It's raining, Trump's gone to hospital and I need a haircut...

Donald Trump has been moved to a hospital close to the White House after testing positive for COVID-19. It's said to be a precautionary measure and that Mr President is only suffering from mild symptoms, but he's been seen wearing a mask for the first time and perhaps now he's going to take this thing seriously. Some commentators think he's lying. Documentary film maker Michael Moore, who seems to have it in for any US president who isn't a democrat, believes there's a strong chance that Trump is lying in order to delay the election and remain in power. It's possible, but surely even Trump wouldn't tempt fate and pretend he has a killer disease. The First Lady, Melania, isn't in hospital, although she also tested positive. There's a few people wanting Trump to die and we all know who they are. I don't want him dead. I didn't want Boris to die. Just because I disagree with somebody's politics doesn't mean I want them dead. Wanting people dead seems to be something 'of the left', but not me. Trump is an arse, of course he is, but that doesn't mean I want him dead. The world needs arseholes solely for the purpose of comparison and to know who isn't an arsehole.

We brave much worse than rainwater...

I'm listening to Blues for Allah by the Grateful Dead, in fact I'm going to play it again, it's good background and I like Jerry Garcia, ever since watching that documentary about him, the one produced by Scorsese, is that how you spell his name? I'll check later. The weather's been poor and you might as well know that it's moving towards that time of year when the light has to go in the kitchen in order to make breakfast. In fact, let's face it, that time is now upon us, it's October for heaven's sake and that means looking out the window to see if a puddle is forming on next door's flat-roofed extension. Yesterday it rained all day and I didn't manage a ride. I'm now thinking about braving the rain just to be out there. It's only when it's cold that rain is bad news and besides, I have waterproof trousers somewhere. So far this week I've managed 60 miles. Normally, today, I'd be riding to Westerham or Dunton Green to bump up the mileage. Theoretically, I can still do that - and I might - but the general view based on the weather, is that it's going to rain non-stop throughout the day, and for most of next week too if I believe my iphone. 

Setting out our stuff last week at Tatsfield village bus stop. Pic: Andy Smith

Tomorrow we're due to meet in Tatsfield village, me, Andy and possibly even Phil. We need to change venues from churchyard to village purely because the latter offers us cover from inclement weather. All we have to do now is bite the bullet and get out there and forget about the rain, but it's hard when you gaze out from the warmth of the house and note the puddles and the wet grass and the shiny roads and the stair rods. Still, after a summer of ultra-cycling and feeling a lot better for it, there has to be a way of doing this. I'm considering facing the rain today and riding the Norfolk Nobbler, a six-and-a-half-mile ride with a couple of hills thrown in. It won't be pleasant, but it's not impossible.

It's 0714hrs and a light still burns above my head. I need a haircut. My hair is now getting long and straggly and I'm looking a mess. It hasn't been cut since March and while there are situations where I'd consider just leaving it and looking, dare I say, a bit like Jerry Garcia, I'm at a point where I need to freshen up my look. A feel a number three crop coming on! The plan is to have a haircut today in Oxted. There's a guy coming round to check the boiler in the kitchen. It's old, but it's still going strong, although we've been advised to give it plenty of ventilation. In all honesty, we need a brand new kitchen, but it ain't cheap and nor is a new boiler. The kitchen needs to be done fairly soon as we have a situation where draws don't shut properly, hinges are broken and the whole thing is looking really tired. It's like going back in time when you set foot in the kitchen: the brown, oatmeal tiles, the artexed ceiling, the hopsack work surfaces and the disgusting extraction fan over the sticky old gas hob. It's amazing what people are prepared to put up with, but that's the problem, people put up with things until one day it becomes too much and they start saving up for stuff. I remember once, when we lived in a different house, we had a thing called Operation Kitchen underway. It basically involved saving money and that in turn put us into inferior hotels whenever we went away for the weekend, although we probably cut back on stuff like weekends away in the country until the kitchen was fixed.

The curtains have been drawn back and it's looking pretty grey out there. I haven't checked the birdbath yet for rain drops, but I will in a minute or so. Last week I headed for Woodmansterne Green around this time to see Bon, it was a great day, the sun was shining, I was wearing a tee-shirt and I loved every minute of it. Now, the weather conspires against me and because of the virus there's no other form of exercise. The swimming pools are closed or subject to social distancing measures and all that's left is a walk and these days I'm not doing a great deal of walking, unlike in pre-COVID days when I'd be putting in around 10,000 to 15,000 steps per day. Nowadays, my iphone likes to inform me that I'm not walking as much as I did last year. It's right, I'm not, but I'm cycling much, much more. I'm hoping to keep it up, I've just got to get over the rain thing and get out there.

I guess I'd better start my day. Starting my day means having that haircut. This will be great because it means I can go to Oxted, which is around 10 miles away, and check out the bookstore. I'd planned on cycling there, but I'd be soaked through and I don't want to sit there feeling uncomfortable and making small talk with a barber. In fact, now I am starting to think about it, going to the barber's means the hassle of queuing, or rather sitting, waiting for a haircut and flicking through old copies of GQ. Not that I've been to the barber in Oxted before; I'm only going there because it's not Croydon and hopefully I'll be able to socially distance a bit more. Whatever! By the end of the day I won't be able to sit watching TV whilst twirling my long hair with my fingers and I'll be able to see my ears again. The jury's out on whether my long hair suits me or not. My mum says it does. She believes it's far better than the convict cut I normally have. My daughter was hoping I'd keep it going until Christmas and a part of me thinks I should, but it really is getting to the stage now where I look disparagingly at myself when I pass a mirror and think: 'what a mess'. Who knows? There might be a lot of people in there and I won't feel confident about sitting with loads of diseased people. Perhaps I should get the clippers out and do it myself.

My second helping of the Grateful Dead's Blues for Allah album is drawing to a close, it's time to start my day. Hopefully the next post you read will be about me riding to Tatsfield Village to meet Andy and Phil.

To Tatsfield Village...the slow way

Sunday 17th November: Westerham had been mooted, but in the end we opted for Tatsfield Village, the slow way. I'd half expected frost on the ground this morning, but when I peered out around 6am, there was nothing. In fact, it wasn't really that cold. Here we are mid-November and I've yet to don the gloves.

Phil aborted so it was just Andy and I that headed out from Warlingham Green towards Sainsbury's and beyond.

When I awoke this morning, the television news was talking about a body being found in Warlingham. The body of a male or female? That was the question and forensics were looking into it; the body had been found in a well and seven people were under arrest. News reports suggested that a house full of Eastern Europeans were under suspicion.

The Warlingham Green Christmas tree in all its glory

As I cycled along the Limpsfield Road towards the Green I wondered how far I might be from the gruesome discovery. Where, I wondered, was there a well in Warlingham, because that was where the body had been found.

It all happens round these parts. In fact, this sentence is written a good 12 hours later than all that has gone before it and this morning I discovered on the radio news that the body had been assaulted prior to finding itself in the well. The plot thickens, but this story has made the national news headlines for two days in a row so I'll keep you posted.

The ride was good. The weather overcast and sullen, but no rain and a slight bite in the air. The cold weather is on the way, say the weather forecasters, and it won't be long before we are greeted by frost in the mornings and biting cold air. At the moment, though, it's pretty mild out there, although I recall one November, a couple of years back, when it was so cold that somebody left an ice sculpture on the Green – that was a very cold day and then I think we had snow that Christmas (or just prior).

Riding to Tatsfield the slow way is quite a trek and we both agreed, as we hauled ourselves up Beddlestead Lane towards Clarks Lane that it was probably a better work-out than riding to Westerham – or at least on a par. I've probably said this before, but Beddlestead Lane seems never ending; there are signs along the way that mark the route, signs like the dead tree trunk that stands alone on the right hand side of the road, like a totem pole, highlighting that the end is nigh. In fact, the totem pole (as I call it) is probably the only real sign that the end of Beddlestead Lane is nigh. The rest of the road is hedgerows, fields, gates, the usual stuff you expect to find on an NVL ride.

As always on Beddlestead Lane we are passed by Lycra Monkeys, who bid us a polite 'good morning' as they overtake us – we the overladen horse and carts, they the sleek sports cars. Our bikes are 'tractors' of the highest order and certainly not ideal for the sort of riding we're predominantly doing. One topic of conversation that has risen it's ugly head many a time is that we should be riding hybrids, with more gears and thinner tyres and possibly even trade in our high spec hydraulic brakes for old-fashioned blocks. Why? Because of maintenance costs. My front pads need replacing, I've just replaced my entire rear brake, it's never-ending. As I remarked to Andy while we sat at the Tatsfield Village bus stop, my Marin Bear Valley Special Edition had something like 21 or 24 gears and in the 12 years that I  rode it (on the London to Brighton a couple of times, London to Cambridge and London to Oxford, plus the odd excursion out to Botley Hill long before Andy and I took up cycling, I never had one puncture, never had to replace the brake blocks, nothing at all. The Kona has been a completely different story, costing me, on average, about £150 per year. Still, I like it and I know that if I sell it on Ebay I'll only get about £150 so I'm holding on to it for the time being. Having said that, I've often found myself in bike shops viewing 'sensible' bikes with thinner tyres, mudguards, block brakes and the like; worryingly, it sounds like I'm gaining a bit of maturity. Next thing you know I'll be considering the value of a basket mounted on the front bars – "It's so useful!"

Warlingham Church Hall, taken Sunday evening.

We sat at Tatsfield, munching the cereal bars and drinking the tea and, in all honesty, we were missing Phil's sausage sandwiches, which last week were fantastic.

I reached home just before 10am, having parted company with Andy halfway along the 269 – we came back 'the fast way'.

Andy and I at the Tatsfield Village bus stop...

Yours truly (left) with Andy at the Tatsfield Village bus stop, Sunday 13 March 2011.

We both arsed around trying to take this self-portrait at the Tatsfield Village bus stop, but eventually Andy captured the shot perfectly on his complicated Nikon digital camera.