Christmas comes and goes...

Christmas has come and gone and it's been good. I wish it had lasted a little longer. I've enjoyed chilling out, reading books, going for a swim in a virtually empty pool, riding the bike, once through a blizzard and once in thick fog. I lost track of what day it was, and that was good, that's how it should be. I started writing this on New Year's Eve as the whole thing was coming to a close, one more day and then it was back to work and everybody had to knuckle down and get on with the new year, which, for most people, will be exactly the same as the old one. "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss."

During the holidays I spent time in darkened streets, visiting cosy places like the Sevenoaks Bookshop, where I bought Over the Rainbow by Alex James, bassist of Blur and, of course, a cheese aficionado and farmer. I sat and watched Outdoor Boy on YouTube and other non-terrestrial stuff. These days there's nothing on 'normal' television that appeals. Who wants to watch Gavin & Stacey?

And yeah, it did all end and I did find myself back at work and it has been more of the same. An element of cosy remained in the shape of the fireplace, which I'm looking at now. The weather has been cold and the fire has made all the difference. We continued watching Outdoor Boy as it's one of those shows that makes us look forward to bedtime. I've been wearing pyjamas, that's how cold it's been, but wearing something warm and getting cosy has its drawbacks: I over-sleep and don't particularly want to get out of bed and go to work! I always struggle the week I return to the office after the Christmas break, but eventually everything clicks into place and normality reigns once again.

The swimming has been good and I've enjoyed it. I'm still hitting a length a minute, which is good, although the pool is a 25-metre affair and in the past, the pools were longer, ie instead of 32 lengths to the half mile, they were 24 lengths or, in Cheam, Surrey, 27 lengths, so I'm not sure exactly what it all means, but let's say I'm doing the half mile in around 30 minutes and I'm sure I'll improve as the journey continues. You have to be organised when you go swimming, you need to remember stuff, like shower gel and having a one pound coin for the lockers although, for £1.50, I purchased as false one pound coin that I have permanently on my key ring. Then there's the car park. Perhaps I should walk to the pool, now that would be something, and it might take around 35-40 minutes, but at least I wouldn't have the worry of paying for the car park. It used to be straightforward, you paid 50p to park, a one-off fee, and then the leisure centre would refund it, but now you have to call a number and register your number plate and key in the number of hours you'll need. I always do one hour and it seems to be fine. After the swim I have a refreshing shower and then, after drying and dressing, I head out into the cold air to the car park and drive home. 

My plan is to combine swimming and cycling: two rides per week, two swims per week. That's four days out of seven getting exercise. I've yet to factor in the gym, but if I can do a couple of days at the gym I will, let's see how that progresses. The whole deal is £34 per month, which means I need to use the place at least twice a week to make it all pay. I'm still in the process of getting that bit right and the best way to play it (at present) is to swim Thursday and Friday and then cycle on Saturday and Sunday morning. The gym will come later.

This morning I fixed up the lights on my bike. I'm currently charging my rear light. The front light has already been charged and is now on the bike. I had to take off two handlebar attachments that had previously held front lights that have since been lost. One fell off during the ride and I couldn't find it. I'm amazed, thinking back, that I didn't hear it falling off, but I didn't; and I can't remember the fate of the other light, but it was similar. I think it fell off the bike and smashed into smithereens somewhere near Redhill in Surrey, but that's a foggy memory.

There has been bad news this year. I was round at mum's house trying to get her central heating working and suddenly I received a text from an old friend who informed me her husband, one of my best mates died. He'd been suffering from cancer for the past two years. We had drifted apart and hadn't seen each other for at least 30 years, but it was still a huge shock. There are certain people I regard as immortal and he was one of them. He inspired me to read more than I would have done had I not met him, he had a great sense of humour and we got on really well, but suddenly that weekly phone call went to every fortnight, then we might have spoken once a month, soon it was longer and longer and then it seemed odd even to think about calling him. I did, for a few years, call him once a year as we shared a birthday and on one or two occasions we spoke on the phone, but nothing came of it. Perhaps we'd both left it too long and there didn't seem any point, but that's life. Just to avoid any confusion, it's not my cycling pal Andy but somebody I first met back in the mid-seventies at college. After that text from his wife I spent a lot of time thinking about Andy, and I'm finding the whole thing unbelievable. I think I'll always find it unbelievable on some level, but it's happened, it's true and there's little more to say. I have referenced Andy on this blog once or twice. I remember him saying that had they cut out all the sound effects from Quadrophenia by The Who,it would have been a very tight single album. Perhaps, but I guess that  album is a story and the story needs embellishment. We all have opinions on stuff like that and who's to say that there's only one answer?

I'm hoping for a ride with Andy Smith tomorrow (Sunday). I know there might be fog and that's why I've put the lights on the bike as it's bloody dangerous without them. We'll be going to Sheree's Tearooms in Tatsfield, our first joint ride of 2025, and I'm looking forward to it. I'll have to set my alarm as I've been getting up late. Today I didn't get out of bed until 0800hrs so the alarm is important. I've just set it on my iphone so all is fine.

While I was hoping for a ride with Andy and it did happen, it was the first ride for me since Boxing Day and it was only 2 degrees Centigrade, meaning it was a little on the cold side. Being my first ride for such a long time and bearing in mind that I had new lights, the rear one needing securing to the saddle post, and adding in the fact that I left the house without my crash helmet and had to go back for it as well as having to look around for stuff to keep me warm, I didn't get moving until 0810hrs, which made me later than expected, late enough for Andy to have finished his coffee when I arrived. Yes, I should have left earlier as it seems to be taking me around an hour to get to Tatsfield. I was feeling a little out of condition and I struggled a little up Church Way and whenever there was a hill, like the one on the 269. As always, of course, having kitted myself out with lights, it worked out that I didn't need them, there was no fog, which was a shame as I was hoping I'd put them to good use. I'm sure the opportunity will arise, possibly even next weekend.

We chatted about writing, which was good. Andy's writing his autobiography, which is great. It's something that I should consider too. I bought Andy another coffee and we chatted on, leaving at around 1030hrs, possibly a little later. The ride back was just as cold as the ride out, and I kept the bike on the top cog at the front, which I hadn't noticed at first on the outward ride. I must have reached home at gone 1100hrs and then sat around drinking tea before heading off to Tunbridge Wells in the car, one of my favourite weekend destinations.

To Tatsfield Village...

 My last couple of rides have been more exhilarating than the many which have gone before; I don't know what it is, I feel lighter, I stand up on the pedals and swing the bike from side-to-side on the inclines, more so than I have been doing of late. I figure it might have something to do with losing a bit of weight or being on a slight downward spiral with my weight that has made me lighter and, therefore, more energetic and inclined, perhaps, to ride faster. Today was a great example of this new thing: earlier this morning I'd received a text from Andy asking me to get there on time as he had until 0930 before he had to ride to Sidcup in South East London to see his mum. These days, Andy rides everywhere, no journey is too far. I found myself thinking how he must be saving a fair bit of money through not driving or taking buses and trains. I should at least be riding three times a week, but I'm not, I'm back to riding twice a week, which needs to be upped, by at least one ride.

Library image of the village pond in Tatsfield...

But getting back to today's ride. I left the house around 0755hrs and reached Tatsfield Village by 0850, Sheree's wasn't even open and Andy nowhere to be seen. For me this was great: I'd beaten Andy to Sheree's and I was feeling good. The truth of the matter is that I've been laying off the bread, just two slices per day, no more. In the past I could easily consume six to eight, possibly even 10 slices per day with honey in the morning and possibly Marmite (or more honey or even marmalade) in the evenings. So I'm feeling good about myself and I'm reluctant to bring out the scales just in case I haven't lost any weight. That realisation would be disappointing, demoralising and depressing, the three Ds.

At Sheree's we sat outside in the early heat of the day, Andy with his soya latte and vegan almond croissant, me with nothing but a pot of tea and a small Biscoff-like biscuit. We talked about Andy's trip next year to Stonehenge and the Isle of Wight and again I found myself thinking how he sure gets around on two wheels. Nothing phases him. I started thinking of my own holidays and how, going back into the distant past, I used to go on two-week vacations and it would only cost around £1,800 quid, plus a bit of spending money. These days nobody goes away for a fortnight anymore and I found myself wondering why that would be, but not for long. These days it's just a week and it costs around three to four grand! Unless you go to an Air BnB villa but the costs still mount him, the good old days have well and truly left the building. Andy says you have to take into consideration inflation and he's right. I'll admit I never did consider it although of course it's part of the problem. I have trouble parting with such a huge sum of money for what ultimately becomes a few snaps on my iphone that eventually get deleted and then the memory fades and I'm left with nothing but a debt. Admittedly (as I've said many times) most people save for their holidays, put down a small deposit at the beginning of the year and that way the horror of parting with so much money is spread over a number of months. But not me. I suddenly go on holiday on a whim and have to pay the full tariff, no discounts. I start to feel miffed about this and sometimes forget about a holiday altogether although, having not had a vacation since 2019 when I went to the USA (not really a holiday it has to be said) I am now in dire need of one. I often look at passing fields from a train or even neatly manicured lawns as I pass them by on the bike and imagine myself on a deckchair just relaxing, reading, listening to the radio, anything but what I seem to be doing all the time: thinking about work or fretting about something or other. I need some downtime, especially at the moment with everything else that's being going on with mum (see previous posts).

Anyway, enough of that. I'm looking at taking a week off, very soon. Places like Spain and Greece have been bandied around and it looks as if finally we'll get away and I'll be able to sit by a pool somewhere chilling out. I'm planning on leaving the iphone at home to avoid the temptation of looking at my email, I want to be totally cut adrift from it all for one week, just soaking up a few rays, eating decent food (I always eat decent food) and just doing bugger all without spotting an unread WhatsApp message.

Whenever I watch a holiday ad on the TV it always seems alien to me, not something I do, a world inhabited by other people with little to do. 

It's been a very hot day today. The ride was early enough in the morning not to be unpleasant and when I reached home I chilled in the garden, drinking tea and just relaxing before a trip to a place called Ightham Mote where a cappuccino and a cookie was most welcomed followed by a tour of the house, which, even if I'm not the sort of person to enjoy trips around National Trust properties, was of great interest, being in a place that's been around since 1330AD and probably earlier. To be honest, though, I much prefer the cafes, the almond croissants, the carrot cake, the coffee and walnut cake, the Cornish pasties and so on, those and perhaps a walk around the grounds where I don't have to listen to some guide telling me about the life of one Frederik Von Hausen, a fictional character I invented who sums up the sort of people that used to own these impressive pieces of architecture that are dotted around the United Kingdom.

I'm now sitting indoors blogging. I'm kind of glad I'm doing this as I haven't been writing a great deal of late and I need to get back into it.

I didn't realise that Andy has a tattoo, which is mildly embarrassing as I started dissing people with tattoos only to discover that Andy had recently had one done in memory of his wife Marcia. I felt a bit of fool it has to be said. Some years ago now Andy and I used to have a joke about dissing the pope only to discover that he was standing right behind us. It was kind of like that, but Andy having a tattoo is a one-off, he's not planning a sleeve or any unsightly tattoos on his calves or chest, which is good to know. Basically, Andy's not the sort of person to have a tattoo, that's why I felt safe dissing people who do, but I was wrong and I'm sure he forgives me.

This and that...

Met Andy on Saturday at Sheree's Tea Room in Tatsfield. We chatted about many things, but the best part of the conversation was when we talked about Andy's school trip to, well, everywhere by the sounds of it. He took a boat across the Bay of Biscay in a storm and in the same boat went to the Azores, although Andy couldn't remember much about the Azores, a place I'd like to visit. I wonder if you can go on holiday to the Azores? Probably. On the same trip, Andy went to Morocco and, well, sounds like it was a great trip if you ask me.

Andy and I had been chatting about travelling by train through Europe to Spain and that's how we got on to the Bay of Biscay and Andy's school trip. I had been planning on a business trip to Barcelona and during my research discovered that there was only £200 between flying there and taking the train. Unfortunately, the trip had to be cancelled (or rather postponed) but it'll be back on the agenda in September and my plan is to take the train. Andy's already made the journey.

Andy-related stuff has kept me going this weekend. I'd admit I'd forgotten he was going to tackle the Dunwich Dynamo, a 120-mile free ride from Hackney in London to Dunwich on the Suffolk coast - at night time. The ride goes through the night and Andy tells me he finished around 0400hrs, adding that it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Miraculously, he rode on from Dunwich for 30 miles, presumably to where he was planning to spend the night, but what a guy! Well done, Andy. I can't wait to read about it on your blog.

My ride to Tatsfield had been fine, a little bit of fine rain (or was it moisture from the early morning fog?) but generally the ride was great. As always, Andy was there before me but I'm guessing just before me as his coffee had yet to be delivered to the table. I ordered a tea. Andy said that Sheree had forgotten to order his vegan pastry - shame on her! - but all seemed well. Andy said Sheree's Tearooms was sanctuary and I know just what he means. In many ways it's a strange place, full of crazy teapots and gift items, like scented candles and soft toys, but it's great place for a much-welcomed pot of tea after a bike ride, albeit a short one of around eight miles.

Ken, one of Sheree's regulars, was there wearing, it has to be said, a great shirt. He's in his eighties but he's still looking good. The place was very different on a Saturday. We're normally there on a Sunday when things are fairly peaceful, but on Saturday there are lots of people around buying their shopping, plenty of chit chat and general bustle, which livened the place up a little bit. I ordered a second pot of tea and another latte for Andy and we sat there chatting before heading off - Andy preparing for the Dunwich Dynamo and me just going home to prepare for visits to see mum in hospital. There's nothing wrong with her, but she's being kept in to build up her strength and deal with frailty issues. 

... and now it's almost a week later. I've been at work all week (nothing new there!) but today I was in London for a lunch with a colleague from Germany. Olivo in Eccleston Street was good, but this was a business meeting and it went well. We discussed next year's conference (the one I organise every year). The conference in question takes a lot of work and I've started early trying to pull together a programme. It's going to mean some trips to get everybody on side (not that anybody isn't onside). But enough of work talk. I left the restaurant around 3pm and there was no point going back to work.I can't remember what time I reached home, something like 5pm or 5.30pm. I went to Coco & Nut for a cup of tea and some banana bread and then walked home. Right now I'm watching the French Olympics opening ceremony, it's quite impressive and there are some very arty bits in between the parade of athletes on boats on the Seine.

I was going to see mum in hospital, but I'll be there tomorrow and people have been up to see her today. She's doing alright according to reports on WhatsApp.

The weather has been good today, but generally not brilliant. It's easily been the worst summer for some time.

I'm currently reading Sonic Life by Thurston Moore, better make that I'm still reading Sonic Life, it's a big book but a good book, lots of interesting insights about the band and the US no wave scene in New York in the seventies and eighties. When I finish it, I'm planning on doing another A-Z challenge, reading a book for every letter of the alphabet from A through to Z. It's a good exercise as it introduces me to new novelists; not new in the sense that they've just written whatever it is I'm going to read, but new in the sense of new to me. One of the rules is that I'm not allowed to read any author I have read before - and believe me that leaves me with plenty of choice! For my letter A I'm thinking about Eric Ambler, but nothing is set in stone yet. I'm not allowed to listen to anybody's recommendation and it has to be a totally random exercise. That said, I do have a book that I'm allowed to use as reference, the Rough Guide to Cult Fiction.

Anyway, I'm off to read Andy's blog about his mammoth ride, that of the Dunwich Dynamo. Andy will be back at Sheree's on Sunday so I'll be looking forward to seeing him.

Leeches don't work on 'slime' innertubes...oh I wish I'd known that!

Not a great deal to say. Cycling has been weekly at best, once a week at worst and always Tatsfield Village. Nothing wrong with the destination, but the weather has been poor, on and off, for weeks. They're saying that it's the wettest February for years. I'm not sure whether the phrase "since records began" is appropriate, but I wouldn't be surprised.

Washpond Lane, Saturday 9th March 2024

Andy and I have been enjoying the sanctuary of Sheree's Tearooms, and the fact that Sheree actually exists makes it even better. We meet on Sundays mainly and enjoy a good old chinwag about something or other, it's a relaxing time when the troubles of the world can, by and large, be forgotten about, and believe me we've both had a few problems of late and they've taken their toll. My sister and Andy's wife have both passed and it's not been easy for either of us. I can't speak for Andy, obviously, but during the lead-up to Christmas, after my sister's passing in early December, I went through the mill a bit. I kind of calmed down by Christmas Day and, give or take, while the emotional side of things will take time, the physical symptoms, if that's what they were, have disappeared. I think (although I can never be sure) that I suffered from panic attacks. On the day of my sister's passing I should not have been driving, but I was and I felt terrible inside. It's hard to describe if I'm honest, but somehow or other I managed to fight through it. Cycling has helped a great deal and so did being at Sheree's drinking tea, munching a Biscoff biscuit and chatting with Andy. I know that Andy found Sheree's equally healing – and still does.

The Tatsfield rides were pretty straightforward, just a scoot along the 269 and then hanging a left at Approach Road, past the famous Tatsfield Bus Stop, which is now confined to the NoVisibleLycra history books as we tend to enjoy a café rather than a bench exposed to the elements. This, as I've mentioned before, was largely a result of lockdown, or rather the aftermath of the lockdown, and I think coffee shops are here to stay as we both feel that, in addition to the sanctuary offered at Sheree's, it's also a reward for getting out there and taking a ride.

I've been rather lucky on the puncture front of late. The reason might well have a lot to do with fitting one of those green slime inner tubes on my rear wheel. Weeks, months even, went by without a puncture and I began to feel invincible until, the week before last, I was riding along the 269's off-road path and suddenly the familiar wheel wobble meant just one thing: a puncture. Throw in some coldish weather and some rain and the fact that I had no idea about how slime inner tubes worked (leeches don't adhere to them, Andy told me later) and you have what I regarded as the perfect cycling disaster. Well, not so much disaster, just annoying. There I stood by the side of the 269, rear wheel resting against a gate, holding an inner tube, trying to find the puncture and getting ready to use a leech. Why didn't they stick, I wondered, as I worked through an entire pack of 'scabs' or whatever they were called. It seems that Leeches (the proper ones) have disappeared not only from bike shops but also from the internet and we're left with inferior products (what's new?) But let's get back to me standing in the rain, surrounded by discarded 'leeches' wondering what to do next. I'd told Andy that I was liable to be here for ages (and I was). It took a while to get the tyre on and off and then get it back on AFTER I remembered that my inner tube was supposedly designed to fix its own punctures. I noticed the green spot where the puncture was located and without any leeches to plug the hole I decided to put everything back together again, pump up the tyre and then hope it would get me home. It did! The drizzly rain didn't let up and by the time I got home I was unpleasantly damp, having not brought my cumbersome cape along for the ride. I put the bike into the garage and then, the following morning, I noticed that the rear tyre was still pumped up the following morning. To be honest with you, the puncture event happened on the Saturday and I think (although I can't be 100% sure) that on Sunday there was more rain and the whole idea of a ride to Tatsfield was simply aborted. It was the following Sunday that I met Andy at Sheree's and he told me how leeches don't work on slime inner tubes. Well, I know now. Like I also know that I'll avoid the off-road path if I can. The problem there was that I was labouring under a false sense of security. The rule, as we all know, is that the off-road path along the side of the 269 is puncture city, but for some reason I rode it a good half dozen times and never got a flat. I put this down to the new (ish) rear tyre as I figured the front tyre wasn't as vulnerable as the rear, but then it happened. Anyway, let's not go on about it anymore. It happened, the slime inner tube worked and all is back to normal. As I rode home on that drizzly day, however, I must say that I allowed myself to get a little angry about the whole episode. I tend to let small things get me down, which is silly and completely pointless, but I figured that the best way to change the direction of my emotions was to stop at the Esso garage and give the bike a much-needed jet clean, although it was my soul that needed jet cleaning. The bike had been covered in mud for some weeks and it was great to blast it all off and then ride home with a tyre that was still holding out.

I can't remember how things turned out after that; I carried on working during the week and cycling at the weekend and the rain and poor weather continued too. Today has been weird, although what is today? I can't even remember when I wrote this post, it was certainly around a week ago – up to this point – probably longer. Overnight there was a lot of wind and rain and then during the day the rain competed with the sun; one minute it was raining, the next minute there was sunshine. I decided to walk rather than cycle. Late in the afternoon I embarked upon a three-miler and I managed to escape the rain. I stopped halfway at a Costa in Sanderstead High Street for a green tea and, yes, a Bakewell tart and then I walked back. And now I'm sitting here writing this blogpost with the shit show that is the BRIT awards on in the background (so the BRIT awards will give you (and me) an idea of what day it was, not as long ago as I thought).

Hopefully the rain will have stopped once and for all tomorrow and I'll be able to get out on the bike and head for Tatsfield village or Biggin Hill or Westerham or wherever. I doubt I'll go to Biggin Hill as there's something depressing about it, especially the Costa Coffee there, which is a little dull. I don't know what it is, but some places don't work for me and Biggin Hill is one of them. It's fine on a hot summer's day but not when the weather's bad. There's always Oxted but right this minute I can't handle a ride up Titsey Hill.

It was a week later when I decided, on a Saturday, to ride the non-stop 'Botley Bastard', a trip up the 269 and then into Woldingham and home – around 15 miles; the following week I rode the Washpond Weeble (see photo of sheep above) – 12 miles – and now it's Thursday and the weekend lies ahead of me. I'm now thinking about Oxted or, perhaps, another non-stop ride, another Weeble perhaps or another Botley Bastard. I'm guessing Andy and I will be meeting on Sunday at Tatsfield. 

To Tatsfield Village...

Last week, two trips to Tatsfield, one alone, one with Andy (on Sunday). Great rides both of them, the weather wasn't too severe, but it was a little on the chilly side, certainly on Saturday. I've taken to riding along the off-road path on the return journey along the 269. It's been okay but there are bits where the uneven path shakes the bike to smithereens and on Sunday I lost my front light as a result. I looked down and it wasn't there and the very thought of stopping and retracing my steps back along the path was too annoying to be given any major consideration, which I suppose was stupid in itself. I figure I'd buy a new front light. That said, perhaps I'll take a look for it this weekend.

Tatsfield Village pond.

I'm still angry with myself for not tying in to an exercise routine, not yet at any rate. Everything in my life is so haphazard. I might start using the trim wheel on, say, a Monday, but then I'll completely forget about it until Wednesday and it's all to do with circumstances. I might oversleep and vow to do the exercises in the evening, but then the evening comes and I completely forget about it until it's too. Likewise the Saturday ride, but this is more my fault. I simply get up, knowing I can go whenever I want and then end up still being in the house at gone 0900hrs when the demands of others starts to creep in. End result? I don't go out, although I do promise myself that I'll go in the evening and then, of course, I don't go.

Pot of tea at Sheree's...totally civilised!

Now it's the following week and it's Saturday morning (yesterday) and it's lunch time for heaven's sake and there's no way I'm going now. I'll either go tonight or (most likely) I'll content myself with the thought that I'm going tomorrow and then lol in front of the television all night. There has been a kind of on/off pattern to cycling, mainly because of cold weather and the sequence goes something like this: Two rides, one ride, no rides, one ride, two rides (per week) and so on. Last week I managed two rides, good for me. This week it's just the one and in many ways it's gone back to what it used to be pre-pandemic when rain might have stopped the Saturday ride or Andy couldn't make it on the Sunday or the weather across the weekend was so rubbish we didn't go out at all. Back then, of course, we just accepted the situation for what it was and perhaps that should be the way now, but I don't think so. It needs to be addressed and I've got to have more discipline, more get up and go, more organization and so forth. In other words, as I keep saying, I must get my act together and make a difference.

Inside Sheree's Tearooms...

It's the same for walking. I've done alright on walking. I'm not always recording the walks on Strava, but I think this week I've managed a couple of two-milers and one slightly longer, but when the International Man of Mystery isn't around I prefer a curry and rice and a mug of tea down the caff and why not? Fine, but I don't walk home, I wait for the Purley Oaks train, although, all things said, I always walk around two miles per day from my house to Purley Oaks station in the morning and at night, so the default is around a two-miler daily.

I promised myself that I'd go swimming. I haven't gone yet and we're now in February. I won't say anymore about that but hopefully one day I'll manage it and get in the groove. In fact I'm not going to say anything about my plans for exercise as whenever I do I simply don't do it.

Today I rode to Tatsfield village, forgetting that Andy wasn't going to be there. I have vague memories last week of him saying he wouldn't be going, but as I say, I forgot. So I left the house around 0800hrs and at around 0900, as Sheree's Tearoom came into view, I couldn't see Andy's trademark orange forks. I started to think, hold on, I've beaten him to it, I'm the first to arrive, this is great news, but as I drew nearer and kind of remembered him saying he wouldn't be there. In many ways I'm glad I forgot because had I remembered I probably wouldn't have gone, I'd have left it too late and then thought I'll start again next week. In other words, not remembering he wouldn't be there did me a lot of favours.

Chicken curry at Rodi's Redhill

Over the past few weeks I've been taking the off-road path on the return journey along the 269 and it's been alright, except that it's pretty bumpy, shaking the bike to smithereens and last week (rather annoyingly) I lost my front light as a result. Today, after tea at Sheree's, I followed the same route along the off-road path, but I slowed right down and kept an eye out for my light. I didn't find it, which means I'll have to buy another one. It was warmer out today than it has been of late, which made for a pleasant change. 

When I reached Sheree's, Ken was there. We wished each other a good morning and that was it; I felt glad that he didn't engage me in a chat about catheters. Instead, I sat there looking out of the window and just chilling out until I'd finished my pot of tea. Then I headed out on the ride home and I must say it was enjoyable. At least I got one ride in and things will improve, I know they will.

Sometimes I lose the will to live...

Last Sunday we broke with tradition and rode to Tatsfield village instead of Westerham. In the old days, of course, riding to the village would have meant sitting in the cold bus shelter drinking tea from a flask and then riding home again, but now that we're leaving our respective houses later, we get there in time for the opening of Sheree's Tea Room. Last Sunday I was there first and secured a seat by the window. It was all very festive and cosy. I ordered a pot of tea and (foolishly) a millionaire's shortbread. And then Andy arrived. I could have sat there for the whole morning if the truth be known, but as the clock edged around to 1000hrs I knew it was time to head home. Andy and I parted company at The Ridge and I rode the 269, getting home around 1100hrs.

Cosy and festive window at Sheree's Tearooms last Sunday...

Talk about riding five miles daily went out of the window as the new working week began. When I reached home on Monday night I was in no mood to get on the bike and it was the same for Tuesday and Wednesday. I did manage a Washpond Weeble on Thursday and I might well try to get one in today (Friday) but it's looking increasingly unlikely. 

Fake cakes at Sheree's Tearooms...

The weather is getting bad (or so say the TV weather people). If it does get colder then the balaclava will come out, and the scarf. Yesterday (Thursday) I rode the Weeble wearing a heavy jumper and my Parka. It was a good ride. Apparently today (Friday) offers "a really chilly start", not what I wanted to hear, but then I'm not planning on going out this morning. I have the day off so I'll go later on. Andy's not riding on Sunday so I'll have to motivate myself, which isn't a problem. I've been thinking about a ride to Redhill to have breakfast in the Pop Inn, let's see.

I'm beginning to wonder why I left it until later to hit the road. It's raining now and doesn't look as if it'll stop any time soon, so today might be called off. I'm beginning to lose track of my rides. Yesterday was a 12.38-mile ride starting at 1324hrs and ending 73 minutes later. Prior to that I had covered 16.26 miles to and from Tatsfield village on Sunday (on the road for 93 minutes in total) and then, the previous day, I did a longer ride into Westerham via Beddlestead Lane and back up Hesiers Hill (24.26 miles in two hours and 35 minutes). I did a Lunchtime Weeble (12.37 miles) on Friday 19 November and then it was the ride I mentioned in my last post when I gave up queuing and simply rode home from Westerham Costa without my regulation large English breakfast tea. In other words my mileage is seriously slacking.

Losing the will to live

I'm actually finding it difficult not to lose to will to live at the moment. This is largely due to work-related woes, and I feel a little on the edge as a result and constantly thinking how pointless everything appears to be at present. It's all work, work, work and no play. And at night I am reluctant to go to bed because I don't particularly like sleeping any more, ever since that inner ear infection back in October 2017 (28th), the day I decided to give up drinking. I've kept that up, which I'm pleased about, but the end result of the infection is that I cannot sleep on my right hand side, or rather I don't want to in case it all starts up again. Add to that a constantly blocked up ear, which I will get seen to shortly, and the whole idea of resting has become a nightmare. There's nothing worse than not being able to hear what's going on at night. I literally can't wait to wake up and as soon as I do I'm out of bed and downstairs eating breakfast if the clock reads 0500hrs or later. Anything before that and I have to grin and bear it, the only one awake, staring at the ceiling, fretting about something or someone until the hour is respectable enough for me to rise from bed and head downstairs for breakfast. 

Last Sunday's at Sheree's Tearooms

My only true pleasure at the moment comes from visiting a cosy coffee shop with a decent book and my lap top, like I did a few weeks back at a London branch of Caffe Nero. You simply can't beat it. 

To try and stop the edgy feelings and the stress I also look forward to just sitting in front of the television watching something decent (if I can find something). Normally nothing good is broadcast until 2100hrs and at the moment I'm watching the ultimate rubbish in the shape of I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here! which is absolute craperama, and even more so now that Richard Madeley has been removed from camp after being struck down by illness, caused, I believe, by diving head first into a load of rotten vegetables and fish guts, aged 65. They're back in the Welsh castle again this year due to COVID and now, of course, there's talk of another variant (Omicron) emanating from South Africa that can bypass all vaccines. I've been double-jabbed and I'm awaiting the booster, which I don't particularly want. 

Television

Getting back to what I like watching on television to soothe my edgy feelings, stuff like long-running crime dramas (Shetland) or programmes presented by Ben Fogle or even watching Shappi Korsandi (an Iranian comedian) walking alone through the countryside, something that takes me away from everything. Sadly, reality gatecrashes the party at 2200hrs when Huw Edwards appears, sombre look on face, to deliver a whole bunch of bad news to the country, normally something that involves us having to watch pictures of that prat of a Prime Minister Boris Johnson or Priti Patel leaving buildings or giving speeches or addressing the House. At this moment I channel hop, but rarely find anything worth watching, and soon I start to consider the awful reality of the situation: I've got to start thinking about locking up the house and heading upstairs to bed. Perhaps I should just sleep in a different part of the house to mix things up a bit. I keep thinking about bedding down in the conservatory in a sleeping bag for some reason, surrounding myself with pillows. That would make waking up in the middle of the night a bit more exciting. I could lie there with my radio for company, listening, perhaps, to BBC Radio Three or LBC, although the latter would probably make matters worse so let's stick with classical music. I've got a lot on my mind at present and I just wish I could find a desolate cottage on a windswept beach in Shetland or Orkney or the Isle of Harris where I could simply stare at the sea for a few days, that's what I need more than anything else.

Blood pressure

Then, to make matters worse, the doctor sends me some kind of document to download on my iphone (which proves impossible) so that I can send him a blood pressure reading. My blood pressure has always been 'borderline high' meaning not crazy or out of control but worth monitoring. So I have a monitor, which I think causes more stress than anything else. What normally happens is this: I visit the doctor for whatever reason and he takes my blood pressure, it's high, it always is when it's first taken, they call it 'white coat syndrome', and it won't come down a great deal if he presses the button on his machine a few moments later. He asks me to go away and do my own tests, which I do, and invariably the readings are much lower and it's all forgotten about. As a stressful day at work drew to a close last week the message came through and I somehow managed to send him a reading (152/89 - or something of that ilk). There was a note saying that when you first take a reading it will be high so I didn't send him the first two or three, which, according to the document, meant I needed to get myself off to A&E immediately (in itself stress-inducing). And so, the ball was in motion once again. On top of work and not being able to hear properly because my ears are blocked (and don't appear to be unblocking any time soon) all I need is to start fretting about blood pressure. But it's worse this time. My pulse, which, for years has been a constant 60, has dipped to 59, 55, 53, 51, even 50. Naturally, I make matters worse for myself by checking it out on the Internet. Brachycardia. This might be something to do with the amount of cycling I've been doing over the past 18 months, I don't know, but there it is. Andy says he gets it too and he's thought about visiting the doc, but hasn't yet. At around midnight I call a Bupa nurse (who, of course, is absolutely no help whatsover). I thought about dialling 111, but that would have been a mistake, they'd insist I wend my way to casualty and I would have been there all night... and nothing would have been resolved.

Tudor Rose Tearooms today

I have an appointment with the doc next Friday at 1000hrs and I'm already plotting (working on ways I can reduce my BP). Daily cycling is one thing, although this is also to stop me fretting at night times when I hit the sack and it was something Andy suggested when we met on Saturday (yesterday) at Sheree's Tearooms in Tatsfield Village. "Just a local five-miler, nothing more, don't attempt to start cycling to work as that will cause more stress when you fail to get it together, just five miles, nothing more, nothing less". So I'm going to do it. Incidentally, I weakened and ordered a slice of cake. See, there I go, fretting again.

Right now I'm just a ball of stress. I simply can't relax. I'm always thinking about work or I'm feeling wary about something and it all starts from the moment I open my eyes. Consciousness reminds me about the BP situation, about work and anything else that might cause anxiety, down to little things like "can you put X or Y in the loft?" or "should we put the electric fire back in the garage?" And if I'm sitting down, reading a paper or watching the TV I'm thinking "I wonder if my BP is dangerously high?" It's a continuing onslaught of worry and with the latter it's because I don't want to take blood pressure tablets, I don't want to be one of those people 'on medication'. Last night I had the monitor on all night and most of the readings were borderline high and some very high, but I managed to get one or two below the 140 marker, but nowhere near the optimum reading. I find myself getting conspiratorial about it: the docs just want to make money by getting me to take out a life-long prescription, that's all this is about. Apparently they get paid for every prescription they issue, no wonder there's a load of top-of-the-range Audi sedans in the surgery car park. I view doctors with suspicion like I do almost everybody these days. Very few people have my best interests at heart. And what really annoys me about the BP thing is this: I don't drink, I take regular exercise, I eat relatively well, I make a point of walking to Purley station every morning (well, most mornings) to keep up my steps. My only vice is the odd bit of cake, although I do need to lose about a stone in weight, and that's why I'm going to bust a gut to do that daily 5-miler during the week.

Sunday's ride to Westerham

It's Sunday morning and the sun is shining, but it's not warm outside. Far from it! Time to hit the road and get some exercise, in the shape of a 22 miles plus ride to and from Westerham. I'll probably have a large English Breakfast tea when I get there and then ride home again. The weather was bright and sunny and cold as I headed off in my Parka, heavy jumper, beany hat under helmet, and gloves. I rode the slow way along Beddlestead Lane and then down Clarks Lane, a left on to Pilgrims, turning right at the Velobarn and then riding up the hill to the Costa. There was quite a few cyclists in there and a long queue so, reluctantly, I moved along the green a little to the Tudor Rose Tearooms where I enjoyed a pot of tea and a rock cake, which was absolutely perfect. For a short while I was chilled out, deep in thought, sipping tea and munching on that rock cake. Wonderful. But soon the journey home beckoned and I found myself standing on the green, buttoning up the Parka, putting on the crash helmet and gloves, pressing 'resume' on Strava and then heading off, retracing the inward route. I decided to ride through Woldingham and up Slines Oak Road and then made my way along the Limpsfield Road towards home.