Rained off...but here's hoping!

This weekend's cycling was rained off completely. It simply hasn't stopped raining. When I looked out at 0600hrs, the rain was hammering next door's rooftop puddle so I immediately sent out an abort text. It happened again on Sunday morning so I sent another abort text and ended up riding alone around the block - my short but hilly six-mile ride. The rain on Saturday was on and off, but mainly in the morning. On both days, I headed out mid-morning, around 1100hrs, and was back in the house 40 minutes later, managing to ride out during a lull in the rain.

This shot taken by Andy Smith on Church Lane, last week! Big puddle!

A brief comment on the above photograph from last weekend's ride: I was behind Andy and passed through the puddle when the car behind the one above reached the puddle. Fortunately he slowed right down and didn't make as big a splash, which was good. I remember cycling through the above puddle on the outward journey and my left foot was completely submerged in the water. All I needed was a clockwork motorboat and I could have spent the morning there messing around with a toy boat and having, quite literally, 'hours of fun'.

It is now Monday morning, 0842hrs, and I am planning to ride out every day until the new year. Might head off in a minute OR leave it until after we've completed our festive chores. It's important that I ride today and tomorrow and possibly even Christmas day too as my record for mid-week rides has been piss poor, something like 010 over the past three weeks. But right now I'm just sitting here and considering another cup of tea, possibly a fried egg sandwich, who knows?

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To Woodmansterne Green to see Bon and then mum's, but rained off on Sunday

The sun was shining on Saturday morning and it was perfect cycling weather. I left the house around 0720hrs and headed for Woodmansterne Green to meet Bon. The heat made the ride a pleasant one and I followed the usual route along Foxley Lane. Bon cycled down the road to meet me as I rode towards the green and we simply wandered about chatting about this and that and, of course, drinking tea.

When Bon left I carried on towards Carshalton. I was on my way to mum's house. Within seconds of arriving, a man dropped by to measure up her kitchen door, she's having a new aluminium one fitted in a week or two.

Recent pic of mum

While I was there I enjoyed a couple of slices of fruit cake (I can't help myself) and a couple of Twix fingers, but then cycling's a form of exercise that demands food.

The ride home, again following the usual route (see previous 'round to mum's' posts) was very pleasant, although tackling the south face of West Hill is always a bit daunting. I was home around 1100hrs and spent the rest of the day slobbing around, chilling in the back garden, not doing that much.

Strangely, Sunday's ride was rained off. Bon sent me an abort text. I thought the rain would stop and the sun would come out, and it did, but not until late afternoon.

All day I've felt a little down in the dumps and gradually a sore throat presented itself. I sat and watched Ben Fogle in Antarctica and then Peter Davidson and Christopher Timothy driving around the Scottish Highlands in a blue Morgan.

It is now Monday morning, and any thoughts I had of trying to cycle 10 miles before work have been put on the back burner, thanks to the sore throat. I'm even considering taking the day off sick, but I'm not sure if I feel THAT bad. It takes a lot for me to take a day off sick from work. There's no LemSip in the house (their never is when I need it) so I might just make myself a second cup of tea.

Ride aborted

Last night many vivid dreams. One involved waiting for, or looking at, a bus and then deciding to take the train, only to discover that the station was closed except for a side exit and when I followed the path leading into the station I stopped at a pair of sliding glass doors, which were closed. Behind me there was nothing but darkness. On attempting to pull the doors apart they opened and I was back on the streets again, or rather awake. It was just gone 0330hrs. Then, later, another dream. I was miles from home en route to work, but wearing only jeans and a tee-shirt in the rain. The bottoms of the jeans were wet and ragged and I realised that I was being foolish to dress in such a way and decided to turn back. Ahead of me, however, a long, long road stretching into infinity and lined with street lights. I met a friend and told him I needed to talk. He seemed concerned but I reassured him it was nothing to worry about and continued on my journey.

Perhaps another cup of tea?

I woke up again and it was still the dead of night. Or so it seemed. Outside it was dark, but the birds were awake. When I glanced at the clock it was something past four and I considered getting up and sitting here, like I am now, writing this blog, but decided against it. I had another vivid dream and then I could hear the radio. It was morning and time to get up. I wanted to stay where I was in the warmth and this made me check whether it was raining. Spitting a little so I refrained from an abort text and headed downstairs to make a bowl of fresh fruit and a mug of tea. I have the tea beside me now, but the bananas and grapes, the blueberries, the Weetabix biscuit and the yoghut and honey are gone leaving an empty bowl by the side of the lap top.

There's 20 minutes to go before I have to go outside and jump on the bike and head towards the green and having not gone out yesterday I'd like a ride today. Yesterday, like today, was supposed to be a wash-out, according to the weather people on the BBC. But it was a wonderful day of wispy clouds and sillouetted aircraft circling Heathrow. Later there were some dramatic skies and it wasn't too warm, but a ride to mum's was aborted due to a late night. I had assumed that I would wake up to rain and that Jon, who was expecting to meet me over at mum's for breakfast, would remain in bed, but no, he was up and ready to roll and when I sent the abort text he was disappointed that I wouldn't be there. "Shake a leg," he texted me. We chatted over the phone – a poor substitute – but it will suffice until we eventually get our acts together (or in this case I get my act together).

I had been in Clapham at the Northcote pub with a pal. We drank the beer we were brought up on, Youngs Ordinary Bitter, still the best pint in the world if you ask me. But I'm not getting any younger and the thought of a ride so early in the morning after a night in the pub was not appealing, so I didn't go out.

Now it's Sunday and the weather is not too dissimilar to yesterday, slightly cloudier and, as I said earlier, spitting rain, but with 10 minutes to go until I need to be out of the house, there is no abort text from Andy. I'd better go make the tea...

Roughly an hour later...
After making the tea I headed outside. It was a strange day. While the wind howled, the trees were still and ebony black against a grey-blue sky. I rode along Ellenbridge, on to Southcote, right on to Elmfield and left on Morley. Then I turned right on to Church Way and headed up the hill until I heard my phone ringing. It was a text from Andy. "It's raining," it said, so I called him. He was in his garage about to jump on the bike when the downpour started. I suggested we abort the ride as I knew full well the rain was headed in my direction. Sure enough it was, but I was in denial. Perhaps I should grin and bear it and ride to the green, or head over to mum's? I circled the road a few times and then rode around the block, but when I looked down at my trousers they were getting wetter and wetter. Where's the pleasure? There wasn't any, but I rode around anyway. I rode down Church Way, turned left into Arkwright, right on the Ridgeway and right again on to Southcote before heading down Ellenbridge. While soaking wet I was still in denial and thinking about breakfast at mum's. I turned left on to Barnfield and then it hit me: be sensible, go home and get dry so I did a u-turn and rode home.

"You make that sound rather shitty, Lewis."

Nothing much was said. Normally somebody mentions it, but if they did I didn't hear anything. A family member might bring it up, but again, not a dickie bird, and no, I'm not talking about the cricket bloke either. In fact, I'm sure the expression 'not a dickie bird', has nothing to do with him.

This morning I found myself awake in the dead of night, but it turns out not as dead as I thought. I suddenly remembered and asked myself, "Have the clocks gone forward?" There was only one way to find out. I looked at the digital radio alarm clock. It was almost 0450hrs. I'd been awake almost an hour. There was a programme about somebody whose name I can't remember, but the former mayor of Toronto, who died last week, was mentioned and the guy in question recently got married – to another man and banned what Americans call cellphones from the wedding. Having not listened to the whole programme, I haven't the faintest idea what it was about, although I know one thing: the guy that was getting married hates secrecy and when the reporter asked another guy why that might be, the other guy asked if he could go off record – but still didn't answer the question.

Clear skies? No, just driving rain...

The Six O'Clock News soon followed – the clocks had gone forward – and a story about planned cuts to the UK Border Agency was the lead. Why, I wondered, would anybody want to make cuts of 6% to the UK Border Agency, I found myself thinking, when we've got the so-called 'jungle' on the other side of the Channel and terrorist bombs going off in Brussels. Labour's Andy Burnham feels the same way. Perhaps we can expect another U-turn by the government. The rest of the news was given over to the various Easter messages we can expect from the Vatican, the Church of England and, of course, the Prime Minister.

Something Understood, the programme that always follows the news on Sunday morning, was all about renewal, but, as always, I have to get up so I rarely listen to it; and yet it's quite a relaxing, Sunday morning, half asleep sort of programme with strangely mesmerising music. It's the same week in and week out and one of these days I'll just lie there and listen to it.

So the clocks had gone forward and, of course, technology had already proved itself to be one step ahead of everybody. My iphone, for instance, changes time automatically. Had I set the alarm on the phone I would have woken up in time (had I not been awake already) but I hadn't set it so today might well have been a disaster. Fortunately, it wasn't a disaster, but ultimately it all proves to be a little 'academic'.

I moseyed on downstairs, made tea, toast and Weetabix with blueberries and then remembered there was no milk. Yesterday in Waitrose they didn't have the big two-litre plastic bottles, unless I fancied buying the extortionate Duchy of Cornwall brand – and to be honest, I didn't. One thing I really hate is when there is no alternative other than buying the expensive alternative of something. I'm always suspicious of garages when they place locks on the low cost petrol under the possible pretence that it's out of stock. Rather than fill my car with the 'supreme' petrol, I prefer to find another gas station that might not be ripping me off. That, of course, is the problem. It's hard to know when you're being ripped off these days. "It's the actuator, mate," a mechanic told me recently. "£210." Really? But not being an expert at car mechanics, I had no option other than to accept and pay up. At least now I don't have to struggle into the driver's seat via the passenger door – that was a pain, I can tell you.

There was just enough milk for one strong cup of tea and an almost dry cereal and now, with the time approaching 0700hrs, I could do with another cuppa, but if I want one I've got to go out in the rain to the corner shop, only to find, no doubt, that it's closed today. Today is Easter Sunday, a kind of Super Sunday – Sunday Extra, perhaps, when, everything reverts back to the olden days when nothing opened on the Sabbath. Not that those days were bad. It was kind of accepted that everything was shut and in a way it made for an interesting day. The pubs would open at noon and shut at 2pm and not re-open until 7pm, only a newsagent would be open, but only until lunch time and it would only sell newspapers and sweets, not food. It was a time for lolling around or walking aimlessly through parks and fields, or simply going round to somebody's house or punctuating the day with a trip to the pub, but having the rest of the day wandering about and, strangely, being of no fixed abode.

Andy and I have been liaising this morning on Facebook. "Has it stopped raining at your place?" he asked me earlier. I got up and peered outside. "It's raining now. Abort?" We decided to leave it until 0730hrs before making our decision. I haven't even checked if Phil is standing on the front drive, although I doubt it. He was up for a ride on Saturday, but I couldn't make it. The best day was Good Friday – beautiful sunshine and clear skies – but I couldn't make that either due to 'driving' responsibilities. If we don't ride today that leaves just Bank Holiday Monday and the weather is promising 'more of the same'. In fact, the promise is Hurricane Katy, possibly 'Storm' Katy, although it's widely believed to be heading off north early on Monday morning.

This weekend could be a complete wash-out as far as riding is concerned. If it does stop raining it's going to be wet, which in turn means a wet arse for yours truly – unless I can find my waterproofs. And before you ask, I've not yet serviced the bike or bought mudguards. I simply don't have the spare cash. It's the same old story, I'm afraid.

Hold on, though! The skies are getter bluer, the birdbath is calm, Andy's suggested meeting at 0800hrs. Yes, I've replied, but first let me get some milk from the local shop...if it's open! It's taken two days, but at last it looks like we're game on for a ride. Better find those waterproofs!

Or perhaps not. Just as I was preparing to head out to the local shops the heavens opened. Abort!

Later...

It's now 1014hrs and it's been raining on and off all morning. One minute there are blue skies, or bluish skies, the next it's cloudy. As I write this there are grey skies with an occasional appearance from the sun and then some rain. As Jon Voight said in Deliverance, "You make that sound rather shitty, Lewis." 

And below (courtesy of WikiQuote) is a slice of dialogue from the movie Deliverance:

Lewis: Machines are gonna fail and the system's gonna fail...then, survival. Who has the ability to survive? That's the game - survive.

Ed: Well, the system's done all right by me.

Lewis: Oh yeah. You gotta nice job, you gotta a nice house, a nice wife, a nice kid.

Ed: You make that sound rather shitty, Lewis.

Lewis: Why do you go on these trips with me, Ed?

Ed: I like my life, Lewis.

Lewis: Yeah, but why do you go on these trips with me?

Ed: You know, sometimes I wonder about that.

Rained off...

Monday 9 April: I was up at 6am but couldn't see any rain. It wasn't until I looked out of the kitchen window and saw raindrops landing in the birdbath that I realised. When I texted Andy he said it was blue skies over Caterham, but then, apparently, it started up over there too. So, here I sit, at the desk in the conservatory, the rain still falling (I can hear it now) and there's to be no cycling today. Still, there's always next week.

It's a woman's movie

1434hrs: It's still raining. Ben Hur and The Way We Were are on the TV, so is Antz and the movie version of Phantom of the Opera. I'm drinking a cup of tea. It's quite bright out there, but it's also very wet. We're considering a drive. It's always like this over Easter. I remember when I was a kid, it was just the same, except in those days I didn't own a car. I'd have been stuck 'indoors', watching a movie with mum and dad and if I said I was bored, which I did, my dad would say, "Go and read a book." To which I'd reply, "I don't want to read a book." These days, of course, I read a lot. I've just finished Willy Vlautin's The Motel Life, which I bought a few days back in Foyles. Northline, also by Vlautin, was good too. I've just started reading Inverted World by Christopher Priest.

Actually, when it rained back home, sometimes Jon and I would play with our forts and toy soldiers and escaped into the world of the rebels, like Kayak, and the establishment as embodied by Harlow, Stonehall and 'Chiefy'. Why the head of the rebel soldiers was called Kayak, I'll never know, but he was; and similarly, why I named a US Cavalry soldier Harlow and a mounted Queen's guardsman Stonehall, I'll never understand. Chiefy? Well at least he was a Red Indian – he was Jon's.

My fort, Black Cross Fort, still exists. It's at mum's. Some of the soldiers still exist too, either abandoned in the back garden or still in the fort. I think Jon's still got his fort too. We had many games with those toy soldiers and there were some memorable characters too, like the Jones brothers, who used to tie their ankles to the chain of the fort's drawbridge and swing down and head-butt the enemy. Then there was J and T Shot, two brothers, both lost at sea. They went on holiday to the South Coast and were washed out to sea, never to be seen again. And who can forget "Jeepy", so-named because he was permanently in the sitting position and confined to a Jeep. He died at the notorious Battle of Kiln Castle, which marked the ends of our childhoods. After that battle, on November 4th 1974, Jon and I ceased playing. I think I was 16, which was probably a little old to be playing with toy soldiers, but what the heck, we loved it. After Kiln Castle, the birthday and Christmas presents got  little grown-up: clothes. God, I used to hate that word.

"What did you get for Christmas?"
"Clothes."

I never envied anybody who answered 'clothes' to that question, but eventually I too uttered the word. Clothes. Horrible. Perhaps that's why I'm not in the slightest bit 'fashionable'. I still regard 'clothes' as something the grown-ups buy. And there, of course, is the nub of the problem: at 54 years old I'm still a big kid. But hey, it's alright. Jon and I both admitted recently that we still had it in us to go upstairs at mum's and play with the fort. One day, of course, I'll have to retrieve it from mum's, but hopefully not for a while.

We're going out tonight for a meal to celebrate a birthday. That gives us all something to look forward to because tomorrow I've got to work, but it's a four-day week and so is next week so it's not all bad.

Anyway, until next week, I'll sign off.