No cycling this weekend...

... and I suppose it was all my fault; it certainly wasn't Andy's. On Friday night I went out to meet some friends and while I didn't touch any alcohol - for those who don't know, I haven't touched the stuff for around 21 months - I did indulge in some home-made iced tea. It was wonderful, so much so that I had a couple of glasses and enjoyed every last drop. Later, prior to jumping into the car and driving off into the stormy weather that was Friday night, I also enjoyed a cup of normal tea. Again, very nice, but what I had failed to consider was my caffeine intake. For around the same time I've been off the booze, I've also been off the caffeine. I now drink decaff tea, but not on Friday night. Anyway, I reached home around 2330hrs but wasn't feeling in the slightest bit tired or weary. I decided not to go to bed, but to watch a movie, Man Up, with Simon Pegg. No, it's not my type of film at all, but I wanted to see what the director made of an essentially very simple scenario (man goes on blind date with the wrong girl but ends up falling in love). Look, it was fine, let's leave it at that. But I was still buzzing and decided to get on the computer, check things out. By the time I marched upstairs to bed, still wired, it was approaching 0200hrs. I thought it best to abort and did so there and then.

Andy got to Westerham, but I stayed at home...

For some time now, ever since returning from Dusseldorf, I've had a sore throat and a dry cough. The sore throat was initially very unpleasant and the cough was also not very nice, but they've both persisted. In the middle of the night, just after midnight, I awoke with a coughing fit. In the end I had to get out of bed and head downstairs to make some tea (this time decaff). I turned on the computer, checked out the BBC website (Iran had seized a British ship in the Middle East) and killed time until I'd finished my tea. I thought about aborting, but decided not to. Best, perhaps, to see how I felt in the morning. My alarm went off at 0600hrs and I wasn't feeling good at all. I decided to abort and climb back into bed, eventually falling asleep and then waking around 0900hrs. I needed the sleep, put it that way, but, as usual, the weather was fantastic and I missed out on a ride. Andy posted a photo on Twitter: he'd gone to Westerham, where I was planning on going had I gone out. Anyway, you can't cry over spilt milk, as my mum says. Well, you can, it's just pointless. So I painted the side gate and sat in the garden catching a few rays and didn't really do much all day. I'm under the weather, feeling weary and it's not good.

I slobbed around all day after finishing the gate. I sat in the garden reading the Rough Guide to Cult Fiction, a great read. I've done the crossword (nothing too challenging, just the Waitrose Weekend magazine) and the only clue I didn't get was the name for a baby salmon. Any clues?

Here's to next week's ride.

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.

Sore throat means no cycling this weekend...

Friday I noticed I had a slight sore throat. Saturday morning it was a little more pronounced and I wasn't feeling good. In fact I cancelled a ride I'd been planning with Phil to Westerham. During Saturday a Lemsip made things bearable and then, on Sunday, I had to abort a second ride. Phil's stag night, what a great occasion: a few beers and a curry, nothing over-the-top, but I wasn't feeling good and by the time I got home around 0100hrs or thereabouts, I hit the sack with a runny nose and that aforementioned sore throat. I sent an abort text to Andy prior to going to bed and now, here I am, at 1009hrs, Lemsipped up and feeling a little better. There was no way I could have riden anywhere this weekend and I really can't wait until next week when hopefully I'll have shaken off this awful cold and sore throat. It's early July, the weather in the UK has been appalling and, what's worst, we've left the EU, although as it sinks in I'll admit that while still a little angry, I'm coming round to the reality of the situation.

Robertsons Coffee Shop, Oxted, Surrey.

A new review has been posted on my Teashop and Caff blog – click here for more.

Teashop and Caff is another blog of mine. It's been going for roughly the same time as NoVisibleLycra but it's all about teashops and caffs, as the name suggests. And it's international in its scope as you'll see if you scroll through past posts.

Cough, sore throat, cold...

Andy's Kona Blast rests against a tree somewhere in
NoVisibleLycra Land.

All week I've suffered from a bout of flu. Well, alright, not flu, but let's just say that since last weekend, when I noticed I had a sore throat, it's developed first into a dry cough and then the full monty: runny nose, sneezing, you name it. In short, I had a cold and for most of the week it was manageable and by that I mean I didn't feel ill or weary or anything so I continued with work. Wednesday was the bad day. I felt terrible and looked forward (as I always do) to a Lemsip. I've written about Lemsip before because it's one of those cough and cold remedies I wouldn't mind taking when I don't have a cold. There's something retro, something calming, about Lemsip.

So the weekend hits. I'd taken Friday off (and I'm off Monday too) and I really thought I'd be up for a ride. Alright, not on Saturday, but on Sunday I thought I'd be raring to go. When I woke up, however, I had a headache and decided to abort. I think Phil was grateful for the abort as he'd had a tough week. Andy went out for a ride and took the photograph accompanying this post.

I'll be back in the saddle next week without fail, weather permitting. Actually, just for the record, I can't remember the last time I suffered the symptoms of a cold; it was probably a couple of years ago, if not longer. I'll find out and report back... okay, here I am reporting back: it was January 2011.

Actually, one of the nicest things about having a cold is when it reaches that stage when you know it's going away and it leaves you with a retro feeling. Not so much deja vu, but you feel you're living in the past, the cosy past. It's hard to explain but if you know what I mean you know what I mean, I'll say no more.

Sore throat – I think I'm going down with something

Dream maker: a sachet of this stuff
before bed makes for a surreal experience.

For the past 12 months I've been stuffing my face – with oranges. Sometimes, I've eaten as many as five big ones while sitting in front of the television or reading a book. As 2010 progressed, I stepped it up a little: I started eating apples and pears and I'd always been partial to the odd banana or two. Actually, where bananas are concerned, I could eat them all day if I'm honest, I love them.

With so much goodness going into the system, you'd think I'd be pretty bomb-proof when it came to run-of-the-mill diseases and, to be fair, I have been; I haven't had a cold – or anything – since the winter of 2008. But now, as I sit here writing this blog, I have a sore throat. It came on last night and its only saving grace is that I feel fine – no headache, I'm not feeling weak, I'm not feeling ill – if that makes sense, although I don't sound good and I'll probably be clearing my throat a lot over the next few days. You know the deal, you bring up a mouthful of phlegm in company and have to rush to the bathroom to get rid of it. Incidentally, what a lovely word, phlegm. I think there should be a punk rock band called the Phlegmingos, perhaps there is one. Hold on a second while I open another window on the computer and check out Google...no, there isn't, although I now wonder whether or not I have a 'phlegmatic personality'. I'd like to think that I'm low-key, easy going and relaxed, but you know what? I don't think I am so I'll stick to the mucus, as indeed would everybody because it's so sticky.

Sitting here with a sore throat, of course, could have been avoided as the best thing to do is keep out of the way of anybody who has flu or a cold or, indeed, a sore throat and that is where I went wrong. While in the New Forest between Christmas and New Year, we stood out like sore thumbs because we didn't have any ailments. The problem, of course, was that everybody else did have something wrong with themselves, be it a sore throat, a cough, a cold or a mixture of all three and while I did say that we'd be lucky to escape without 'going down with something,' I thought we'd escaped it yesterday even if I did say, whenever smugness arose, that we'd have to leave it two days before discovering if we'd escaped. Clearly, two days later, that's not the case!

The worst thing, of course, is the weather. As I sit here in the conservatory looking out on the garden, I notice lovely blue skies with scattered, light grey clouds and a general stillness, which means it's ideal for cycling. To be honest, I feel okay and now, as I write this, I'm thinking, 'perhaps I should go out', but I know that having a sore throat is one good reason not to go out; it is, if you like, my 'get out of jail free' card, not that I view cycling as some kind of penal activity. Indeed, given the choice between having a sore throat and not having one, I'd take the latter option. I guess that going cycling could make things worse, but because there's no medical expert at hand to contradict that view, I'll remain in front of the computer in the warmth.

The problem with this sort of ailment, of course, is that it lingers. It hangs around like a delinquent teenager on a street corner and leads to utterances like, "I can't seem to shake it off." That sort of remark often results in a trip to the doctor and a course of anti-biotics. For me, however, the worst thing about having a cold or a sore throat is losing one's sense of taste. It hasn't happened yet, and I hope it won't, but there's nothing as bad as eating a hearty meal and not being able to taste it. Of course, such a condition does have its advantages: it means you can eat stuff you don't like – tinned sardines and cottage cheese – but what's the point?

Late last night I scored some Lemsip from the local gas station and, on arriving home, I emptied a sachet into a mug and poured hot water on to the yellow powder, transforming it into a warming lemon drink crammed with various drugs guaranteed to allievate the symptoms. I didn't fancy waking up in the middle of the night with a dry mouth, gagging for a glass of water and it worked. I had a good night's sleep, waking at past eight o'clock and coming downstairs to write this blog post. Now, as I gaze again outside, the sky is even bluer than it was a few moments ago, this really is great cycling weather, but again, I'll have to give it a miss.

The Lemsip was excellent, by the way, as it enabled me to have a weird dream that involved, for some reason, throwing cushions at Nick Clegg, who was sitting on one of my sofas, and being present at a showing of the BBC's Question Time on which both Cameron and Clegg were blatantly pretending to hate each other in an effort to prove they were not joined at the hip. There was much more to the dream, but as I write this, I can't recall anymore of it, although I have a strange feeling it involves the sea as most of my dreams tend to.

Right, time to go and spend the last day of the holidays (it's a Bank Holiday today) 'being ill'. This means not going to see my parents – for fear of giving them my sore throat (although I've just discovered my mum already has one – or my mate Alan, whose wife has just given birth to a baby daughter.

Mind you, there are some positive aspects of having a sore throaty sort of ailment: one, I can perfect a gravelly voice; and two, I can develop one of those insincere, television presenter wheezy laughs that will enable me to laugh at jokes that simply aren't funny. There's an upside to everything.