie and there's the railroad track along which some very long freight trains wind their way through and out of town. What you can't see, of course, is the FirstEnergy stadium. For the past few days my colleague and I have enjoyed relaxing on the 18th floor in the early evening with a glass of wine, but now that he's gone to Buffalo for a meeting and I'm alone here on Lakeside, I'll probably give it a miss as being alone is something you can do anywhere, although I might take another look at that view as I'm flying home tomorrow night.
 |
| Turn left for Burke Airport |
Going back to office buildings, something quite odd is the office block I can see from my hotel window. All night and day there are lights on but I never see anybody in there, just empty desks. Last night the only sign of life I could make out was a wall-mounted television that must have been showing the basketball game between Chicago and Cleveland (a grudge match that obsessed the entire city – and no, I don't know the score, but I think Cleveland won). Anyway, today (about five minutes ago, in fact) I saw life in the building. There was some kind of meeting going on, but it's ended as the room is now empty, just the like the rest of the place. Where is everybody? Ah! I've just seen somebody in there, so it's not completely devoid of life.
 |
| Tulips outside City Hall |
I arrived here late last Saturday and on Sunday morning the roads of Cleveland were empty. So empty that it would have been possible to simply lie down in the middle of the road and read a book – it's a similar story in Montreal and in San Antonio and Indianapolis (a luxury we can only dream of in the UK).
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