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.

Lockdown, Pt.42: Autumnal weather, The Grateful Dead, Phil's back, weird dreams...

Last night a strange dream. I was in a hotel and I think it was in Dusseldorf. Next thing I know I'm leaving the hotel dressed only in a duvet. I remember reaching a wall with a sliding door and when I opened it there was another sliding door and another and once through I found myself in a huge, empty, white space, like some kind of hangar. At that point I seemed to come to my senses. Perhaps it would be a good idea to wear some proper clothes and not a duvet, perhaps it would be best to return to the hotel room and collect my stuff before departing. And then, of course, I woke up. Actually, I'd woken up earlier, just before 0400hrs and debated going downstairs when the clock moved round an hour, but instead I just stayed in bed and eventually I drifted off until, all of sudden, I heard the sound of birdsong, my alarm. It was time to get up and make breakfast, listen to LBC's Steve Allen, eat some Alpen, drink some tea and start writing this blogpost. I can't remember whether I had the dream before I woke up at 0400hrs or after I'd drifted off. Why, I wonder, are all of my dreams fretful? The weird thing is that, in the real world, wearing only a duvet on the streets would seem less strange than it did in the dream. If I was stuck in a foreign city dressed only in a duvet, I'd see the funny side and do something about it and, of course, I'd go back to the hotel, I'd need my passport and my wallet, credit card and so forth.

Friday evening at the Churchyard

Anyway, enough of walking around wearing only a duvet. It was a reasonable week. I was working at home again so the cycling was in the late afternoon. I managed something like 82 miles, down on last week's 90 miles, but good enough. I only had one day off (Tuesday). The weather was good, but I've heard that summer is preparing to leave the building next week some time. The weather guys on the television are using the word 'autumnal' but they're not fooling me. There's going to be colder temperatures and rain as the country plummets towards winter and I'm sure it's going to restrict my cycling. Not that I can complain. If nothing else, 2020 has been great for cycling and, as you know if you've been reading previous posts, I've been riding up to 100 miles a week, sometimes more. And the weather's been great. The heat hasn't really let up either, apart from a few days of gusty wind and showers, but not much. So the fact that we're going to get some 'autumnal' weather, well, bring it on. 

Not sure if I've mentioned this yet, but I bumped into Phil as I was about to head into Westerham last week. He was riding a restored Honda CB750 that's around 40 years old. It looks good. According to Phil he was taking the bike on its inaugural ride. We chatted about this and that and how he's been getting on with his life and (surprise surprise) has had little time for cycling. We agreed to meet up the following week but nothing materialised, until yesterday (Saturday 19 September) when he arrived at Tatsfield Village on the Honda. We'd planned to check out Sheree's tearoom, but it turns out it's not open until 0900hrs and we were there at 0800hrs. I considered cycling into Westerham, but Andy and Phil were reluctant and besides, the woman in the store said there was a coffee machine. The weather was fine so we ordered a black coffee, a cappuccino and a hot chocolate, plus three Twix bars and sat outside on the tables close to the lake and it was fine. In fact, it was more than fine, it was great. It was as if Phil hadn't been absent at all and in a sense we kind of picked up where we left off. He told us about Fred, his new baby, and the new house that he was fixing up and we chatted about the vast amounts of cycling we'd been doing throughout lockdown. It looks like Phil might start riding again – he needs to, he claims he's put on two stone in weight. So the plan is to meet next week, on Saturday, but let's see what the weather will be like. Either way, it's great that Phil's back. The NoVisibleLycra committee met to discuss whether he needed to re-apply for membership, but it was okay, his existing arrangement had yet to lapse so all was well with the world.

Temporary lights in Woldingham

Around 0900hrs we headed home, Phil on his Honda and Andy and I on our bikes. I rode along The Ridge towards Woldingham with Andy, although he was heading for Ditchling Beacon (now that's a climb!). We parted company at the top of Gangers Hill and I suddenly remembered I had to ride up Slines Oak Road on to the 269. As it turned out it was easy, probably because of the all the riding I've been doing. Riding to the Churchyard and then heading home via Woldingham bumps up the mileage to over 18 miles so I did it again this morning after meeting Andy at the Tatsfield Churchyard where we drank tea and chatted about The Grateful Dead. During the week I watched a six-part documentary, produced by Martin Scorsese, on the band and it's members, including, of course, the iconic Jerry Garcia. The Grateful Dead is/was a peculiarly American band with international reach that embodied everything good about hippy notions of freedom and sunshine. Alright, the whole thing revolved around psychedelic drugs, but the guys in the band looked surprisingly good on it. Garcia, however, developed weight problems and diabetes and had started 'using' other more dangerous drugs. He died aged just 53 of a heart attack, which, while probably inevitable, is a big shame because, well, he seemed like such a nice guy. I've been watching interviews on YouTube and he's remarkably lucid and together when you consider the amount of acid he's taken. In fact, he's a great interviewee, somebody who answers the questions in-depth and has an enthusiasm that is infectious and life-affirming. When I was younger I used to think that The Grateful Dead was some kind of heavy rock band moving along similar tracks to the British psych-rock band Hawkwind, but nothing could be further from the truth. The music, by and large, is light and breezy and easy to get on with. I don't think the Grateful Dead would have been the same had they originated in the UK. The band had such a massive following. The Dead Heads – that's the name of Grateful Dead fans – used to turn up for concerts even if they didn't have tickets. Instead of watching the gig on the inside they'd simply congregate around the venue and have their own party outside. It's funny how the band and its lead guitarist Jerry Garcia took on almost religious significance for the Dead Heads, with Garcia a kind of Messiah figure. Interestingly, the band claims it didn't have a leader and nobody was allowed to tell other band members what to do. The egalitarian set-up seemed to work. I'm now thinking about finding the definitive book on the band and Jerry Garcia, who, incidentally, had a Ben & Jerry's ice cream named after him (Cherry Garcia). There are many many Grateful Dead albums out there. I remember buying Blues for Allah back in the late seventies, but 'the Dead' were a very prolific band and I'd like to know what albums are regarded as their best. There's an album entitled American Beauty and I'm wondering whether it had any influence on the film of the same name starring Kevin Spacey (something to Google later).

Phil's Honda CB750, Tatsfield, 19 September

Moving away from The Grateful Dead, there's always the fucking virus to talk about. As I suspected a long time ago, a second wave is upon us. I made three predictions: that Trump would get a second term, that there would be a second wave of COVID-19 and that we'd have a no-deal Brexit. Looks like they're all going to come true, although I'm possibly on shaky ground where Trump is concerned as the polls are predicting a win for Joe Biden. The problem with Biden, in my opinion, is that he's kind of the walking dead. He always seems on the verge of falling flat on his face, and when he talks he's often unintelligible. In a way I can't believe that Biden could ever be president of the USA or, if he does make it, he won't be there long as the guy's simply too old. I still think Trump will win and then we'll follow up with a no-deal Brexit (while a new lockdown has been imposed on the nation). You could say I'm a purveyor of doom and gloom, but in my world it's looking like a reality we all have to deal with. 

Andy's bike at the top of Ditchling Beacon in East Sussex

Right now there are regional lockdowns here, there and everywhere and we're no longer allowed to congregate in groups of more than six. Pubs are being told to close at 2200hrs and there's rumours floating around that people won't be able to meet members of other households. Bang goes my tea and cake round at mum's, although nothing's set in stone yet. The problem, of course, is the 'covidiots' who simply don't believe there is a virus and will probably refuse to be vaccinated when a vaccine becomes available. There are also rumours that the Government could force us all to take an unproven vaccine if it so wished, although that might have been an inflammatory story generated by a newspaper designed to pedal doom and gloom and incite revolution.

Jerry Garcia, The Grateful Dead...

Winter is coming and that means it's all going to get worse. The Government has basically lost control of the virus. It wants the kids back to school, the students back to university and the people back to work, but that will all lead to more infections. They can't have it both ways. They've made a fiasco of testing and all the while you must remember that Boris Johnson is, quite simply, a fucking arse. He's not to be trusted. He's not even 100% committed to Brexit. Remember when he wrote two articles for a newspaper, probably the Daily Telegraph, one being pro-leave, the other remain. In fact, there are rumours that he might resign, which would be great. I can't stand it when I hear people say, "Boris Johnson should take charge of the situation". Actually, that's the problem, he IS in charge and look at the mess he's making. He's a blathering, bumbling, obese man with a stupid haircut, but then don't they all have stupid haircuts? Look at Donald Trump! The problem we have here in the UK is that there's four more years of Bojo. At least the Americans can ditch Trump in just over eight weeks if they so wish. I better sign off before I go crazy thinking about what a mess the country is in.